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AUSCHWITZ SURVIVORS' ESSAYS Lucille E. Tape 2 of 2
I: Would you tell us
about your visits as a child to Poland and what your feelings were as a
Jew? E: The first time I came
to Poland that I really recall, walking on my own, was when I was 4 years
old. We came to Poland, we got out of the train, we traveled I think for
three days in a first class compartment. And the porter came at night
making up the beds, I thought it was great fun. We arrive at the railroad
station and a relative picked us up and took the suitcases outside the
station. There was a buggy and a horse and a driver. I refused to get into
that horse, I absolutely didn't, I threw a tantrum, I wanted a taxi. I
would not get into a buggy with a horse. The horse was alive, the horse
moved, and I wanted a taxi like I was used to. Coming to my grandmother's
house, it was a nice house, not as nice as what I was used to but it was
nice.
I: This was your mother's
mother. E: Yes. She had a store, she spoke Yiddish to me, she wore a wig, she was very religious. And she would always give me a candy but I had to hide it, I wasn't supposed to eat so much candy. There was a lot of ground around the house and the ground was cultivated by the peasants. They had a lot of huge yellow cucumbers which were then pickled and sold. A little bit down the road I had an aunt who cultivated poppies, I mean acres and acres of red poppies and the poppy seeds were dried and used as poppy seeds, not opium. The front of my grandmother's store faced out on one of the main streets, the larger streets. The street was not paved, it was raining and it was summertime. The peasants with their horse drawn wagons would come and bring chickens, the chickens were alive, the feet were tied but the chickens were alive so with the tied feet they couldn't take off. When the unpaved road of the main street was mud and wet, the peasants would take off their shoes, they didn't wear stockings, socks, and they would walk barefoot and I would stand their and look. The mud would ooze out through the toes, you know in between the toes, and I thought that was very strange, people without shoes. I'd never seen that before. I remember going to my
uncle's store, who lived in the center of town of the ring, and he had a
hardware, houseware store. I remember my father scolding him that nothing
had prices. The buckets didn't have a price, the brooms didn't have,
nothing had a price. My father had lived in Germany already too long and
his mind was too orderly to comprehend that you went in and bartered, you
bargained. You didn't just pick up a bucket and say, oh it's five dollars.
I pay you five dollars. That wasn't done. I know that my uncle had three
sons who were ten or fifteen years older than I. They were at the
university and they had trouble as Jews, they were standing in the last
row for lectures, for instruction. So my father and my uncle pooled their
money because they had much more money in Germany and they sent the boys
to study in Paris. One was a lawyer, one was an architect, and one was an
engineer. No, one was a doctor, I take it back. The architect fell off a
building in Israel and was killed, very young. And the doctor went east
with the Russian Army, I don't know what became of him. He might have
remained in Russia, he might not have, but I don't know. But nobody of
that family, my mother had one, two, three, four sisters there, nobody
survived.
I: How many children in
her family? E: Eight.
I: Would you repeat the
name of the town again, please. E: Sambor. S A M B O R.
It's not far from Tarnopol.
I: So this was, at the
outbreak of war this was the portion that went under German, uh, Russian
control? E: First under German
control and then under Russian control. First the Germans had it. And then
the Russians occupied it when they liberated Poland.
I: So during the division
of Poland in 1939, it was under... E: It was still under
German rule. Because I remember one of my uncles writing a postcard that
he had to do forced labor and that the aunts were no longer in Sambor. And
that already was fairly late so it was under German occupation. Because
the postcard had a German stamp.
I: Did you hear anything,
once the war commenced, was there any communication with your family,
between let's say your mother's family or your father's family? E: Yes, there was still,
as along as we could, we wrote. Which I would say was probably until early
1941 or so. The letters were really in very careful language, they were
phrased. My mother would write to her brother and said, how does Uncle
Ivan feel? That means, are the Russians there or how are the Russians? I
once wrote a postcard and I signed my name, Cecelia L.W.W., a German
abbreviation for widow. So when my uncle got the postcard he wrote back
that I can see that only you are left. You know there were little things
you tried to cover up. And you got some communication but...
I: Up until what time
were you getting any kind of communication from any family members? E: Probably 1941 summer
and then I got one postcard around Summer 1944, early. One single one.
I: Do you remember who it
was from? E: Yes, my uncle.
I: Do you remember what
he said? E: Well he wrote that
this aunt and this aunt and that aunt don't live here or are not here. He
was a really sick man, he had some spinal trouble, he couldn't stand
straight. He was working he said.
I: In the town? E: In forced labor. There
were considerable amount of Jews in Sambor. He did not really give any
details. It was an open card, it happened to slip through. Which was
unusual what he did.
I: In the Lodz ghetto,
people were receiving... E: In the beginning we
received some mail. We could send out three or four postcards during the
first two years. And then it ceased completely.
I: But in 1944 you did
receive.... E: That one postcard came
in, it was just unreal.
I: Was it dated from '44? E: Yes, yes, it had a
current date, it only traveled a week.
I: Where did you go to
get your mail, did you got to a post office or did somebody? E: There was a post
office, there were several post offices, like a little substation. I even
remember seeing the letter carrier in the very beginning, which later on
disappeared. I don't whether somebody called me or said to pick up a
postcard or whether somebody just dropped it by the house. That I don't
remember.
I: Do you know anything
of the history of Sambor since both of your parents were from there, how
long the Jewish community was established there and how big a Jewish
community it was? E: It was a large Jewish
community. I believe before the war or during the '20's and '30's, the
town had 10,000 inhabitants, I think it's 10,000. There's always been some
dispute between 10 and a hundred but I don't know for sure. It had a
community I know that, people who ran for political office would make a
stop there. It had a Jewish community, it had a Jewish cemetery, it had a
Jewish synagogue. The amount of Jews, I'm just not able to tell you how
many.
I: Do you remember how
many generations your family was there for? E: My family was there
for three generations; my mother was born there, my grandmother was born
there, her mother before her was born nearby. So there is a story that my
father's family came from Spain over Holland into Poland, but again since
they're not Sephardic Jews, I'm not sure this is true. It could be I don't
know.
I: When was the last time
you saw Sambor? As a child I mean. E: 1935.
I: Did you celebrate
holidays there? E: Sometimes, if it
happened to...
I: Was this a whole
extended family kind of celebration? E: Yeah, there were a lot
of cousins, a lot of aunts and uncles.
I: Do you remember your
holidays there and what they were like? E: Well they were very
traditional. I remember before Yom Kippur, my grandmother having a
chicken, she'd go _ I don't know, there's a Yiddish expression for it I
don't know what it is in Hebrew _ I remember going down to the river and
emptying out the pockets. There very traditional things that you don't do
or did not do in the Western countries, you sort of skipped by them.
I: Have you researched
the fate of some, was the town deported? E: Yes, the town was
deported to various camps, most of them were killed even before they hit
Auschwitz. You know in small-sub camps like Hannenmoor, whatever they,
they had these vans that were gas equipped. There was really no, I had not
run across a group of people that really stayed in Sambor very late and
survived. I tried to go back but there was a problem crossing the border
into the Soviet Union, into that area with an American passport from
Poland. The next time I probably tackle that in a different way. I tried
but it didn't work.
I: That town now is in
Poland? E: No, no, it's in the
Soviet Union. They call it the Ukraine but the language spoken there is
Russian.
I: It was my
understanding that the Ukraine was under Russian domination until 1941,
June of 1941. E: There is a slight
difference, geographically, between the Ukraine and Galacia. Galacia like
to call itself the Ukraine, because it's adjacent, but it's not really the
Ukraine. Because some of it was German occupied.
I: One final question
before I move on. When you came to Lodz, you had a suitcase with you. Do
you remember the clothes you had and brought with you? Did they last you
for all the five years you were there? E: No they didn't. Yes
they did in a way because the Jewish tailors in Poland were very
ingenious. They could take something that had gotten two sizes too small,
turn it inside out, make it two sizes larger, and get you a new jacket.
Essentially yes, I wore pretty much the old clothing.
I: And what were the
articles of clothing. Can you remember? E: I had a winter coat
which was too light, so I wore two winter coats, one on top of the other.
I had shoes which were useless because in winter, they just did not do
well in snow. I had frostbite, I almost lost the toes. I had a jacket, a
skirt, some blouses, and a couple of dresses, and my mother had a leather
hatbox. One of those round hatboxes out of the '20's. And eventually I
took it to the shoemaker and had a pair of boots made. I paid him by
giving him the leftovers of leather. That was his payment and he made the
boots. I haven't worn a pair of boots since, even though the fashion here
is for knee high boots, I wouldn't buy a pair of boots. I have worn boots
thank you.
