I Am Juden

by Stephen Uzzell

  Dolek Liebeskind’s death paralyzed the movement, and Jewish informant Adek Lipszitz was responsible for a subsequent spate of high-profile arrests, but the Underground lived on. Hilel Wladyslawski led a group of twenty fighters into the Wisnicz Forest in Buchnia, where the base reorganised. On January 1st, Underground units invaded the Ghetto’s employment centre, destroying all documents and liquidating several German employees. A few days later, Cracow Haupt Banhof was attacked by Jews guided by a Polish friend, Janina Bigai. Dozens of Germans were killed and much cargo was destroyed. The Germans killed twenty-two Jews in the Ghetto as reprisal. On Janurary 16th, Janina Bigai struck again, having been invited to a party attended by many Nazi officers at Commandant Keper’s house. Bigai immediately informed her contacts, and a raid was planned. One fighter gained entrance by posing as an electrician, then let in four more hiding outside. They tied up all guests, including Janina, and seized four machine guns, rifles and moment. The fighters changed into military uniforms and returned to the Ghetto in a captured German truck. Reprisals in the Ghetto were horrific, and some within the Underground questioned the wisdom of continuing.

  In 1943, the Nazis renewed their liquidation with renewed vigour. Thousands were sent to Treblinka and Auschwitz-Birkenau, whose crematorium had recently been converted into a killing factory, complete with sealed gas chambers for the dispersal of Zyklon B. Apart from the lucky few in the workshops of Oskar Schindler and Julius Madritsch, the inmates of Ghetto B were no longer able to escape deportation by being useful to the German war economy.

  On January 18th 1943, Marek Davison was arrested. Gusta turned herself in immediately, for they had vowed to die together. The thirty-three men of the Underground were sent to Montelupich prison, while twenty-two women were held at Helclow. Husband and wife kept in contact, promising to break out to see each other one last time. Briefly, after the liberation, I met a survivor of the women’s prison. Pesia Warszawska told me that being confined with Gusta was her happiest memory of the war, possibly of her entire life. Despite the fact the women knew they were facing certain death – indeed, perhaps because of this knowledge - they lived their last days in absolute harmony. The tingling excitement and spiritual uplift experienced by Pesia at Helclowas a gift from God.

  Meanwhile, Frank Jozef Mueller was relieved of his command of Plaszow by Untersturmführer Amon Leopold Goethe, who assumed control on February 11th. Julian Scherer wanted all Jews from the Ghetto transferred to the camp as soon as possible, and Goethe was the man for the job. The new Kommandant was rising fast upon Jewish flesh. On the day of his arrival, Goethe ordered a young girl to be hanged for attempting to leave the camp to visit her mother.

  Death was now the punishment for any midemeanour at Plaszow. Immediate death, without judgement and - in most cases - warning. Shooting and hanging were commonplace. The new Kommandant had two Dobermans, Ralf and Rolf, both trained to attack and maul. Goethe’s adjutant Grün was another notable sadist, renowned for being able to materialise out of thin air and to discover a punishable victim wherever he appeared. Assisting in this mayhem were the the Jewish Police, now known as Kapos, and recruited exclusively from the criminal community. Goethe’s gang of murderers pursued a reign of terror that allowed him to push through stage after stage of expansion, all of it done at lightning pace. If the prisoners couldn’t keep up, they were shot.

  At night, Goethe worked alone, drawing up plans for the final liquidation of the Ghetto. The date was set for March 13th, Purim in the Jewish calendar, one of the most joyous of holidays. When the day arrived, every guard from Plaszow wanted to play their part in bringing 700 years of Jewish Cracow to an end. I volunteered to stay behind at Plaszow.

  The order was given by SS Oberführer Julian Scherner and the Aktion overseen in two phases by SS Untersturmführer Amon Goethe in conjunction with SS Sturmbannfuhrer Willi Haase, the Chief of Staff of the SS and Police. On March 13th, the remainder of Ghetto A was liquidated and Ghetto B, home to the elderly, the sick and children aged up to 14, went the following day. A total of two thousand Jews deemed unfit for labour were killed in the streets. Eight thousand healthy workers were marched to Plaszow. Three thousand more were transported to Auschwitz-Birkenau. Camp authorities selected 499 men and fifty women for forced labour. The rest, approximately 2,450 people, were murdered in the gas chambers.

