“Maybe you should take charge of the food Rabbi.” someone suggests.
I ask him his name.
“Claude Buchman.” he replies.
“Listen everyone, Claude has made a suggestion that we pool what food we have but firstly can I ask if we actually have any.”
A woman announces that she has a few pieces of bread.
“What is your name?”
“Batya Fiedler!”
“The daughter of God. Thank you Batya.”
This prompts others to offer their food and soon we have a small store of bread, seven apples, and a small packet of chocolate cookies, some candy, six potatoes, a few radishes and a large sausage donated by Jakob Klauber who receives a generous round of applause for his kindness.
“We have a meal”, I announce and for a short while the boxcar is filled with laughter and renewed optimism. However as our journey progresses I discover that some people have chosen not to share their food yet are content to eat the meagre portions shared among everyone.
The train moves relentlessly towards our destination and when my turn comes to stand by the small window I can see the countryside rolling past. Esther stands beside me gasping at the puffs of warm air thrown in occasionally by the motion of the train.
“Paul? Camille?” she asks.
I tell her what has happened.
“I wonder why Hartmaan released him.”
“I don’t know.” I reply.
Everything outside appears normal while inside the carriage life is becoming unbearable. There is not enough space for fifty people to sit so we have tried to arrange another rota that allows each person some time on the floor. This works for a while but is now being largely ignored due to the exhausted state we now find ourselves in. Some of the passengers, including Martin, are unconscious and I fear they will never awaken. The cruelty of these people who have taken us from our homes and family seems to have no limits. There are times when the train stops presumably to re-fuel but they never open the doors despite our pleadings. We are unable to empty the bucket which is now overflowing and once again we have to endure the intolerable stench of excrement. Two days have passed since we left Paris. Esther has become withdrawn and no longer speaks with any conviction or hope. I still manage to pray but the response from my fellow passengers is diminishing. Propped up in the corner with Esther sleeping beside me and resting her head on my shoulder I think again about Paul. I have difficulty now picturing his face which now moves in and out of my consciousness like a ghost. The more I try to picture him the more I am forced to confront my own reality. I am lying in a stinking cattle cart slowly dying. I try to resist the unimaginable fear that now lurks in my soul. I cannot despair. At the time of my Semikah I was authorized to uphold the teachings of the Torah so in those times when I am faced with darkness and desolation I pray aloud compelling my voice to fill this decrepit world with the word of God.
You, O Lord, are mighty forever you revive the dead you have the power to save.
You sustain the living with loving kindness you revive the dead with great mercy
You support the falling, heal the sick, set free the bound and keep faith with those who sleep in the dust.
Who is like you, O doer of mighty acts?
Who resembles you, a king who puts to death and restores to life and causes salvation to flourish?
And you are certain to revive the dead.
Blessed are you, O Lord, who revives the dead.
I force myself to remember Anna but she too seems to have deserted my dreams. I cannot blame her so I speak to her quietly. I ask her how she is and not to worry about me. She must care for Paul wherever he is. I ask her to sing to him and in the distance I imagine I can hear her voice.
After three days another stop! I am still awake.
I hear German voices and the sound of dogs barking. I want to go to the window but it is impossible to walk across the bodies that now litter the floor. So I wait. Then unexpectedly I hear the sound of the bolt being drawn on the doors. They are slid open and a voice shouts,
“Schnell! Schnell!”
The people begin to rouse. The German at the door begins pulling at those nearest him.
“Schnell! Schnell!”
I help Esther to her feet. She is groggy and doesn’t understand. I tell her we have arrived. I cannot rouse Martin. He looks dreadful. We are soon jumping off the carriage on to an improvised platform. I have no idea where we are but it is wonderful to feel the cool air on my face. We are surrounded by soldiers some with dogs that snarl and growl at everyone who passes. There is some light in the sky but I am not sure if that means early morning or evening. Esther clings to me among the commotion. We are jostled and separated into two lines, one for men the other women. Esther is terrified and holds me tightly. A soldier wrenches her from me.