I: What about your feet,
your stockings, you didn't have pants... E: No, nobody had pants
in those days. We had stockings and you repaired them, and you repaired
them they were full of these mending spots. New stockings, I don't
remember ever getting new stockings. For money you could have gotten
anything. For money or for food. But I didn't have either.
I: How did you bathe? E: We didn't. You had a
little bowl, like a little schüssel, like a little bowl, and you put a
some water in it and you hoped that there was no ice on top of it. Because
at night it formed a crust of ice and you brought it up from the pump, you
know which you pumped. You sort of took the bowl and washed yourself to
the waist and then when you're through with that, you wash the rest of
yourself.
I: Did you brush teeth? E: Yes, but there was no
toothpaste. There was an old broken down toothbrush because they don't
last very long. The teeth started decaying and I lost fillings. I once
went to a dentist who had a drill which was foot operated, with a foot
pedal _ I think her daughter lives in Los Angeles _ she tried to repair it
but there wasn't really much she could do. If I were to visualize now to
live four or five years without a shower or bath, it is absolutely
inconceivable. But we did.
I: Was there a problem
with lice? E: Yes, yes, and they
carried typhoid. If you wore a sweater, let's say a week or two weeks, if
you turned it inside out the seams, you know the sleeve seams, the should
seams, you would see little white spots. And those were the eggs of lice.
And we had a lot of trouble, a lot of illness, I had typhoid and typhus.
I: Which is two different
diseases? E: Yes, one is intestinal
and the other one is carried by lice. Spots. Sort of measly like.
I: Would you, let's talk
about the deportation. You have described your meeting Dr. S., at the
station, with his entire family. Including your friend, his daughter. You
boarded these cattle cars that were sealed. Could you explain what
happened after that? The trip? E: The trip was stuffy,
it was August, it was hot. There was a bucket on the train but I have
vague recollections, whether they let us empty it or not. Here we had this
loaf of bread which we couldn't eat. And we speculated a great deal. Dr.
S. was a great optimist and he believed things were going to get better.
He was a Zionist and he had a sense of humor. After three or four days the
cattle cars came to a stop. It was early in the morning, probably, the
watch said probably it was three or four in the morning. It was dark.
I: Did you stand the
whole way? E: No, we sort of
crouched in corners, there wasn't much room but we sort of crouched
together. When the door opened, the first thing we saw was huge
spotlights, from the platform onto the train. We saw the SS and the dogs.
I: It was night time? E: It was four in the
morning, three in the morning. A lot of screaming, alot of commands. They
hurried us out of the trains. We were barely out when they said to drop
the luggage. The suitcase or whatever we had. My friend dropped hers. I
did not. One of the SS came towards me, with I don't know, either a gun or
a whip. And she tore it out of my hand and dropped it. I didn't want to
give up my passport and my papers and my birth certificate. You know, I
can't live without it. Almost immediately they separated the men from the
women. It took minutes, seconds. We didn't even say good-bye to Oscar or
to Erwin, I mean they were just on the other side. And then they tried to
separate the women again. The young ones from the old ones, the children
from the...
I: There were still
children at this point? E: Oh yes, you know
little children, two, three, four, six, you know, any age. Not a great
deal, but some. I remember a man in a striped uniform with a hat, with an
armband that read Kapo, standing next to us. And my friend asked him in
German, where are we? He said, Auschwitz. She said, what's Auschwitz? And
he said, you've never heard of Auschwitz? And she said, no. He said, it
can't be. When he asked where do you come from, we said from Lodz. He
said, do you know Luba? Do you know anybody named Luba, I'm looking for my
sister. But I work as sort of a policeman, Kapo, for the Germans. We said,
no we don't know anybody and we left. From that, after that separation,
you know the young ones from the old ones, we went into a room, into a
barracks. They asked to take off all jewelry, all watches, all clothing.
And whoever didn't took a terrible beating or worse. And there we stood
naked, shivering in the heat., and then the took us to another barracks.
Something happened in front of us, we didn't know quite what. The people
in front of us sort of moved, moved ahead.
I: Were you all basically
in a line? E: No, it wasn't really a line, it was a line and a line and a line, if was almost like a grouping. When we were in the front line we saw that the Kapos were shaving the hair, all body hair. And if you looked at the women, once the hair was shaven it was just, it was a sight that was so terrible that it really didn't, at that moment, compare to anything we had seen. You saw those bowling balls with protruding ears and those frightened eyes and it was like, something out of a nightmare. They yanked Ellie out of line and they cut her, she had long black hair, they cut her hair and before I knew it I was next. The SS woman who gave the order to the Kapo, who was essentially a prisoner, to shave my hair, was short and blonde and squat. And fat, the uniform didn't fit and she wore glasses. I hated her, I don't think I've ever hated anybody as much. I don't know whether she saw or whether she felt, but she slapped me very hard and I just reeled over to one side. After the hair was gone, they pushed us through sort of a swinging door and the top part of the swinging door was glass. And in one second I saw a reflection that was I. Ears, an oval head, and eyes. It was nobody I knew. It was horrifying, that sight. There was some cold showers, we were sort of rushed through them, if you got a drop of water, yes, if you didn't you didn't. At the other end an SS woman started laughing and she said, the gas chambers are overworked tonight, or today. We'll get you tomorrow. There's plenty of time. We had never heard of gas chambers. We didn't know what it was. We were thrown a garment at random, just a piece of cloth, whether it was an apron, a dress, just one piece, no underwear, no stockings, nothing. You put that thing on, mine was black and it had sort of a red trim on the top, very strange, very large. It was sort of like cotton. And we were lined up again in groups of five. The fifth in our group, which was my friend Ellie and I, and her mother and her aunt, and the fifth woman was a little woman named Alice, from Vienna. She got some wooden clogs. Nobody one else had them, she had wooden shoes, you know these Dutch shoes? And they started marching us, we didn't know that the camp was called Birkenau, start marching us to the barracks. And we passed an orchestra, with the conductor in an impeccable uniform with white gloves, conducting Beethoven, I think it was Beethoven. These people with shaven heads and striped uniforms, playing music. And on the other side we saw three chimneys with black smoke. Somebody whispered in back of us, "The crematorium." We didn't know what it was, why, what for, nothing. But we learned. We were crammed into the barracks and the center of the barracks had a walkway, and on either side were sort of chessboard squares. Five people were allocated to a square. You could barely seat five people in a square. But we wondered what we were going to do at night, because you can't sit forever. So Ellie sat down against the back wall, she spread her legs, and the next person would sit against her until all five of us were in that position. And then we would lie down so everybody would lie on somebody's stomach. But you couldn't turn, you couldn't move. Soup came in sometime in the evening, but no plates, no spoons, nothing. Some people scooped it into their hands and it was running through their fingers. Somebody said to Alice, take off your shoes. Alice took off the wooden clogs, and Ellie took one and Alice took one and they stood in line. They filled them up with soup and they ate the soup like animals, out of the shoes. Then they gave them to us and we did the same. And then Alice put the shoes back on. That was the end. The Kapo in this barracks
was a young woman, Jewish, I don't know whether she was from Hungary or
from Poland. She yelled a great deal and she ran around with a reed or
stick, and anything in her way she would beat. And she took her orders
from the Germans.
I: But she was Jewish. E: She was Jewish, yes, but she had a supervisory position. And at night she had a little cubicle at the end of the barracks. And there was a rumor that one of the SS came at night and spent the night with her, every night. But it was a rumor, because the barracks were dark at night, we did not know. In 1946 the rumor turned out to be true, she was in New York with that man. I met her at Altman's. In the morning they would
round us up and we would stand for a spell and they would count us and
recount us for hours and hours. It was freezing cold, at five in the
morning or whatever, and by noon it was boiling hot, my whole scalp was
full of blisters from the sun, the ears. And this went on for a few weeks,
maybe two or three weeks I'm not sure of the exact amount of days, and
then we were told, she told us, that tomorrow morning Dr. Mengele will
inspect. Procedure is, you take off your dress, you carry it over your
left arm, and you walk past that committee of three, Mengele and two
others, as fast as you can. And he'll indicate right or left. So Ellie and
I decided that I go first, she follows me. We go very fast, we don't look
right we don't look left, just almost run. I almost fell but I made it.
And he motioned me to one side and Ellie to the same side.