  From his bunker in the Wiznicz Forest, Hilel Wladyslawski sent communiques to the prisoners of Montelupich, offering to try and free them. But Marek Draenger refused. Together with Laban, he’d been working on his own plan, now only days away from being put it into action. There was only one problem. Communication with Helclow had become too dangerous: Gusta didn’t know what was about to happen.

  All imprisoned Underground members were scheduled to be executed on March 23rd, at Plaszow. The enormous mound of Hujowa Gorka was selected as the site for their gallows, as it dominated the camp and could be seen from all quarters. For this reason, some of the cruder the inmates referred to it as Prick Hill.

  On the morning of the 23rd, the men were driven from Montelupich to the Jerozolimska Street entrance gate, where an armed platoon of six of Marek’s comrades ambushed the driver. As rehearsed, all thirty-three prisoners jumped from their benches. Szimek and Laban knocked out one guard each, took their keys and weapons and and made sure the men didn’t rise again. Laban was killed in the subsequent fighting. Twelve of the thirty-free managed to get away, including Marek Draenger. They were hustled into a side alley by their comrades, who gave them new clothes and led them to a safe bunker inside Ghetto B.

  The twenty-two female prisoners were also in transit that morning, removed from Helclow by foot to the same destination. When they spotted the men’s truck approaching Jerozolimska Street, they were overcome with joy, and began to run towards them. But the men were still in chains and had no idea what was happening outside. Most women were recaptured. One woman was shot to death, but two got away, including Gusta Davison.

  Within days of being reunited, Gusta and Marek resumed publishing and distributing copies of their magazine Hehalutz Halohem (The Fighting Pioneer), expanding to the workshops of Optima, Madritsch, Tarnow, Reichstof, Przemyszl and Rjebnos, near Jaslo. After a week of hiding in Ghetto B, the Davidsons joined Hilel Wladyslawski in the Bochnia forests. From mid-April, the group conducted eleven sabotage operations on the Cracow – Lwow railroad, a main supply line to the front. In order to raise money, they removed spirits and cognac from cargo, and tobacco from Podlenze station. In a rare foray back to Cracow, the group assassinated the Jewish collaborator Adek Lipszitz. Disguised as German soldiers, they kidnapped him from his bed, stabbed him to death and disposed of his body.

  For all the group’s idealism and courage, they lacked the military experience to evade the Gestapo for long. The twenty fighters were captured again in the autumn of 1943, and this time there was no last minute reprieve. In all likelihood, the Germans sentenced the group to immediate execution. The only certainty is that all trace of the Cracow Jewish Underground vanished that day.

  ***

  After his successful liquidation of the Ghetto and expansion of Plaszow from 25 acres to 200 acres, Amon Goethe was given a two-grade promotion to Obersturmfuehrer, on 1st August, 1943. The following January, the SS Economic and Administration Main Office started converting the site into the Cracow-Plaszow concentration camp. All other forced labour camps in the Cracow and Radom Districts were closed, their prisoners transferred to Cracow-Plaszow. In the spring of 1944, the SS also began to transport Hungarian Jews to the camp.

  It was while supervising one such delivery from Auschwitz-Birkenau that I was brought face to face with a ghost from my past. As the prisoners clambered out the cattle-cars, one woman became particularly agitated and began screaming curses. Kapos beat her down until she could only crawl. I later learned that the woman’s anger was directed towards myself. Gaunt and shaven-headed, I no longer recognized the proud figure of Devorah Montefiore. Devorah and Moses had
remained in Ghetto A until last year, but when it came to the final liquidation, Moses was murdered with the rest of the children and Devorah transported to Auschwitz. She survived the first selection of the gas chamber and was put to work in the Siemens factory. Almost a year later, after volunteering to join the Hungarian transport, she was back in Cracow.

  Shortly after this strange reunion, building materials were delivered to Plaszow for the construction of crematorium and gas chambers. But due to spiraling costs and the relative proximity of Auschwitz, the construction was never completed. Amon Goethe had to find another way to make room for the hundreds of Hungarians now arriving on daily transports. A cull was suggested, and SS-General and Inspector of Concentration Camps Richard Glücks agreed. Under the euphemistically named ‘Health Aktion’, measures were drawn up to create space for an anticipated 10,000 Hungarian Jews.

