Last Jew of Treblinka

by Chil Rajchman

  And yet we are alive and witness this great misfortune and are so hardened that we can eat and endure the heartbreak. How can one be so strong, have such unnatural strength to endure? As we stand there, we notice a friend, Moyshe Ettinger, from our town. He falls on us sobbing. After he has calmed down a bit, he tells us that yesterday he was running naked to the gas chamber. Along the way he happened upon a mound of clothing and crawled into the middle of it. He grabbed a pair of trousers and a jacket from the pile and put them on. Not far away he saw a Jew marching past. He begged him to save him and find him a pair of shoes. Fortunately, the worker found a pair and brought them to him. Then he worked his way out of his hiding place and stood near the pile of clothing and began sorting it. The workers standing next to him helped him and told him what to do. In that way he saved himself from death.

  Now he stands next to us and weeps. He cannot forgive himself for having saved himself when his wife and child went to their deaths. We are all as if drugged. Yesterday my family and I were living and now—all are dead. Each of us stands as if turned to stone. I weep for my fate, for what I have lived to see.

  At that moment I hear how to the left of the barracks the miserable survivors stand to say the evening prayers, and after praying they recite Kaddish for the dead with tears in their eyes. Kaddish wakes me up. I look closely: yes, all who are here are wretched orphans and accursed individuals. I become almost wild and shout at them—To whom are you reciting Kaddish? You still believe? In what do you believe, whom are you thanking? Are you thanking the Lord for his mercy in taking away our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers? No, no! It is not true; there is no God. If there were a God, he would not allow such misfortune, such transgression, where innocent small children, only just born, are killed, where people who want only to do honest work and make themselves useful to the world are killed! And you, living witnesses of the great misfortune, remain thankful. Whom are you thanking?

  My grief-stricken friend Leybl tries to calm me—Calm yourself. You are right. Yesterday all my brothers and sisters with their little ones were alive, and today they are no longer in this world.

  He is trying to calm me, and he is beside himself and begs me—Yekhiel, don’t shout, you know where we are …

  He himself is shouting louder than I am.

  We fall to the ground from fatigue and cannot get up. I lie there and remind myself that I wronged my poor sister. A few minutes before her death I dissuaded her from eating a piece of bread and she was driven hungry to her death. Did she forgive me? The murderers robbed all of us of our understanding.

  We lie like that in our pain. The clock strikes 9:00 in the evening. The barracks are locked, the lights turned off. I lie on the ground all night.

  Chapter Five

  I work as a barber.

  My sister’s dress.

  The last wish of an old Jewish woman.

  The laughter of an eighteen-year-old girl …

  We sing a song.

  AT 5:00 IN THE MORNING WE ARE AWAKENED BY the alarm and we tear ourselves from our sleep. We walk to the kitchen. Each of us receives coffee and bread, and at 6:00—off to work. I discover that there are several groups of sorters. Each group takes its place separately, and after all of them are counted, some seven hundred people in total, each group is led away to work with its Kapo and foreman at the head. I am given the same work as the day before, sorting clothes. While sorting I find the dress that my sister was wearing. I stop, grasp the dress, hold it for a moment and examine it from every angle. I show it to my neighbour. He forgets himself for a moment and pities me. Then immediately he shouts—You are forgetting yourself. Naturally, who can help himself? Our fate is so wretched. But remember, you can get the whip for that.

  I tear off a piece of the dress and hide it in my pocket. (I had that piece of the dress with me for ten months, the whole time I was in Treblinka.)

  The clock strikes 8:00. The foreman suddenly calls out—Barbers!

  All the barbers, ten men, five old and five new ones, stand next to him. He asks if each of us has shears (we have all provided ourselves with them) and then leads us away to the evil gas chambers, where the living are transformed into the dead.

  He leads us into the first cell, which is open to the corridor and to the outside. It is a fine summer’s day. The sun’s rays reach us. Long benches are set out and next to them dozens of suitcases.