I: Did you know what this
meant? E: No. They said
selection. We later on found out it was either the hospital or to the gas
chamber, or to a work camp. We were then marched to a new barracks, we
were given shoes regardless of size, just shoes. And we were given a coat
that had a big yellow stripe across the front; but underneath the stripe,
the fabric had been cut away. So if you wanted to run away and take off
the yellow stripe, there would be no fabric. Then we were loaded into
cattle cars and we were in those cattle cars I think for three or four
days, again stop and go, stop and go. It was very hot, it was Indian
summer. The top of the cattle cars had a small, small opening, you know
with barbed wire. It was so hot we took all our clothing off, we couldn't
stand it. I climbed on Ellie's back and I looked out and I said Ellie,
this looks like the vicinity of Hamburg. She got very angry and she said,
sit down, you're out of your mind. I sat down and we traveled another day
or two. We arrived in the evening at a siding and the doors were opened
from the outside. The SS who were waiting for us, or the Commandant of
this group of SS, said, You are at Konzentrationslage Neuengamme,
Arbeitslager Zassel, Stadtet deseraufe, Hamburg. So Ellie looked at me,
and she said, well your were right. Do you know anybody here? Not a soul.
I: How long were you in
Auschwitz? E: A couple of weeks. So she said, what good does it do you, what good does it do you if you are here? What are you going to do with it? Nothing. It's the same thing as if you were in Poland. And she was right. We worked for the first three weeks cleaning up shipyards that had been bombed at night by the Americans. And it was hard work. We got a lot of cuts and infections. I had a cut on the left hand and one of the German's corpsman, medical corpsman, lanced it and said if you scream, heaven help you. So I didn't scream, I fainted. And then they transferred us to another camp, about twenty miles away. There we worked on construction, temporary housing type things. The treatment was harsh, the beatings were frequent, two people died of beatings. Food was in very short supply. On the second day there, one of the SS came into the barracks and said, "Rumor has it that one person here is from Hamburg. Who?" So since everybody knew I was the only one, I had no way of hiding. He said, you work in the office, you speak the language, you write the language. What's your name? Where did you live? Where did you go to school? I worked in the office
which was not cold in winter, which was an advantage. But if the SS were
in a foul mood or the commandment whose private quarters were adjacent to
the office, when he came through we had to stand up. But whenever he was
in a foul mood he would beat us. We were running around with bloody
bruised legs, with swollen eyes and bruised faces. There was one other
young woman who worked in the office.
I: Were you with any of
your friends? E: Yes, with Dr. S.'s
daughter. She was my closest friend.
I: She went straight
through with you. E: Yes. People envied us, our friends envied us, you sit in the office. You're not out in the cold. We didn't have more food, we had the same amount of food unless we stole something. That was very risky and very difficult. We did it twice. But, and if we could spare something we gave something away. Ellie got very pale, she coughed a great deal, and she envied me a great deal. She was very angry that I was in the office and she was not. But there was nothing I could do. I couldn't say, tell the Germans, take her to the office, in fact I didn't even dare speak to them. When I showed her the bruises she said forget it, that's nothing. So it's relative, if you hurt, you hurt differently than the other person. There was one very low ranking SS guard who patrolled the perimeter or rather the entrance of the camp. It had barbed wires and towers, but it only had 500 inmates. One day he called and he said, pick up the rubber shear. I picked it up and he started to talking and he said, I hear you're from Hamburg. And I said yes. And he said, what was your name? Who was your father? He said, I don't like this duty anymore than you do. I was a Communist before the war. He lived in a very poor section of town, he lived in Altona, and we talked for a little while. Both of us were afraid. I said I have a proposition. You find me a place to hide, you look the other way and get me some food. And I will sign over one of my father's houses, I am the sole heir, to you. Well he came back the next week and he dropped a box of paper clips and made me pick them up so he could talk. And he said, I checked you out. The houses are there, your father was the owner, and I am very tempted. I am a very poor man, I'll never be a rich man. He was a lowly civil servant. And this is very tempting. I said, alright, let me know. Well, the weeks passed. We saw him but he didn't stop, he didn't talk. And one day he disappeared, he never came back. And then the kommandant came into the office and he yelled, remove Wachmeister Smith from the roster. He has a bleeding ulcer, he has been replaced. So the man actually had a bleeding ulcer, and he had himself replaced, either legitimately or otherwise. But I never heard from him again until 1947. And he dug me up through the very efficient German system and wrote me a letter. Remember what you promised me? And in 1947 I had a very short temper and I tore up the letter. I wish I hadn't. And threw it away. We stayed in this camp until the end of March 1945. Then they suddenly put us in trucks. We got off the trucks and they made us walk. We really didn't walk very well at that time. I leaned on Ellie, Ellie leaned on Sabina. And we came through a gate _ it looked similar to Auschwitz, watchtowers _ and I looked on the right and the left. There were huge mountains of shoes, just shoes, any color, any size, maybe ten feet tall, mountains of shoes, no feet, no legs, shoes. They counted us into a barracks, somebody got the information that this was Bergen-Belsen. And that night the woman screamed continually, no bunks, and she gave birth to maybe a half pound, a pound, large infant. The infant died immediately. She didn't even know she was pregnant. In Bergen Belsen there was no water, there was hardly any food. There were open, open, not even ditches, open huge pits with bodies, naked bodies. Most of them were decaying in green.. There was a tremendous amount of typhoid. There was no work to be done, I mean no work details, nothing. We were there approximately I would guess two weeks, give or take. And then one morning we saw the SS on the other side of the wire and they had white armbands n their left sleeve. It didn't mean much to us. Everything was the same, maybe less food, but they didn't come into the camp _ they as a rule they didn't_ and by lunch time we heard enormous noises. And then we saw tanks rolling in the main avenue. That was it. I started working for the
English that afternoon. (crying pause)
I: Did you have any idea
what was going on? E: No. None. Nothing in and nothing out. The British didn't know. They had no idea what they were finding and they were looking for interpreters because they had trouble with this multitude of languages. I could manage a couple of them, not all of them, but at least for the Hungarian Jews I could speak Yiddish. With the Polish Jews, either Polish or Yiddish. With the Russians, I sort of spoke some Polish or Russian, but they were not Jewish, the Russian prisoners. And they had no idea what they had found. They found people, that night they dispersed food stuffs from the German warehouses and there were two pound cans of pork and fat. And being hungry you open them and you eat; by the morning you are dead. That's how we lost Ellie's mother. Ellie got very sick and she couldn't even eat, by then she had tuberculosis, she lost a lung in the meantime. And for some reason I had the common sense to ask the major for whom I worked for some biscuits and I didn't eat the pork. I just ate dry biscuits, the first day the second day, we went from barrack to barrack. And he wanted to talk to the people and to know where they're from. And half of them couldn't even talk to them, you know, it was too late. There was a man who had a knife in his hand, he must have weighed almost seventy pounds. And he was slicing away at a corpse and eating the raw flesh. It was unreal. Because you walked around, you could see it, I think the first order was to bring water and food and bury the dead. And to have some hospitals opened. While they made many mistakes, they also did a lot of good. I mean they tried. I worked for them as an interpreter until they had to rush me out of Germany in December 1945. Sometimes a translator, once I was asked to translate when they had caught a German who never was in the Army, who never was an SS, after much interrogation it turned out he was SS. He was stationed in Oranienburg, and towards the end of the interrogation the major took his gun out of his holster, released the safety and put it in front of me. I picked it up but I couldn't shoot. I couldn't. And then I asked him if he was interested in the 42 SS from the camp near Hamburg. I had memorized their names and addresses from just doing the paperwork. And he said, yes, let's pick them up. We picked them up except
for two. They were found in Southern Germany. They stood trial, I think
October 1945. They were convicted, various sentences, some pleaded with me
for intervention and mercy. They were so good, why couldn't I understand
that? And two of them were sentenced to death, the two commanders, and
then some of the families made threats. We are going to get her. I was a
witness at the trial. I don't remember anything. I remember going in, I
remember being asked whether I would speak English or German, I said
English please, and I don't remember anything. Nothing. Blank.