My line begins to move forward and soon I am close enough to the front to see what is happening. Three officers stand facing us. Behind them are trucks. One of the officers is moving people left or right. A few are directed right but most are going left.
“Name!”
“I am Solomon Politzer from Paris!”
The officers laugh and one even smiles.
“Als ob das spart ihnen Jude!”
I shrug my shoulders and return his smile. He immediately looks away. I am pointed left and taken to one of the trucks by a man dressed in a flimsy striped uniform. He must be a prisoner.
“Please, go quietly”, he says.
Inside the truck I sit in silence. Again it seems like I am watching a movie. Characters enter and exit, some stop. Soon the truck is full of strangers. No-one speaks. I wait alone in silence. The truck starts up and we are driven along a dirt track towards a wood. Through the back of the truck I see the ghostly shapes of pine trees speeding past. Eventually we stop and are ordered out. More prisoners guide us towards a large hut; more soldiers shout, more dogs bark.
Inside the hut there are tables and benches. There are rows of towels and soap on the tables. When we have all filled the room a young officer appears at the door. He addresses us in French and he is smiling.
“Good evening, I am Untersturmführer Jurgen Groer and I apologise that you have had to endure such a difficult journey but your ordeal has now ended. You have arrived at Konzentrationslager Auschwitz. Soon you will be joining life in this camp but before that you must shower and disinfect. I am sure you will welcome the opportunity to do so. Please remove your clothes. You will be given camp uniforms after.”
The prisoners move between us.
“Please be quick”, they say, “clothes and shoes to be tied together.”
As I begin to undress I resist the temptation to look at those around me. Soon everyone is naked. I am ashamed and instinctively use my hands to cover my genitals. We are told to take some soap and marched quickly from the hut between two lines of soldiers and dogs towards what looks like a farmhouse painted white and surrounded by a beautiful garden full of the most fragrant flowers. Inside the cottage we are forced into a small room. On the ceiling are rows of shower heads. I am frightened now. There are too many of us in here, all crammed tightly together. Some of the men begin to moan, others yell, some cry. I hope this is over soon. Then I notice the wall is covered in marks. I examine them and can see that they resemble scratching and are stained with blood. Dear God! There is a deafening thud. Everyone instinctively rushes towards the door, now slammed shut. I feel water splashing on my feet. It is the man beside me. Another man vomits. We are plunged into darkness. Unimaginable screams fill the air. Such terrifying sounds I have never heard.
I squeeze my eyes shut desperately seeking some image to comfort me. I see only shadows.
My heart breaks. My soul cries.
Oh, my tears! My tears!
Our world is destroyed.
And everything within us is rotten.
Endnote.
Solomon Politzer and Esther Guillard were murdered in the gas chambers at Auschwitz/Ber
kinau on 23rd July 1942. Their bodies were burnt and the ashes thrown into the Sola river.
*
Martin Cheym was shot on the train. His daughter Annabelle was transported from Drancy to Auschwitz on the 26th July. Like Solomon and Esther she was gassed immediately on arrival.
*
Cecilia Hartmann did not survive the war. She was murdered by Soviet soldiers as they took Berlin in 1945. Her son Ralf did survive. He remained in Paris until July 1944 when he was transferred to the Netherlands. He was captured by Allied forces at Nijmegen in September 1944. After the war Ralf returned to Berlin to search for Leni and Resi. He failed to find them and travelled to Austria where he settled in Innsbruck and became a teacher of literature.
*
Paul Politzer returned to the apartment and helped by Anshel Drezner, buried his wife Camille in the cemetery at Montparnasse. Four days later he was arrested and sent to Natzweiler-Struthof forced labour camp in Eastern France. In 1944 he was transferred to Dachau where he was liberated by US forces in April 1945.
He travelled to Villelongue and was reunited with Isabelle Berman. Her husband Anton and sons Louis and Maurice had not survived having lost their lives fighting for the Maquis near Lariere in July 1944.
Paul lived with Isabelle for over twenty years until his death in 1968.
He suffered greatly with ill health as a result of his wartime incarceration and never painted again.
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