  The murderer orders us to take our places. Each of us stands behind a suitcase. A band of Ukrainians surrounds us, with whips in their hands and rifles on their shoulders. The Kommandant of Treblinka comes in—a tall, stout murderer of about fifty. He orders us to work fast. After five cuts the hair must be all cut off. We have to make sure that no hair falls on the ground, and the suitcases must be fully packed. He ends his order this way—If not, you will be whipped, you accursed dogs!

  We stand as if paralyzed. A few minutes pass and we hear pitiful screams. Naked women appear. In the corridor stands a murderer who tells them to run into the room where we are. They are beaten murderously and driven with cries of “Faster, faster!”

  I stare wide-eyed at the victims and cannot believe my eyes. Every woman sits down next to a barber. Next to me a young woman sits down. My hands are paralyzed and I cannot move my fingers. The women sit opposite us and wait for us to cut off their beautiful hair, and their weeping is pitiful and terrible.

  My friend next to me shouts—Remember, you will be lost, because a murderer is standing there and can see you working slowly!

  I force open the fingers of my dirty hand, cut off the woman’s hair and throw it into the suitcase like every one else. The woman stands up. I see that she is dazed from the blows she has received. She asks me where to go and I show her the second entryway, on the left. Before I have time to turn around, a second woman is already sitting down. She takes my hand and wants to kiss me—I beg you, tell me, what do they do with us? Is this already the end?

  She weeps and begs me to tell her if it is a difficult death, if it takes long, if people are gassed or electrocuted …

  I do not reply. She will not leave me alone and begs me to tell her, because she knows that in any case she is lost. Nevertheless I cannot tell the truth and calm her. The whole conversation lasts a few seconds, as long as it takes me to cut her hair. I turn my head away, because I cannot look her in the eye. The murderer standing near us shouts—Los! Schneller die Haare schneiden! (Come on! Cut the hair faster!) The woman is bewildered. After a bit she jumps up and runs out.

  One victim after the other sits down and the shears cut and cut the hair without stopping. Weeping and screaming can be heard. Many women tear off pieces of their own living flesh and we have to look on and are forbidden to say anything.

  An elderly woman sits down in front of me. I cut her hair and she begs me to grant her a last wish before her death: to cut her hair a bit more slowly, because after her, next to my friend, stands her young daughter, and she wants them to go to their deaths together. I try to oblige the woman and at the same time I ask my friend to speed up his cutting. I want to fulfill the last request of the elderly woman. But unfortunately the murderer screams at me and whips my head. I have to hurry and cannot help the woman any more. She has to run without her daughter …

  Continuing to cut hair, I suddenly hear a shout. I turn and see a young girl of about eighteen run inside and begin shouting at all the women—What is the matter with you? You ought to be ashamed! For whom are you crying? You should be laughing! Let our enemies see that we are not going to our deaths as cowards. The murderers enjoy our weeping!

  All stand as if frozen to the spot. The murderers look around. They become even wilder and the girl laughs in their faces until she leaves.

  From among the wretched victims a young, pretty girl sits down in front of me. She begs me—Do not cut off all my hair. What will I look like?

  I cannot reply. What can I say to her? I try to calm her …

  A woman sits down before me.
She tears out her hair-pins and shouts at me—Faster! Do what you want. You can even cut some of the flesh out of my scalp. I know that I am lost …

  Yes, we are all lost.

  An older woman begs me to tell her if all the men are kept as labourers. She knows that she is going to her death. Still, she will be happy if her son, who came with her, remains alive. I calm her with my answer and she thanks me. She is content that her son will remain alive and take revenge on the murderers …

  Thus hundreds of women pass through with weeping and shouting and I have become an automaton that cuts off their hair.