I: This was the 42 SS at
what camp? E: Erzassel. And then threats started coming a few weeks later. The English War Crimes division wrote a letter to the American Embassy in Paris and said help her to get out. They drove me and three other young women first to Holland, the Dutch didn't want to let civilians in out of Germany. So we turned the car around, drove through a riverbed, the Dutch shooting after us, and entered Holland illegally. Then we went to Belgium, same day, and we got to Brussels. And the captain who was in charge, was the captain and the driver of the car, knew some people in Belgium, in Brussels, and we spent the night there. Although the lady did not want to have prisoners in her house so we had to stay in the hallway. The next morning the three girls remained in Brussels and we crossed the French border. The French border was, compared to Holland, Belgium, almost elegant. I had a so called visa from a young officer in Bergen-Belsen, whose name was rather famous, his father used to be a cabinet minister. And he was just a young officer, in the French Army, stationed in Bergen-Belsen. He made out a entry permit for me. And the French, when they saw his name which was Francois P., they said of course. Not this government, but the government before that, he was also a minister. But I've never seen him again. We drove as far as Lille. In Lille we parked the car, we were terribly hungry and the three of us went into a small restaurant. And we had a terrible chicken dinner and some wine and an awful dessert that was sticky. And someone in the corner was playing the accordion. Captain A. and I had one foxtrot. I always thought he was very nice but I knew he was engaged to be married so I wasn't going to waste my time. We went, came outside, and the car was stolen. It was a British Army car with the insignia, everything on it, number, serial number, gone. The little luggage I had was gone. So we walked to the railroad station, he bought a third class ticket for me. To Paris, and he said, when you get to Paris, get to the Jewish youth hostel. Don't get lost, you have enough French, otherwise use any other kind of language. And he put me into the compartment, I rolled down the window. We talked for awhile, we shook hands, and I asked him, why did you do this? What made you take these chances? He said, he was a Jew, he lived in Berlin, he left in '36. He got out in time. And we see each other every year. I arrived at Paris at 4
in the morning. Eventually I found the youth hostel, I knew some people
there who had been at Bergen Belsen. Then I started the Catch 22 with the
American Embassy. We'll give you a visa if you bring us passage. But there
was no passage, there were only empty troop ships, or regimental ships
going back. It cost $600 to get a ticket, my uncle in Palestine sent the
$600. He also sent a certificate and I had entry into Palestine. I got the
visa in February '46. My family in Israel made the mistake to send a
cousin who was in the English army and he put the pressure on to go to
Palestine. And they also decided who I was going to marry.
I: You had two uncles in
Palestine? E: My mother had a
brother in Israel, there was lots of family at that time. They all had
gotten together and made the decisions for me. That didn't work anymore. I
was 21 years old and the decisions were going to be mine. I was not going
to be told by aunts and uncles, now you do this, now you do that. So I
decided to go to America and my cousin sat on the train with me, all the
way to Bordeaux arguing, it didn't help. I went on a Merchant Marine ship
to New York, took twenty two days, and I left him behind. Even back home,
the family was very angry. At first they didn't write but then they
changed their mind. They thought I had made a great mistake. But I don't
think I made a mistake. I mean I wouldn't have minded living in Israel, on
the contrary. But what I did mind is being told what to do. That I
couldn't take.
I: Did you know who you
were supposed to marry, at all? E: Yes, I, very good
looking, very stupid.
I: When was your first
contact with them, how did they find out that you had survived? E: Three days after
liberation I asked the major whether he would post a letter over his name.
I would write the letter, he would mail it, over his army number, into
Palestine. And he did and I had an answer a week later. Because I knew the
address, it was important.
I: I'd like to go back a
little if I could. When you were working in the office, did you take it
upon yourself to memorize... E: No, but if you, not
consciously, but if you have a roster of forty names. I also had a roster
of five hundred Jewish prisoners. But if you have a roster of forty two
names, with addresses, and you keep writing it and rewriting it over a
period of six months, it sticks. It was just there, just like you memorize
a phone number you use over and over.
I: Who was the, the
commander, head of the office, who would be in a foul mood... E: Well there were three
of them, we started out with one and then he was transferred...
I: And what was his name? E: At this point I'm
really not sure of the names. I mean they're available in the German
records. But fifty years, I don't retain them, I didn't want to retain
them. When he was replaced with the second one, who was a very high
ranking Army officer before the war and then turned into SS. So he had an
education and he had some, what should I say, some basic background. But
he was trained to behave a certain way and he behaved accordingly. And the
third one used to be a gardener in Southern Germany, stuck into an SS
uniform. He could barely read or write. And he was vicious. He had little
brown squinty eyes and he was the nastiest of them all. He was vicious.
His son wrote me, that his father had been convicted and so on and so
forth, would I please write a letter and intervene. I threw it away. I
should have saved these but in those days, you didn't think that way.
I: Did you know anything
about the medical experiments that were going on there? E: I heard about it in
Auschwitz, there were rumors. There were rumors about twins and some of
the other things, but I didn't see and I didn't hear, these were just
whispered rumors.
I: Neither at Auschwitz
or Neuengamme, you didn't hear anything about these? E: No, no, there were
just rumors that this was done.
I: You said you saw, the
people were beaten frequently. Were you beaten yourself? Was this in the
office? In front of people? E: Yes, yes. Well, if you
committed a grave offense, like there was Mrs. Kron and she used to be the
wife of one of ghetto police chiefs. So she was not used to any kind of
deprivation or any kind of hardship. When she came to the work camp, she
couldn't work fast enough and she couldn't work fast enough. And she had a
fifteen year old daughter. And she was very conspicuous, and the one thing
were not to be was conspicuous. She had large feet and her blonde hair of
course was gone. She had a very grotesque face that rested on sort of a
funny neck and a strange figure _ very uncoordinated. One time she walked
out of line, she didn't keep up the proper speed, and the commandant flew
into rage, and she had to kneel in the middle and we had to stand around
her. And he beat her mercilessly. There was just nothing left but flesh
and bone. Just horrible.
I: In front of her
daughter? E: Yes.
I: And the daughter could
not break ranks, the daughter could not respond, if she responded she
would receive the same kind of punishment? E: The same thing. We
couldn't even pick her up. We had to wait, it was a little later, But I
don't think she survived.
I: And her daughter? E: Her daughter lives in
Albany, New York. I've never seen her again but I know people who have
talked to her.
I: I'd like to go back to
your entrance into camp. Were you aware of any selection going on as soon
as you got off the train and you were separated, the men on one side and
you... E: No, we just naively
assumed that there was a separation between male and female. And the
second selection between young and old, we assumed that the older ones
would probably be treated a little more considerately or better or
whatever.
I: So, in effect, there
were selections going on but you weren't aware that these.. E: The implications, no.
I: Was Mengele present
upon your arrival? E: If he was, I wouldn't
have known. Upon departure, in that selection we were told, and by then we
knew of him. Since we had to walk past him at a three feet distance you
couldn't miss it.
I: Could you describe
him? E: Not really. Because
all I saw was a uniform. And I made it a point not to look right and not
to look left, and he was on my right. And I didn't look. I had a glance
but not to draw you a composite picture, to take to the police station for
identification, no.
I: It was dangerous to
look at him. E: It was. It was
dangerous to look at any SS because they considered that provocation. So
you didn't look.
I: You kept your face to
the ground? E: Yes.
I: Were there, at that
point of time, were you aware of many transports coming in during your
stay in Auschwitz? E: Not really, we were
aware that the ghetto was being liquidated. The ghetto had 150,000 people,
give or take, it varied. A transport had probably, roughly, a thousand at
a time. So, we knew they would be coming in but we were not mixed
together. We got no word from outside, nothing.
I: But were the chimneys
always smoking? E: During the time I was
there, they worked overtime.
I: Could you describe the
chimneys and the smoke and the smell? E: Well first of all I
wasn't in front of them, I was at a distance. So all you could see is like
a factory type chimney, sticking up into the sky. And the smoke was black,
very smelly and very black. I was close enough away to walk there yet far
enough away not to actually see the building, it was obstructed by other
buildings.
I: How far apart were,
you entered Auschwitz, the camp of Auschwitz. E: Actually Birkenau,
which is part of Auschwitz.
I: How were they
separated, actually? E: I didn't know, I found
out in May. Auschwitz are all brick buildings, more or less prison like.
About 5 kilometers from there is a camp that is nothing but barracks,
surrounded by wire, the chimneys, and that's it. But, you know, miles of
it, as far as the eye can reach.
I: A city? E: Yes, so they are
totally two different entities in terms. I think they housed permanent
prisoners, political prisoners, they housed in the stone type buildings.
The Jews, which they either destroyed or sent to work camps or they housed
in those barracks, which probably had to be built because there were just,
millions of them.
I: Can you remember your
awareness, at what point in time did you become aware what the purpose of
this concentration camp was for? E: A couple of days. And
then you only had one choice; you could either hope, or you could stop
caring, or you could walk to the wire and electrocute. Those were the
three choices. And most of us just vegetated, we didn't want to think, we
didn't want to talk, nothing.
