The storm
By April of 1944 we were already locked into a ghetto in
Kashau. However, with self-sacrifice we were able to obtain
Matzot for the Seder. In May of 1944, they hauled us from the
ghetto in Kashau, as cattle cargo, and worse, unto trains.
Crammed in, many died on the way to Auschwitz. The conditions
on the train were surely a harbinger of what was to come.
Basic human needs were totally ignored. In the history of
humanity, such abhorrent abuse was never recorded.
Upon arrival, when waiting in line for Mengele's choice of 'life or
death,’ I begged my then father-in-law, Chaim Alter, who was
52 at the time, to lie about his age. He refused.
He argued that he was not willing to suffer a slow death in a
concentration camp of forced labor. Unfortunately,
no one from his family, including my first wife, survived the holocaust.
After four days in Auschwitz, we were moved to a camp in the Silesian
mountains, called Saufenwasser. There the elderly ones
amongst us perished due to the severe conditions and forced labor.
On Tisha B'Av (July 30th), they moved me to Dornhau, which has often
been described as the "Dry Crematorium." People were
continuously dying. The poignant smell, the cruel labor,
hunger, diseases, Kapos, SS commanders, etc., reduced the inmates to
mere zombies. It was so unbearable, that it is no wonder that
I was not able to bring myself to speak about it for so many
years. The mere thought of that camp is tortuous.
They drove man to such a low level, lower than a captured animal in a
cage. All we thought of was food and survival.
There was no ability to think. The mind was just blank most
of the day. The extreme hunger and starvation, poor sleeping
conditions, the head counts, the unbearable toil and labor in the
trenches, all took its toll on the helpless prisoners.
There, with Divine providence, I met a scholar and noble person. He
proved to be a giant, despite the sub-human situation into which we
were catapulted. His name was Rabbi Mendel Brachfield (author
of “Yosef Hallel,” a commentary on Torah) of
blessed memory. He was there with his younger brother
Moshe. It was amazing to watch how close and devoted these
two brothers were to each other. From the day I met R'
Mendel, I became close to him. I constantly sought his
guidance and
listened to his Torah discourses. We formulated informal
sessions, whereby we would tell each other stories of rabbis and their
Chassidim. R' Mendel's knowledge of Torah, without books, was
astounding. He taught us from memory. We prayed by
heart, each contributing whatever he remembered.
R' Mendel and his gentle, wise and much younger brother Moshe, devised
a technique of how to obtain a pair of Tefillin.
When they were still in Auschwitz, they drew a picture of a pair
of Tefillin for an inmate, a Polish prisoner
of war, who was stationed for work at the crematorium. They
asked him to obtain these items from the stolen material of those who
were cremated, hide the Tefillin well on his body, and turn it over to
them. This was in return for food, which was the camp
currency.
The following day, the Polish prisoner returned with the goods, and he
received his remuneration.
From Auschwitz to Dornahu, (and after Rosh HaShana to Shotterwerk) the
Brachfield brothers managed to smuggle in the Tefillin, which was
wrapped on their legs.
Since the Brachfield brothers had the Tefillin, the religious amongst
us would line-up early morning to take advantage of the limited time
before the horrible 'labor day' to recite at least one paragraph of
Shma in the Tefillin (Deuteronomy 6:4-9), and pass on the Tefillin to
the friend next in line.
This gave us a spiritual push to survive the day. One day,
the Dayan (rabbinical judge) of Lodz, who was also in our group, became
sick and remained in the sleeping barrack. He requested to be
last so that he would be able complete his prayers while donning the
Tefillin. As he was praying in the Tefillin the Scharfuhrer
came in and confiscated the Tefillin.
He gave it to the Lager Shriber (camp scribe or secretary)
who was from Pressburg. Although
he was friendly to us, he refused to return it because of his immense
fear of the Scharfuhrer. So I went to the camp's carpentry shop and
asked one of the workers to replicate the Tefillin using
wood. He agreed. I took the strap from my pants,
cut it in two lengthwise, one for the hand and one for the head
Tefillin. I gave the imitation Tefillin to the office and put
it in the case of the authentic one. We
had our Tefillin back! It was a very happy
occasion. One cannot imagine our joy, in such an
otherwise mournful surrounding.
Another personal happy occasion happened to me. On one of those nasty
days, in the freezing Silesian mountains' winter, we returned to our
barracks feeing very cold and miserable. There was a
fireplace in one of the rooms made of tin, and I was standing close to
it. The Schtubefuhrer (''Kapo'') ordered me to move away (one
of the sadistic methods used to torture us, just to show who is boss).
I did not obey the order. My thoughts were that the beatings would not
hurt as much as the cold. Being that his prestige was in jeopardy, he
threatened that he will call the Lagerelster (camp
supervisor). When I did not move, he left the room to call
him. He came back and told me that the Lagerelster is coming
soon. The Lagerelster indeed came and the Kapo greeted the
Lagerelster, instead of just saluting him, and remaining quiet
at attention. So the Lagerelster gave him such a forceful
slap in the face, that he fell off his feet. He
was ordered to go to another room, thereafter losing his
position. This was a personal miracle, whereby I saw a sign
from God that He is with me, and saving me from the sub-animal
conditions we were in. It could have easily ended in my
execution, God forbid. Instead, othere and I were
eternally spared from this vicious Kapo.