  Suddenly the shoving of the next group of victims is interrupted because the gas chambers are over-full. The murderer standing by the door of the cell announces that there will be a break of half an hour and goes away. Some Ukrainians and several SS men remain with us. I look around and think: Good God, what kind of hell is this? The murderers force us to cut off the hair of our sisters a few minutes before their deaths and we, the temporarily spared, do it in the shadow of the whips. We have been deprived of our reason and are the tools of criminals. My friend who worked with me sorting clothes asks me quietly—Why have you changed so much? I don’t recognize you!

  I don’t reply and he leaves me alone.

  It doesn’t take long, and several murderers come in and order us to sing a song. But only a beautiful song.

  The old barbers already know what that means: if we don’t sing, we will be mercilessly beaten, and out of fear several begin to sing. I am as if paralyzed: over there in the cell they gas people and we are supposed to sing! A murderer, noticing that my mouth is closed, screams at me—You dog, do you want to get it on your mug?

  I open my mouth as if I were singing. Alas, we have to sing and amuse the murderers.

  From time to time one of them goes out into the corridor and looks through a small window to ascertain if the victims are dead.

  Half an hour passes in this way. A murderer comes in and announces that work is resuming. We must once again take our places in order to receive new victims. Once again we hear pitiful cries and soon naked women appear.

  The work proceeds without hindrance. The whole transport is disposed of in an hour: several thousand people have been gassed.

  Chapter Six

  New transports.

  To the gas chambers with “Shema Yisrael.”

  Our first decision to escape.

  My last days in Camp I.

  THE WORK IS FINISHED. OUR SECTION CHIEF COMES in and announces that the transport has been liquidated. We close the suitcases and place them on the side. We are immediately escorted to the open space and in the shadow of the dreaded whips we must forget that we have cut the hair of thousands of women. Now once again we have to search for money, gold and valuables for the murderers and again sort clothes. The Chief notifies our foreman, Scher from Czestochowa, that by 12:00 the pile of Scheisse (shit) must be cleared away. From time to time SS men come to the square and order us to pick out good-quality suits and good watches for them and fine dresses for their wives. We must hurry for the pile must at all costs be cleared away by noon.

  The clock strikes 12:00. We are already standing by the kitchen when we hear the locomotive entering the camp again, dragging fresh victims with it. The same freight cars appear and we hear the doors thrown open quickly, and as always everyone is driven out of the cars with blows from rifle butts and whips. A few minutes later the head murderer of the camp appears and shouts—Barbers, step out! We have not yet eaten our midday soup but are at once led back to the gas chambers, to more of our filthy work. And the same terrifying picture: more wretched souls appear, from the town of Ostrowice. In a bit over an hour it is all over for them.

  Before me sits a young woman. I cut her hair and she grabs my hand and begs me to remember that I too am a Jew. She knows that she is lost. But remember, she says, you see what is being done to us. That’s why my wish for you is that you will survive and take revenge for our innocent blood, which will never rest …

  I reply quietly—My dear woman, the same fate awaits me. I am a Jew, after all.

  The woman has not had time to get up when a murderer who is walking between the benches lashes her head with his whip. Blood shows on her shorn head. She jumps up and runs where all are running.

  We finish our work and remain standing at our places for a while, because the way out is occupied by the naked men being driven to the gas chambers. They run through a chain of murderers who stand on both sides and beat them. The Jews run with their hands raised, fingers spread wide, chanting continuously—Sh’ma Yisrael, Sh’ma Yisrael (Hear, O Israel). With these words on their lips they are driven to their deaths.

  The stream of victims comes to an end, the iron door is hermetically shut, and the last cries of the victims are silenced. The murderers appear and we are led back to the square, because the noon break is over. We sort clothes at a rapid pace in order the make room for new bundles. I sort then carry the bundles in various directions.

  The afternoon passes in that way. The clock strikes 6:00. Hearing the signal, we stop working and take our places for roll-call. After counting us, the Jewish head Kapo, Galewski, announces the number of prisoners to the chief killer, Kiewe. He then orders—Rechts um! (Right face!) in the direction of the kitchen.