I: And for what would you
be hoping? E: A miracle. We didn't
hope for a God, because there was no God, obviously. But for a miracle,
some unreal miracle. I had hoped for a slice of bread or for meeting
(....), I had hoped for a miracle that maybe the English will fall out of
the sky or something. I don't know.
I: Were you aware at this
time in Auschwitz, of the progress of the Allies against the Germans at
all? Did you have any conception whatsoever? E: No. I didn't even when
I was back in Hamburg, back in the camp. I had no idea how close it was. I
didn't know that Holland and Belgium had been liberated. I didn't know
that Poland had been liberated. See people, I once was at a camp that
mainly housed men, I was taken along to do some translating. I was sitting
on the back of a truck, tied to the rails. And there was a young man
scrubbing the floor and he was in uniform. He looked horrible. I was
actually in Neuengamme and he talked to me in a language I couldn't
identify. He couldn't understand me. He smiled, he had no teeth. He kept
saying, "Krieg kaput." War finished. I'd heard that for five
years, I wasn't about to believe that one. The SS who saw him, you know
fairly close scrubbing the floor, hit him and pushed him away and scolded
him in vile language to bring clean water and to scrub better. He took the
bucket and he came back, I hoped he would come back, ten minutes later
with clean water. In his hand was a little ball of brown paper and he sort
of gave it a push next to my foot. And I watched and watched, I looked
right and left. He smiled and I smiled. When I thought I was safe I picked
up the little piece of paper, stuck it in my pocket. And later on I found
out it was dry bread that had been half eaten and crumbled.
I: And this was in
Neuengamme? E: Yes.
I: Did you ever find out
his name? E: There were thousands
of people, thousands.
I: Did you ever, you said
you kind of, did you give up or you weren't among those who would walk to
the wires? E: I had contemplated it.
But then, I said, well let's wait a little.
I: Did you and Ellie,
your friend, did you cheer each other up, did you talk to each other, did
you make it a point to stay together throughout the day? E: We made it a point to
stay together. In fact at one point when we had numbers and names, they
said to line up alphabetically. Her name started with an S. So I just
changed mine to an S and she was very upset with me. She said, what if
they ask? Well, I'll just say I married your brother someplace and joined
the line. I knew there were no records to really prove it. It was still a
chance I took. And that way we stayed together.
I: So during the day, you
tried to work together and stay together? E: We worked together as
much as we could.
I: So at Auschwitz? E: In Auschwitz we stayed
completely together. In Dessauer Ufer we stayed completely together.
I: You were with her
mother as well? E: Her mother and her
aunt. In Sasel, I was in the office and she was not. But we saw each other
every night.
I: Now her father was
Oscar S., who was quite an elderly fellow wasn't he? E: He wasn't that
elderly, no. You must be thinking of Oscar R..
I: I looked up that date
and it said 1883, I believe, that he was born? E: Eighty three? It could
be, no 83, it could have been '93. No '83, definitely not. He was about
the age of my father, give or take, he was in his fifties. No, he wasn't
that old.
I: So at any rate, his
wife must have been in rather good shape to have made it all the way to
Bergen-Belsen with you. E: Yes, she was, she was,
she became a very nervous woman, a very angry woman. Very difficult. And
she could have lived. She could have lived.
I: She could have lived,
how do you mean that? E: If she hadn't eaten
the three pounds of pork and lard, she would have made it another three,
four days, and would have gotten some other food. She could have made it.
But whatever somebody couldn't eat, she still took and ate. Not only her
own ration but everybody else's too. That, she just couldn't do it.
I: During this time
particularly, were you ever blaming, what were the things that you thought
about sometimes? E: I blamed my parents
for not going out of Germany when the going was still possible.
I: Did you think about it
a lot, or was it something that.. E: No, there was no point
to it. It was too late. We could have all lived had we left, we could have
all left at a given time. We didn't.
I: When your father
obtained visa, which he turned down because it was only a three day visa,
was that for him alone? E: No for all of us, for
all four of us.
I: And at that point in
time that could have been the change, the turning point for you? E: We could have gotten
to, in the early thirties, to Palestine.
I: So during the worse
period of this, of going from Auschwitz to the camps, the things you
thought about, did you ruminate about your past, did you wonder what might
have been? E: No, the past was very
far away, very distant. There was no point wasting energy on it. It would
not come back, it would never be back, it was.
I: Did you know that? Did
you make a conscious decision? E: I knew that. Yes. I
didn't know whether there would be a tomorrow or a future, but I knew the
past was gone. There was no retrieving it.
I: What do you think
sustained you? E: Age. Youth. I don't
know, a little bit of luck, some good friends. That's about it.
I: When you arrived in
America, what happened to you? E: I had a classmate who
went to high school with me and left for England in '39. And who stayed at
our house prior to leaving. And she helped me. Her family took me in for
two weeks. And she got me a job in a factory sewing gloves, which I hated.
And I found a furnished room.
I: Where was this? E: In New York.
I: In the city? E: No, in Sunnyside, in
Queens. I made thirty dollars a week and I paid $5 on taxes, $8 on rent,
the rest on clothing. Very little on food. The rest on clothing. I could
live on a candy bar but I needed clothing desperately.
I: Did you share with
your experiences, and what was the reaction? E: No, nobody knew. It
was nobody's business.
I: This was something you
did not want to talk about. E: No, nobody asked me,
nobody really cared, and I didn't care to volunteer.
I: I want to go back,
just for a second, to the day of liberation. It's been written that the
British soldiers had no idea. Did the other women around you, did they
believe it? When did you know it was for real? E: Nobody believed it.
First of all they didn't let us out of the camp. They came in through the
gate and they asked somebody to please speak English to them. There were
several of us who could. And then they asked questions and then they told
us that the Germans are gone, finished. And then it sort of sank in. But
it wasn't sort of a screaming, jubilant occasion. It wasn't. It was
subdued.
I: It sounds like you
were functioning and on your feet. E: Sort of. I had two
badly damaged kidneys. I was fighting, at the date of liberation, typhus.
I: Was that from
dehydration? E: No, I don't think so.
I had kidney trouble already in the ghetto. I don't know what it's from.
It's from the war, but not exactly what caused it. I was on my feet, but
that's about all you could say. My brain was working, my body was not
functioning. And I had a terrible, terrible trouble with what you, I don't
know what you call it in English, the skin infections that go into huge
boils that you have to lance. They are caused in wars and from
malnutrition. You get them all over, on your neck and on your head and
your legs. It's very painful and very, they leave horrible scars. These
are the things, compared to others, I was pretty much okay. You know, it's
relative.
I: Where did you learn
English? E: I learned English in
the third or fourth grade. I was really poor at it. The English teacher
who was "English" English called my parents to school and said,
that kid is hopeless, get her a tutor. Three times a week privately and
they did. After a year I was straight A in English, no trouble at all, I
just had trouble catching up.
I: Did your parents speak
English? E: None at all. They
spoke French, Polish, Russian. No English.
I: How did you keep up
your English? E: Well I went to school
until '41 and I used my English. I also had French and Latin, but not as
much as English. And once I had occasion in '45, I just decided to talk,
it was more English than American. I'm great at improvising. If I miss a
word, I'll talk around it, in any language, whether it's Polish or Hebrew
or whatever it is, I'll talk around it.
I: You worked with the
British Army at one point, did they make you a soldier? E: No, a civilian
employee.
I: You were a civilian
employee. At that point, how long was it before you were taken out of
Bergen-Belsen? E: I could have gone
earlier. I thought I would get papers directly to Bergen-Belsen, get out
of there, I didn't realize that you, there really was no way of getting
out of there. Because nothing went out of Germany. But I was waiting for
my family to do something, I had two cousins in the army, so I assumed
that somebody would take some action. They took me out in December,
November, December '45, mainly because they were afraid somebody would
kill me.
I: During that time,
where did you live between the time of liberation and this time? E: Not far from Bergen
Belsen was some permanent army housing. Brick type housing, it was sort of
like you would imagine a college dormitory. Individual rooms, then a huge
bathroom at the end, and no kitchens. And they relocated us into that
particular building. One of those buildings, there were hundreds of them.
I: Did they have hot
water? E: Yes, they did have hot
water. They had toilets, but down the hall. And they put about six or
eight people in one room.
I: After what you had
been through, what was that like? Was it a substantial improvement or.. E: No, it was clean. It
was very clean. There was food, not necessarily the food you wanted to
eat, but very starchy food. You had freedom. If you had a pass you could
get out of camp, which I did. I made friends with several English, men and
women, in the English Army.