When it came to the Jewish holidays, we had to use our imagination in
order to get around the tyranny and extreme oppression that existed in
Dornhau and to a somewhat lesser extent in Shotterwerk. On
Yom Kippur, while going to our work assignment, I feigned
fainting. The commander in charge of my unit was at a loss
what to do. He was the only one in charge, and too far from
the base to return. Thus, I was helped to the work destination, but
allowed to rest for the entire holy day of Yom Kippur, without having
to work at all. Fasting was no problem for us, since we
basically fasted there for the major part of every day.
Shabbat & Holidays we sang and prayed together quietly before
daybreak. Everyone was contributing from memory.
On Succoth we dug a trench. Digging trenches was actually our
profession there. We camouflaged it with branches and wood
that we found. The branches also served as S'chach (the cover
for our Succah).
It is beyond comprehension: the devotion to Torah and Mitzvoth, by our
group of religious Jews, considering the extreme conditions we were
in. The sacrifice, risk, conniving, innovations and
perseverance - are so difficult to comprehend in modern times, when we
have the ability to do Mitzvoth with such relative ease.
In January 1945, the German sensed the inevitable loss to the Allied
forces, and moved most of the camp in the so-called "death march" to
other camps, closer to Germany. I was able to convince my
close friends,
R' Mendel and R' Moshe Brachfield that it was in our best interest to
play sick and not join the "death march." Others warned us
that they will surely burn down the camp, and we will all burn
alive. The reasoning was that they had no use for us, and
they surely would not feed
or tend to us. In spite of these warnings, we
decided that we had no energy for the 'adventurous' march.
Here my connection and rapprochement with the Hungarian doctor helped
me obtain permission for my friends, the Brachfield brothers, so that
they too can remain in camp feigning illness. This small
decision (as it turns out hundreds of small daily decisions were the
“key” and “combination number”
to the ultimate Divine providence of survival) helped us survive, since
of those who marched almost all perished.
On Purim we sent to each other Mishlo'ach Manot (food gifts customarily
given to friends on Purim) - two slices of potatoes.
During Passover 1945 we were able to receive potatoes instead of
bread. For the four cups of the Seder we used borscht.
While in Shotterwerk, we had more time for
ourselves. The
scholars amongst us who knew Torah, Mishna and Talmud by heart studied
and reviewed them with us. We also told each other stories of
Chassidim. These sessions had a nourishing effect for our
beleaguered souls.
In the early morning of May 9th 1945 (26th of
Iyar 5705), we were awakwned by a fellow inmate, who screamed in
Yiddish, "Fellow Jews, you are still sleeping?
We are free!" We just could not believe it. We
went out and saw that the German guards were gone. I
immediately headed out of camp and walked to a nearby town, where I
knocked on a door and asked to be allowed to shower. The
locals, who
feared revenge,
(for their knowledge of the atrocities, and having done
nothing to stop it) even gave us some food.
From here on, the magnitude of the tragedy was slowly
absorbed. While in camp, we all had wishful thoughts and
hopes that our dear ones remained alive somehow. We
also had no time to think about the future, since we were so absorbed
with the basic elements of survival. We now started looking
for relatives: for my wife, parents, brothers, sisters, nephews,
nieces, and any family members. Unfortunately, except for one
nephew, all were murdered. The tragedy was
enormous. It was so difficult to absorb. I was alone in the
whole wide world. My constant crying and sadness is hard to
describe for those who fortunately never experienced what I did.
I could have indulged myself in self-pity and end up, God forbid,
clinically ill. At the time, I felt that the light
of my life was gone. After such a massive destruction, the
thought of rebuilding seemed so far-fetched. However, God
gave me the strength, courage and a strong will power to continue with
life and rebuild myself. I then went on a search mission to
find even distant relatives, and found my present wife, Esther (who
went through plenty on her own, and whose story was printed in "Bet
Yehuda" a book printed in the memory of my brother-in-law Rabbi Yehuda
Frankel), a distant cousin. Thank God, we were able to
rebuild ourselves, and established a wonderful family: children,
grandchildren and great-grandchildren - all following in the footsteps
of the ancestors, in Torah and Mitzvah observance.
Epilogue
It is not for me to judge as to why God kept me alive, and not
the rest of my family. Why did he choose me to
continue the ancestry of my dear family that perished in the most cruel
and inhumane manner in history? However, I want to thank God
from the depths of my heart and soul for giving me the opportunity to
raise a family who are all learned and observant. While the
Nazis are basically all non-existent now (as are many of the nations
over the generations who persecuted us), we are still alive and
flourishing 65 years later.
Nevertheless, we have to remain on guard. The future
generations have to internalize these tragic events, and learn from our
bitter experience. When we were promised in the ghettos
before deportation, to be relocated to "Bread Fields" ("Kenyermezo") a
euphemism for jobs and prosperity, we actually believed the enemy. We had
such terrible conditions at the time, that we were gullible
and inclined to have wishful thinking. However, we
should learn from this cruel experience that we are never to trust our
enemy, especially when he gives promises for "our welfare."
A further lesson we can learn - Nowadays, it is generally easy to study
Torah and observe the Mitzvoth. This unfortunately causes
neglect, disdain, and treating Torah and Mitzvoth flippantly.
We should remember the sacrifice and risk that our brethren experienced
during the horrible holocaust, and appreciate Torah and Mitzvoth, and
treat them as new each day. We should also, devote
our time to imbue these values in our children and grandchildren, who
are our link to the future.