  As we did yesterday, each of us receives his soup and heads for the barracks. I stand with my friend Leybl and with Moyshe Ettinger and the tears pour from us without stopping. We finally begin to understand the whole catastrophe that takes place here, that this is a factory that swallows victims without stopping: yesterday twelve thousand, today fifteen thousand, and so on without end … We want to find out what is done with the victims after they are dead, but we are unable to, because there, where the corpses are, is Camp 2, which is entirely isolated from us, and we have no contact with the Jews who work there.

  We ponder and ponder and ask ourselves: what now? And we decide that at all costs we must look for possibilities of escape, because at some point without warning we are in any case going to be killed.

  We decide that, starting tomorrow, each of us will begin to collect as much money as he can from what we find while working, trying in the next few days to collect tens of thousands of zlotys, and at the same time we will try to find a way to escape.

  Meanwhile the clock strikes 9:00. The lights are turned off. Exhausted and depressed, we throw ourselves to the ground. We groan for a time with the heavy pain in our hearts, then fall asleep.

  We sleep through the night and at 4:30 we hear the signal. We awake from our deep sleep. I ask around to see if I can obtain a little water to wash myself with. My friend tells me that he hasn’t washed in the ten days since he came here. We march out to our breakfast of coffee and bread. I am able to save a little water to wash with. We march to the roll-call, and, after being counted, we are led by our Kapo and foreman to the square for work.

  My friend Leybl and I get to work. When we find larger bills we try to hide them so that no murderer will notice, otherwise we will get a bullet in the head. We collect the money carefully and hide it in the coat I am wearing. I work that way for a couple of hours and gather several thousand zlotys. By noon I have about 5,000 zlotys. My friend Leybl has somewhat more. At the noon break we decide to collect as much money as we can, since without money we are lost even if we succeed in escaping.

  In the afternoon the work goes quickly. I once again find several thousand zlotys. It is about 2:00 in the afternoon. While sorting I hear, not far from me, a murderer call—Komm’ her! (Come here!) I drop what I am doing and run over to him. He tells me to remain standing there. There are soon about twenty of us standing there and we do not know what will happen to us. I see that more and more workers are being sent over. Fearing that we may be searched, I take off the coat in which the money is hidden. I throw it to the side with the excuse that I’m hot. After a few minutes I and about thirty others are led to the courtyard, where we all undress and are careful
ly searched to see if any of us has hidden money or valuables. The murderers find one man with money. He is brutally beaten, taken aside and shot.

  As I am one of the last to be inspected, I am able to search my pockets and find a 100-zloty banknote. I do not become flustered and put the banknote quickly into my mouth. The murderers do not notice. They take away our pocket knives and razor blades. They line us up in groups of five and lead us towards where the victims are driven to the gas chambers. But instead of the gas chambers, we are led to the second camp, which is far worse than the gas chambers.

  Chapter Seven

  Treblinka—Camp 2.

  I become a carrier of corpses.

  Gold teeth are extracted from the dead.

  The technique of carrying corpses.

  NO SOONER DO WE CROSS THE THRESHOLD OF THE wretched camp than we are greeted with a hail of lashes from the whips, which fall unceasingly upon us. We are immediately driven to a job that consists of taking sand in barrows from one pile and carrying it to another pile. In the first minutes I think I am going to pass out. I don’t know what I am carrying and where I am carrying it. Nevertheless, after running several times to the pile where we pour out the sand, I see that we are pouring it onto corpses that have been thrown into a pit. I am unable to gather my thoughts because they do not leave us a second to rest. We load the sand with the greatest possible speed, grab the barrow immediately and run, dump the sand onto the victims and then run back again. The sweat is pouring from our faces. I throw off my jacket, but that doesn’t help. At every step there stand the murderers who lash every one of us on the head with their long whips. I expend my last ounce of strength and am no longer able to stand. A murderer approaches me and beats me without cease—You dog, my whip is broken by this time every day, but today it’s still in one piece!