I: How quickly did you
regain your strength and health? E: My health I didn't
regain for about fifteen years. Needed a lot of work, including my teeth.
Strength, superficially, was back within a few months. I was bloated, I
was about 150 pounds.
I: This was water. E: You know, the kidneys
didn't function, the food wasn't right. But I did what I wanted to do, I
worked. I did not want to go to doctors or to a hospital. And I guess on a
scale of one to ten, I probably came out six or seven or eight, or
something like that.
I: Now why didn't you
want to go to the doctors, or a hospital? E: Because there was this
old fear, still from the ghetto, if you were in the hospital you were
deported or something bad would happen. We could not imagine that a
British Army hospital would be just what it was, a hospital. We thought,
you know maybe they'll stack you up, one on top of the other, and you'll
just vegetate. So there was a great deal of mistrust there.
I: So while you're
speaking of distrust and actually it would become an emotional reaction to
your experience, am I correct in saying that when you came to America and
you didn't share this that you were still not trusting? E: No, I was very
trusting. This was a country without prejudice, without discrimination,
the country of the free, I trusted everybody.
I: And is that true, did
you find that? E: No. I went for on a
job interview in Manhattan and I found out a Jew couldn't get a job, not
in that particular office. So I was just devastated, I had not expected
that.
I: Did you think of going
to Palestine at that point? E: No, not at that point.
No, the family was too old fashioned, too European. Too strong, both in
numbers and opinions, and I really did not want to do battle.
I: You mentioned how they
had all arranged everything for you. And you said you weren't going to do
that. How much of that came from the fact you were twenty one? E: It had nothing to do
with twenty one, nothing at all. I could have been seventeen, it wouldn't
have made a difference.
I: After what you had
been through? E: I'd lived on my own
for five years. I'd been through hell and back. While they were well
meaning and kind people, I could not have somebody control me to that
extent. I been controlled for too long. I couldn't.
I: So you were living in
New York and you were working in a factory. And then what? E: And then I met my
husband at a party?
I: Now how did that come
about? E: Somebody invited me
for dinner and he was there. When he heard my name he said, you were in
the ghetto. Because somebody told him. I said yes. And he said, did you
meet the (E.'s)? And I said, yes, I knew them very well. One day we walked
from Riga Park to Woodside, takes about four hours, and I told him the
story. Just once, not a second time. We went out a great deal, we went to
concerts. Then he said, go to school, learn to type. And I went to school
and learned to type. And I took some college courses at Hunters College at
night. But I still couldn't type, I couldn't learn to type. I can still
type, a hundred words a minute with four fingers. Then I got a job at an
office, downtown Manhattan, they just wanted to sure I knew English. I
said, I'll outspell you anytime. I talked to the president of the company
that used to make those electric trains, Lionel, that used to whistle,
probably your father played with them. I worked there and they had a great
many Jews in the office, practically all Jews, the president was Jewish. I
became very friendly with the office manager and she said, learn the
dictaphone. So I learned the dictaphone. And I had a very good job until
1949, when a friend of my husband's came from California to New York and
said, come to San Francisco. I have a small factory. You work for me. So
we packed up the car, we sold the two room apartment, and we moved to
California.
I: When did you get back? E: Forty-nine, at the end
of 1949, and we moved to California. In California, I worked for
Westinghouse, and then I had the children and I worked only a little bit,
part time. Then I went back to school, California College of Arts and
Crafts. I did a lot of painting, a lot of artistry, I loved it. And when
the kids were old enough to be to three o'clock in school, I went to
Golden Gate College and got an insurance license and credentials and I got
a job. I worked at that job, no between two jobs, for twenty years. And I
retired in '85, '86.
I: And what was your
husband's profession? E: He was a businessman,
he was in marketing. He had gone to school and studied economics at the
University of Brussels. Then he made the mistake and he went back to
Germany. He was arrested and the family got him out with a forged visa to
Cuba. And he was on one of the three boats, one was turned back, the
Voyage of the Damned, well he was on the one that landed the week before.
He was a farmer in Cuba for two years and then he came to New York and he
was drafted right away. He was four years in the Army, overseas, in
intelligence, because he speaks six languages so he was in intelligence.
I: You said that you
didn't tell your children until they were much older. E: When they took off for
college, I told them where I was and when I was there. But no details.
I: Have they ever heard? E: They've read them. The
ones I've got on paper, they've read them. And they really don't, what
should I say, they can't cope really with the past. The younger one was on
a bike trip in Germany when he was in graduate school, and he was in
Munich. And the leader took him to Dachau. I said, did you find your
grandfather's name? He said, yes, but he wouldn't talk. The older one has
been to Germany three times. Once to Berlin, once to Kiel, and once I
think to Constance on conferences, he's an economist. And he said, I can't
relate to those people. They have to speak English because the language in
economics is English, the only language that is spoken. He says I can't
cope with them, they obviously know I'm a Jew by that name, but nobody
would dare and say something. And he goes in and out, a day, two days,
out.
I: You've mentioned that
you've traveled. But you've been back to... E: Yes, not to Germany. I
was in Germany back right after the war because I lived there.
I: But since, to
America... E: I've been to
Switzerland, France, Belgium, Holland, you name it. Scandinavia.
I: You've been to Holland
too? E: This May, took me
fifty years to go back and it wasn't easy.
I: Was it harder than you
expected or easier than you expected? E: It was neither harder
nor easier. It was painful. The cemetery was painful. The ghetto was
painful. The Jewish community, or what exists of it, of the temples, of
the synagogues, was pitiful. It was so....it was not even a remnant. The
poverty among the Jews is painful. Anti-semitism is well and alive.
I: Was there a great deal
of anti-semitism as a child do you remember? E: Yes, yes, this was one
of the reasons my father said that Germany or France are much more
civilized. And they don't have the pogroms that we have. I want my kids to
grow up there. They happened to be wrong but it was a good idea.
I: Do you remember, did
your father ever talk about the pogroms? E: My mother did, once,
when I was quite young told me. She was the youngest of eight children.
She was very beautiful, smart, black hair, brown eyes, white skin, and
there was a warning in town. The Cossacks are coming or there's going to
be a pogrom. So grandmother hid that youngest child, the youngest
daughter, I guess the other one was hidden someplace else, I don't know.
They hid the little one, must have been seven, in the kitchen stove, in
the old fashioned kitchen stove. She told me that story. Now I couldn't
imagine what a pogrom was. I also didn't know what Cossacks were. I also
didn't know what it means to kill Jews. I listened to this and then I said
to my mother, it must have been summer. And she said why? You couldn't
have hid in the stove otherwise. So I had no concept, none. That came much
later. I didn't know about killing or persecuting.
I: What was your reaction
to all the changes that occurred in Germany, like the Nuremberg Laws? E: In a way it was
frightening, because you were exposed to it on a day to day basis. The
kids were harassed very much in streetcars, on street corners, yet it
probably wasn't as frightening to me until 1939 as to some others. Because
I still hid behind this foreign national. It gave you a false security, it
gave you some larger food rations. But we were very aware of what was
going on. We did not wear a star until Poland lost the war. The other Jews
did, we did not have to. So it was a, you were just fooling yourself, you
were kidding yourself.
I: Were you subject to
all the laws that the German Jews were subject to? E: No, no, we did not
have to hand in any silver. We did not have to hand in the gold, no, the
Nuremberg Laws did not apply to us until 1939.
I: And, I believe it was
in 1939, all of the Jews in Germany had to change their names to Sara and
Israel. E: No, no, that did not
apply to us either, because we did not have German papers. So, but the
moment Poland lost the war in September 1939, you know, it was no
difference, it was the same story. A Jew was a Jew.
I: Now you started off in
a Jewish school. Many German Jewish children were in public schools and
then were forced out. E: We had an influx,
gradually, of Jewish children. The later it got, you know it started in
'34, '33, the later it got the small towns, the small I wouldn't even say
villages, small towns, very small towns, they had to take the children out
immediately, you know if they had four or five Jewish kids. The bigger
towns, medium sized towns, took a little longer. But eventually all kids
had to get out of non-Jewish schools. They were either with their parents
or without their parents, shipped into the larger cities to attend Jewish
schools.
I: Were there, were new
Jewish schools created? E: No, nothing. They were
closed, not created.
I: You mentioned your
graduation. What was that like, can you remember? E: No, it wasn't like
anything. You finish today and tomorrow you didn't go back. That was it.
