Memories of Fear

We, my brother and I, spent four months in a crowded ghetto apartment, a small room with six other families, and very little food to go around. But still, we kept hope. It was being with my brother that kept me from the terrible feelings we saw in the faces around us. Having him to talk to and to be close to kept me from the depressed hopelessness that was all too apparent in our fellow flat-mates.

I was very young at the time, about 14 years old. I knew the fear that I had seen in children on the street, of not being old enough to be kept alive. So I dressed in the clothes I had found in my father’s closet after he was killed, and always stood up straight, in hopes of looking older. My face was pinched after so long of eating very little each day, and weariness was constant.

There had been rumors on the street, fearful stories of camps where Jews were being forced to work harder than we already were, and even worse stories of camps where we were being sent to be killed. These stories scared me, and kept me awake at night when the sleep was so necessary. My brother was very strong though. He made me smile with stories of our parents and grandparents, talking of how Grandfather once climbed to the very top of a roof to save a bird’s nest in peril of falling through. These stories still stay in my mind, and I will never forget them.

It was when we heard the yelling outside that we knew the soldiers had come for us. I was very afraid. My brother held me close, and told me that I must be very brave, that there would be hard times ahead. All I could do was look in his eyes in fear. We heard a loud crash down the hallway, and some yelling, followed by the sound of shots. Some of the younger children screamed, but I kept my mouth shut, standing as tall as I could, next to my brother.

When the soldiers came to our door, it slammed open with an incredible bang against the wall, and all of the children started to cry. One soldier with blue eyes looked me over from head to toe, and paused when he came to my eyes. Then he turned sideways, held out his gun, and silenced the crying children with a spray of shots. When one mother cried out at what he had done, he shot her too. I just kept standing tall, hoping I would live through this encounter. I was crying too, but silently. I knew better than to cry out.

The soldier made one last sweep of the room, again stopping when his eyes met mine. To this day I cannot understand what it was about me that stopped him. Maybe he saw my youth in my eyes. I do not know. After that last sweep he said a word in German, and four soldiers with guns came in and told us we had one minute to gather only the things we could carry. I had only a marble I had found in the street, and that was in my pocket, so I did not move while everyone frantically followed orders.

After our minute was up, we were herded outside and onto a truck. All of us were standing up; there was no room to sit. We could not even lean without hitting someone; we were that tightly packed. We felt the truck start to move, and finally the tears started to fall freely down my face. I could not reach my brother, he was on the other side of the truck. I called out to him, and he called back reassuringly that we were going to be all right.

I had control over my tears once again when the truck stopped, and the backdoor opened. We kept hearing them say, “Aussteigen!” or, “Get out!” We hurried from the truck and quickly formed a line. Another German soldier was looking us over, as the first one had. So I stood up straight as I had been, put on a serious face and prayed silently to pass this test as well. The soldier walked quickly down the line, saying words, “Richtig!” or “Links!” right or left.

Most of us heard “Richtig!” Only two heard “Links!” Those two were being grinned at. They smiled hopefully, hoping that they were special for some reason, that they were being separated for something good. They were shot.

I felt my brother’s hand grip my own then, and came out of my haze long enough to hear the soldiers say, “Auschwitz.” It was the first time I had seen my brother be afraid. I remember squeezing his hand, saying that everything would be all right. I am still amazed at how terribly wrong I was.

They started shoving us towards the train; simple boxcars usually used for animals. We were stuffed inside like sardines in a can, and it was there that we first truly felt we would die. The heat was unbearable, and they didn’t give us any water. But we weren’t to know until later how much a person could wish for death, and yet still have the will to live.

When we arrived at the camp, the men were separated from the women, and we were looked over once again by yet another German soldier. By this time I was very frightened. My largest fear was that I would be separated from my brother, the only one who kept me from completely losing myself. Thankfully, we were both pushed into the same line, and told we were to be decontaminated with showers. They even gave us a bit of soap each.

I remember looking at my brother at this point, and seeing fear in his eyes once more. I did not understand his fear, until I looked up at the shower heads above. Were they for water, or for gas? I trembled for a minute, then looked my brother in the eyes, and lowered my head in prayer. A second later, water started to cascade down our backs, and we both sent our thanks to our creator.

I cannot explain to you the horrors experienced as a worker in Auschwitz. Simply put, I have blocked it out. I must have been young enough that my mind could. But there is one thing that will always stay in my memory.

We were running outside, completely naked, around a large circle. Anyone who stopped for breath or did not look healthy was shot. Women were piercing their fingers and rubbing their own blood on their faces, to give themselves color. Children were doing the same.

I had the fortune, so I thought, to be running close to my brother. But I gradually noticed that he was slowing down, his breaths coming harder and harder. He had been getting weaker and weaker over the past few weeks, because he had been sharing his food with me, to help me grow, he had said. I would have said something, but fear of the soldiers kept me silent. I wish to God that I had helped him.

He lagged behind me, beyond my range of vision, and I had to keep running; I could not stop to look. It wasn’t until I had turned around the bend that was able to look back to where I had lost sight of him. He was standing out of line, not moving, with a pistol pointed at his head.

I remember becoming completely numb; I did not even hear the shot. I saw my brother fall to the ground, the guard standing over him, the gun still in his hand. I remember wanting to cry out, to run to my brother, to hold him. But I just kept running, tears streaming down my face.

That is all I remember.