had not received a single letter from them. But I lied:
“Yes, my mother did hear from them. Reizel is fine. So are the children…”
He was weeping with joy. He would have liked to stay longer, to learn more details, to soak up the good news, but an SS was heading in our direction and he had to go, telling us that he would come back the next day.
The bell announced that we were dismissed. We went to fetch the evening meal: bread and margarine. I was terribly hungry and swallowed my ration on the spot. My father told me, “You mustn't eat all at once. Tomorrow is another day…”
But seeing that his advice had come too late, and that there was nothing left of my ration, he didn't even start his own.
“Me, I'm not hungry,” he said.
WE REMAINED IN AUSCHWITZ for three weeks. We had nothing to do. We slept a lot. In the afternoon and at night.
Our one goal was to avoid the transports, to stay here as long as possible. It wasn't difficult; it was enough never to sign up as a skilled worker. The unskilled were kept until the end.
At the start of the third week, our Blockälteste was removed; he was judged too humane. The new one was ferocious and his aides were veritable monsters. The good days were over. We began to wonder whether it wouldn't be better to let ourselves be chosen for the next transport.
Stein, our relative from Antwerp, continued to visit us and, from time to time, he would bring a half portion of bread:
“Here, this is for you, Eliezer.”
Every time he came, tears would roll down his icy cheeks. He would often say to my father:
“Take care of your son. He is very weak, very dehydrated. Take care of yourselves, you must avoid selection. Eat! Anything, anytime. Eat all you can. The weak don't last very long around here…”
And he himself was so thin, so withered, so weak…
“The only thing that keeps me alive,” he kept saying, “is to know that Reizel and the little ones are still alive. Were it not for them, I would give up.”
One evening, he came to see us, his face radiant.
“A transport just arrived from Antwerp. I shall go to see them tomorrow. Surely they will have news…”
He left.
We never saw him again. He had been given the news. The real news.
EVENINGS, AS WE LAY on our cots, we sometimes tried to sing a few Hasidic melodies. Akiba Drumer would break our hearts with his deep, grave voice.
Some of the men spoke of God: His mysterious ways, the sins of the Jewish people, and the redemption to come. As for me, I had ceased to pray. I concurred with Job! I was not denying His existence, but I doubted His absolute justice.
Akiba Drumer said:
“God is testing us. He wants to see whether we are capable of overcoming our base instincts, of killing the Satan within our- selves. We have no right to despair. And if He punishes us merci- lessly, it is a sign that He loves us that much more…”
Hersh Genud, well versed in Kabbalah, spoke of the end of the world and the coming of the Messiah.
From time to time, in the middle of all that talk, a thought crossed my mind: Where is Mother right now…and Tzipora…
“Mother is still a young woman,” my father once said. “She must be in a labor camp. And Tzipora, she is a big girl now. She too must be in a camp…”
How we would have liked to believe that. We pretended, for what if one of us still did believe?
ALL THE SKILLED WORKERS had already been sent to other camps. Only about a hundred of us, simple laborers, were left.
“Today, it's your turn,” announced the block secretary. “You are leaving with the next transport.”
At ten o'clock, we were handed our daily ration of bread. A dozen or so SS surrounded us. At the gate, the sign proclaimed that work meant freedom. We were counted. And there we were, in the countryside, on a sunny road. In the sky, a few small white clouds.
We were walking slowly. The guards were in no hurry. We were glad of it. As we were passing through some of
“Yes, my mother did hear from them. Reizel is fine. So are the children…”
He was weeping with joy. He would have liked to stay longer, to learn more details, to soak up the good news, but an SS was heading in our direction and he had to go, telling us that he would come back the next day.
The bell announced that we were dismissed. We went to fetch the evening meal: bread and margarine. I was terribly hungry and swallowed my ration on the spot. My father told me, “You mustn't eat all at once. Tomorrow is another day…”
But seeing that his advice had come too late, and that there was nothing left of my ration, he didn't even start his own.
“Me, I'm not hungry,” he said.
WE REMAINED IN AUSCHWITZ for three weeks. We had nothing to do. We slept a lot. In the afternoon and at night.
Our one goal was to avoid the transports, to stay here as long as possible. It wasn't difficult; it was enough never to sign up as a skilled worker. The unskilled were kept until the end.
At the start of the third week, our Blockälteste was removed; he was judged too humane. The new one was ferocious and his aides were veritable monsters. The good days were over. We began to wonder whether it wouldn't be better to let ourselves be chosen for the next transport.
Stein, our relative from Antwerp, continued to visit us and, from time to time, he would bring a half portion of bread:
“Here, this is for you, Eliezer.”
Every time he came, tears would roll down his icy cheeks. He would often say to my father:
“Take care of your son. He is very weak, very dehydrated. Take care of yourselves, you must avoid selection. Eat! Anything, anytime. Eat all you can. The weak don't last very long around here…”
And he himself was so thin, so withered, so weak…
“The only thing that keeps me alive,” he kept saying, “is to know that Reizel and the little ones are still alive. Were it not for them, I would give up.”
One evening, he came to see us, his face radiant.
“A transport just arrived from Antwerp. I shall go to see them tomorrow. Surely they will have news…”
He left.
We never saw him again. He had been given the news. The real news.
EVENINGS, AS WE LAY on our cots, we sometimes tried to sing a few Hasidic melodies. Akiba Drumer would break our hearts with his deep, grave voice.
Some of the men spoke of God: His mysterious ways, the sins of the Jewish people, and the redemption to come. As for me, I had ceased to pray. I concurred with Job! I was not denying His existence, but I doubted His absolute justice.
Akiba Drumer said:
“God is testing us. He wants to see whether we are capable of overcoming our base instincts, of killing the Satan within our- selves. We have no right to despair. And if He punishes us merci- lessly, it is a sign that He loves us that much more…”
Hersh Genud, well versed in Kabbalah, spoke of the end of the world and the coming of the Messiah.
From time to time, in the middle of all that talk, a thought crossed my mind: Where is Mother right now…and Tzipora…
“Mother is still a young woman,” my father once said. “She must be in a labor camp. And Tzipora, she is a big girl now. She too must be in a camp…”
How we would have liked to believe that. We pretended, for what if one of us still did believe?
ALL THE SKILLED WORKERS had already been sent to other camps. Only about a hundred of us, simple laborers, were left.
“Today, it's your turn,” announced the block secretary. “You are leaving with the next transport.”
At ten o'clock, we were handed our daily ration of bread. A dozen or so SS surrounded us. At the gate, the sign proclaimed that work meant freedom. We were counted. And there we were, in the countryside, on a sunny road. In the sky, a few small white clouds.
We were walking slowly. The guards were in no hurry. We were glad of it. As we were passing through some of
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