I: There was no ceremony. E: There were very few of
us in '41 and shortly thereafter there was a law passed that the schools
had to be closed permanently. So between that time and between the time
they had deported all the Jews, the kids had no education whatsoever. No
school.
I: As a high school
student, children in this school, did you all talk about what was going
on? E: No, we only talked
about going someplace. Going to Palestine, going to Bolivia, even going to
Madagascar. It was just a matter of going someplace, wherever a door would
be open. That was all that mattered and the children were excited by it,
it's exciting to go on a trip, to go someplace.
I: I'm going to jump
ahead for a second. There's something you mentioned, as an aside, the
woman who was the Kapo at Auschwitz. You said you ran into her at
Altman's. E: Yes, I was at
Altman's, let's see it must have been 1947, in New York. And it was cold,
it was fall. I needed a pair of gloves that did, from California you don't
take gloves. And I went into Altman's on Fifth Avenue, I was alone I
didn't go with friends. I went to the glove counter to get tied on gloves.
And I couldn't decide whether to get red ones or black ones. There was a
lady next to me, much taller than I, very black hair, even, naturally died
and sort of cut almost like a man's cut. Very short. Very striking. Well
dressed. She was trying on gloves and she smiled. And I don't know why or
what but I turned and I looked at her. And she looked at me. And I said,
Maya. That wasn't a question, it was a statement. And she said, yes, how
do you know? I said, Auschwitz. And she turned white. She said, oh I can
explain, I had to, it was really bad, and I didn't kill anybody. She just
beat us, she didn't kill us. And it just sort of burst out of her, that
she really wasn't bad.
I: In English, or in
Polish? E: No, in English, we
spoke in English. And I said, what about the SS that came at night to
visit you? She didn't deny it. When I looked at her hands and she wore a
wedding band. I said, you're married? She said, Yes. I said, whom did you
marry? I'm not normally that fresh or that nosy. And she didn't answer.
She didn't answer. I said, not the SS? And she said, yes. He followed me
from camp to camp, in occupied Germany, I couldn't get rid of him, he even
followed me to New York. And then I decided, that there was no point
running away from him, he's really quite a decent sort. And we both have
our past. I looked at her and I said, do you have children? She said, no.
I said, I pity them. I hope you never have them. And I turned and I
walked.
I: And did it stick with
you for the rest of the day, what did you think? E: Oh, the rest of the
day. My girlfriend, I went back to my boyfriend's house in Manhattan, and
she said, what's the matter with you? I said, I just saw a nightmare
walking through in Altman's. She said, put it out of your mind. It won't
help. You can call up the FBI and report them if you want them. And I said
no.
I: You also ran into that
Head of the Department of Labor on the street and you didn't want to do
anything. Why was that? E: A Jew is a Jew. To
point a finger at another Jews is very hard for me. Some of us are guilty,
some of us are very guilty. Some of us are clean, some of us are not so
clean. I got off that train, maybe somebody would have went in my place? I
don't know. I couldn't point a finger at another Jew. I might detest them,
I might not like them, but unless he really killed another human being, I
would not point a finger. I can't.
I: Did this woman, and
this man, did they have reason to fear you? Were there things that you
could have used truly to deport them? E: He, definitely. She,
to some extent.
I: Then why did the Jobs
Commissioner run, from shame? E: Well he drew up some
lists for deportations, they came out of his office. He was very arrogant.
He was very unpleasant. Very unsympathetic. And you don't open a door for
a sixteen year old and yell like a German. You just don't do that. He was
born in Hannover, he went to school in Hannover until he was about 18, and
then he was pushed over the border in '38 to Poland. And he just thought
the world was his. And it turned out this way. His wife lived next door to
us in the ghetto, she was married to a policeman. She divorced him. She
married him. He came to New York, he changed his name.
I: Do you know what his
name was? E: In the ghetto? That's
a matter of record. Bernard F.. His sister was Dora F.. That's in the
books. That's in the record. He came to New York, he has a very good job
as an importer, an exporter, I'm not sure. He lives out in a very affluent
neighborhood. He has two children. He stays away from the Jewish
community. He does not give interviews and if he does, his wife runs
interference. She is a lot smarter than he is.
I: Is wife a survivor? E: Yes.
I: Do you think she knows
the truth about him? E: Oh yes, she knew, she
married him in the ghetto. It was practical to marry him. I mean, he had
all the worldly needs that you needed at that time. Food and housing and
clothing. She was very well off.
I: So you (loitered him
news, gave him the news). E: Oh yes, Lucjan D. set
up an interview with him and he came. The moment he asked the question and
F. started to answer, his wife ran interference to the point that you
couldn't even talk. So Lucjan gave up and he's pretty determined.
I: So what happened to
Dora? E: Dora died. She married
one of the (J.) brothers, the younger one, who also was ghetto
administration, and she died after the war. Probably New York, I'm not
entirely sure. But she was nasty, she was very sure of herself, very good
looking, she could not stand another woman in her presence. Once when I
applied for a job in the offices because I spoke German, she couldn't get
me out there fast enough. She was not pleasant. But she was smart, she had
a brain.
I: What was her job in
the ghetto? E: She was a right hand
to (O.), both in language and in execution. Because she could run
interference with the Germans, she could translate for him, and..
I: Do you think her looks
had anything to do with it? E: She was not a raving
beauty. She was good looking, but nothing exceptional. No, I don't think
so. I just think she was very very bright, very smart, and she had the
ability to juggle the two languages that were needed at that point. And
she was at the ghetto at the start. When it was first founded, whatever
you want to call it.
I: For the record, not
that I've run across any, but were there any Gentiles that helped any of
the Jews in the ghetto? E: There were no Gentiles
in the ghetto.
I: Who helped in any kind
of way? Was there any mention of help? E: You couldn't get near
the barbed wire. If you came too close to the barbed wire they shot.
I: What about your family
when it was in Germany, between the time when your father was deported and
you were deported, was there any help from outside Gentile business
friends at all? E: No, none. There were two, three instances that you might construe as help. My father had a lawyer, who took care of the real estate and things of that sort. When they blocked our account and gave us $100 a month to live on, whatever it was, he would sort of put in a bill for a plumber or something, to smuggle some money out for us. It was our money, but we couldn't get it. That was the sum total of help we got from him. The man who packed our belongings and shipped them in huge, huge crates, sort of containers, to Israel, to Palestine, I wrote him a postcard from the ghetto. We left him also some money to set a stone on my father's grave or the ashes or whatever it is. And he sent twenty marks to the ghetto. After the war, when I was in New York, he reminded me of it. And I sent more than twenty dollars worth of food to him. And when we worked in the
shipyards, cleaning up, and I had this enormous infection on the left
hand. The man who ran the canteen used to have a shop not far from the
area where my father had the wine cellars. He said he remembered, I don't
know, it was a working class neighborhood, it was not a residential
neighborhood _ on the first of May you saw red flags only, not a national
flag, until Hitler of course_ he said he remembered my father. My father
once gave him a bottle of wine, I'm not sure. He took me into the kitchen
for three days and he made me eat everything that I could just possibly
swallow. Which was difficult because you couldn't eat. He didn't let me
take anything out, because it was dangerous. And he gave me an old, torn
leather jacket. I never saw him again, I don't have his name. I think
these are the only instances that I could tell you that even remotely
resembled help.
I: Well, in the same vein
through the rest of your intern in the ghetto and in the concentration
camps, see any acts of compassion whatsoever by SS? E: There was, in return
for favors. The camp at Sasel had a Jewish camp leader, she was the head
of the Jewish group. She had one of the corporals of the SS from another
camp come every week to visit and bring food. But she paid for it in
return.
I: How did she pay? E: They locked themselves
up in some storage room. Sex. They were occasionally some people, when we
marched, that would drop an apple or something.
I: Was it dangerous for
them to do so? E: Probably. Probably.
But the Germans are not known for courage, danger or no danger, that is
not their strong point. There was, I would say, I can't say there was no
compassion at all, but there was so little it was pitiful.
I: At the end of the war,
I think, were you embittered? E: I was angry, I was
terribly angry.
I: How did you deal with
your anger? E: I worked for the
English, and let them tell me when to be angry and not to be angry. That
was easier. I was angry, I was terribly impatient. I walked into the
police headquarters in Hamburg and asked them for a duplicate of a birth
certificate. That's city hall; they said come back tomorrow. I said,
you're out of your mind. Not only do I want it today, I want it now. I
give you five minutes. Luckily I didn't go alone, I went with an officer.
I said, slam the gun on the table. And he did and I had my birth
certificate.
I: You had a chance to
work out some of your anger? E: Some of my anger I
worked. I still don't like the Germans. I see them in an elevator in
France, or I see them in Italy in a restaurant, in their noisy, ugly way,
and I still don't like them. Especially my generation.
I: Have you been invited
back by Hamburg? Will you go? E: I did go for two days. Because my son was in Paris and he said, I want to see. So he came in, he lasted one day, I didn't last that long, and we flew out into Paris. I couldn't. I couldn't. I couldn't stomach the people, the places I could cope with. I could not cope with today's bureaucracy. I could also not cope with Hamburg's Jews. I went to the synagogue and I could not cope with them. They are, they're different. there a lot of Iranian Jews there, some German Jews. On a national basis, they're assimilated. Not on a religious basis. They have made their peace. I don't know whether they have ever heard about not forgetting. I'm not talking about forgiving, this is unforgivable, but about not forgetting. The girl who worked in the office with me in the camps lived for thirty years in Hamburg. She married a Jewish boy from Poland, she lived in Hamburg, and had a child there. There is something wrong
with the people. When they picked us up at the airport, they picked us up
with the Secret Service. Now I wanted to know whether I needed to be
protected from the Germans or the Germans from me. That never was quite
clear. But I do not like a guard, I don't like a guard anyplace, I take my
chances. The hotel was sort of a Holiday Inn type hotel. I figure if you
invite somebody, you either put them up at the Fairmont or not at all. The
mayor of the city is the brother of the conductor of the (V.). He was the
conductor, a well known conductor. He's well educated, his father was a
German officer. He was killed in the overthrow attempt at Hitler. But he
did not put in an appearance. Jews were not important enough. His
substitute made a statement to the effect that the past is past, and what
happened happened, and we can only sincerely trust that it won't repeat
itself. I found that unacceptable and I said so right then and there. I
made more enemies than I made friends, in one day.
I: You stood up? After he
spoke? E: Yes, I stood up
afterwards. I refused to be filmed. Whenever the newsreel came near, I
turned my back, I did not want to be on television. I sat between two
gentlemen at the luncheon. Not that I could eat, I couldn't. One of them
was a friend of Adenauer, he was instrumental in the peace treaty, or the
financial arrangements between Germany and Israel. He knew Ben Gurion, he
knew everybody, anybody worth while knowing. He must have been in his
seventies. He also went to school with a friend of mine in Berkeley. And
he threw names around rather liberally. He died a couple of years ago. My
question to him was, what did you do from 1933 to 1945. And he didn't want
to answer and I didn't let go. He said, I sold sewing machines. And I
said, and that from a Social Democrat or a Communist in your youth? Do you
find that acceptable, I find that totally unacceptable. So that killed the
conversation on the right side. On the left side was a young man, and he
was in city government, a councilmen or something like that. His claim to
fame was that his father was a high ranking officer and he now married his
Jewish girlfriend. He was probably fortyish, probably ten years younger
than I was at the time, maybe a little older. He lived in the suburb where
one of the camps was. He was aware of it. He sent me a brochure that the
teachers of the local high school had put together, from the interviewing
they had done of the local population. It was full of errors, full of
flaws, even the diagram of the camp was flawed. I made corrections and I
sent them back and I said, if somebody does research, why don't they talk
to some Jews instead of some Germans? I never heard from them again.
I: You said about
forgiveness. What is your stand on forgiving? E: Forgiving whom?
I: Well, the Germans,
your parents. E: My parents I've never
accused of anything.
I: You never felt
resentment to them. E: No, no, they did the
best they knew how to do. There is no feeling of any kind of resentment.
The Germans, I try to keep an open mind towards the young ones although
it's difficult to do. I've met four of them recently in Berkeley. And the
lack of knowledge and the lack of reading they have done on this subject
is appalling. The older ones, there is no forgiving, no forgetting, not
for me. But I don't hate, you can't live a life and keep on hating. But no
forgiving, no forgetting.
I: You said you were
angry. Did you carry, how long do you think you really carried a lot of
anger with you? E: I think it ceased the
moment I hit New York. I got away from "them", in quotation
marks. And there was no time. I was just too busy, to adjust, to work, to
learn, to you know there was no time. To be either angry or anything else.
I: And you still keep in
touch with Colonel A. in England? E: Of course, of course.
I: Is your husband
jealous? E: No. They come here.
He's married. They come here, we go there. His daughter stays with us when
she comes.
I: And Ellie? E: Ellie lives in a
kibbutz in Israel. Ellie has no recollection of the past. If you ask her,
do you remember our friend, such and such, or do you remember the street
going this way? Her answer is no, nothing. But I think it's a defense
mechanism, I think she doesn't want to. Because once in a while something
slips inadvertently. Ellie's brother in England who defected from Prague
after the war, he remembers. But he was very shallow, very fun loving, was
a cute kid. He's still the same Erwin. We see each other we say hello for
old time's sakes but there's no, no substance. We have nothing in common.
I: And you kept in touch
with S. until he died? E: Well, we saw him ten
times. We went to Israel for the first time in '63, with the children. He
wrote to me in Yiddish, I wrote back in English. He wrote about once a
month. We phone about twice, three times a year. The last time in January,
I think it was, for his birthday. We also have different memories. Some of
the things he remembers I don't and vice versa. He swears that he took me
to the shoes factory in the ghetto. And he got me a pair of shoes. I swear
equally much that I never got a pair of shoes. He also swears that he got
to Auschwitz in October or November of '44 and he saw me in a rag, pushing
a wagon. I never pushed a wagon in Auschwitz and I wasn't there in
November of '44. So the mind after fifty years is strange. We decided when
I was there April a year ago, that we'll let it rest. I believe what I
believe, he believes what he believes.
I: Did he end up with his
wife? E: No. She was killed in
Mauthausen. He remarried a school teacher after the war, very nice woman,
but she has Alzheimer's, she is very sick. We were there with them April a
year ago, we took a walk in the garden. And he said something and he used
to speak in a very low voice. I said, say it louder or walk on my right
side, not on my left side. And he said, you still don't hear? I said, no,
I still don't hear. Couldn't they fix it? I said, No, they couldn't fix
it. But he said, what actually happened? You were at the Gestapo and the
beat you. Why did they beat you? I said I was denounced. And he said,
denounced? For what? I said, a radio, I never had a radio, who would do
such a thing. And I looked at him a long time and I said, either I tell
him now or I never tell him, I'll go with it to my grave. And I said, Ana,
which was his first wife. He said, she did? I said, yes. And he looked at
me for a long time and he said, she could do things like that. But I ask
you for a favor. Forgive her. I didn't answer. Because she's dead. Whether
I forgive her or not is immaterial to her and to me, maybe I should . I
don't know.
I: I understand that you
are writing a book. What do you hope to achieve by writing your memoirs? E: Just to tell. The
stories are all pretty much alike yet they're all different. Just to tell
them one more story, I think. I don't write it for my kids, certainly not
for my husband.
I: Will your children
read it? E: Yes, one of them in
fact corrected one chapter. At least he attempted, it's not his field, but
he attempted and we disagreed but it was an interesting experiment. I've
given some chapters to some people whose opinion I would value. Such as
Elie Wiesel, (Lucien D., Cynthia O.) and the reaction has been very good.
So I hope. I also have a friend who is a professor of creative writing and
literature. And she does some editing which helps a great deal. Not the
content, just the mechanical parts. So maybe, I don't know, we'll see.
I: Well, I think that
should do it. I think if your book is anything like your interview, it
will be a wonderful book and a great addition to literature. Thank you. Photos: This is my mother and I in 1925 in Hamburg Germany. 2. This is my sister, Karin, in 1936, her first school day in Hamburg, Germany. 6 years old. On the first school day European custom is when you're picked up from school, you get your picture taken and a huge tube full of sweets to make it a sweet school year. 3. This is I in Hamburg Germany, 1930, first school day. Israelische Madchenschule Carolinenstrasse. 4. This is 1926, with my parents in Poland. It is not at the beach, sand and bucket in photographers studio. About a year old. 5. This was in Germany 1929, I was about 4 years old. 6. This is my father in 1939 in Hamburg just before the outbreak of the war. Old? Born in '92, so he was 47 years old. 7. This is my sister in Hamburg in 1939. 8: My picture in Hamburg in 1939 9: 1933 in Bad Schwartau in Germany, just before Hitler came to power. Copyright © 1990 Holocaust Oral History Project
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