  Selections began on the morning of May 14th 1944. Prisoners were ordered from their barracks to stand in formation on the Appellplatz, and marched to the reception area. After stripping naked, each prisoner was called out to be examined by teams of doctors headed by the SS Dr Blancke. I spotted Devorah Montefiore in one of the lines, and wondered how to intercede on her behalf if selected. I had tried doing so once before, during a Ghetto Aktion, without success. The doctor quizzed her in much more detail than the other women, and spent an unnecessarily long time fondling her breasts, one after the other. After this, Devorah Montiefiore was directed on to the obstacle course of holes that would decide the prisoner’s right to life. While the adults threw themselves across the open pits, 286 children were rounded up and transferred to a separate compound. Upon discovering their off-spring missing, parents veered off course and began running after them, begging for their return. A wall of SS moved in, swiftly regaining control. As the children were driven away, Goethe ordered the camp orchestra to play traditional German nursery songs, such as ‘Mother, Buy Me A Little Pony’. Their parents were serenaded to the Auschwitz wagons later that day by radio technicians singing ‘Goodnight mama’. Approximately 1,400 Jews were sent to the gas chambers on 14th May, but not Devorah Montefiore, who had been passed fit and healthy.

  In late August 1944, with defeat in the air, the Nazis began erasing all traces of the horrific crimes commited at Plaszow under Goethe’s command. 200 of the strongest male prisoners were isolated from the rest and tasked with the removal and burning of all corpses from the mass graves, an infernal job that took two months to complete. As ever, Goethe grew impatient with their lack of progress, and couldn’t keep his finger off the trigger. As fast as corpses were dug up, he added fresh ones. Meanwhile, the Soviet Red Army drew ever closer. Evacuations of prisoners began in September, for swift disposal at Auschwitz.

  Then, without warning early on September 13th 1944, Amon Geoth was arrested at his villa. Following an investigation into corruption and black market activities within the camp, Goethe was accused of misappropriating valuables from camp prisoners, property which rightfully belonged to the Reich. Management of Cracow-Plaszow was turned over to SS-Obersturmführer Arnold Büscher. But by this point in the war, there was barely anything left of the camp to administer.

  On 31st January 1944, some of the last prisoners were evacuated on a train to Auschwitz-Birkenau. There were two boys and 178 women, including Devorah Montefiore. I still had no idea about her condition at this point, and if her friends had told me, I wouldn’t have believed them. I volunteered to accompany the transport west, to keep the prisoners safe for as long as I could. The war was almost over, any day now. With God’s grace, the Red Army would liberate Auschwitz before we arrived.

  But I miscalculated. If we’d stayed in Cracow three days longer, my prisoners would have survived. Hans Frank’s government fled the castle on January 17th; Soviet troops entered the city on the 19th. But by this point, the last prisoners of Plaszow had already passed through the gates of hell into Auschwitz-Birkenau.

  A grey hive of industry in which every action was devoted to death and destruction. My prisoners were put to work immediately, lifting corpses onto trolleys, pushing them into massive burning pits, all day long, body after body. The bullies and clowns of the SS screamed, while the women - and most prisoners were women by this point, women who resembled cancer patients, pencil necks, enormous dark eyes and head scarves - remained completely silent, too numb to utter a word. For a week they worked in ceaseless squalor, feeding the furnaces, caked from head to toe in ash.

  The SS set fire to the vast warehouses of Jewish property dubbed Kanada, and destroyed their own records offices. While I was meant to be burning files in the Gestapo offices, I came across a back room containing over three hundred Death Books: handsomely-bound compilations of death certificates of prisoners who died in Auschwitz-Birkenau between July 29, 1941, and December 31, 1943. Most of the reasons of death were fictitious; there was no mention of the hundreds and thousands of victims who’d died in the gas chambers. But it was in these pages that I finally discovered the fate of my mother and sister. Helena and Shoshana Siegler had died together ‘of Tuberculosis’on March 1943, three months after last seen fleeing towards the Ukraine.

  56

  That night I had a long and vivid dream. I was leaving Auschwitz on a forty-eight hour pass, clutching a brown paper package tied with a dainty pink ribbon. Inside were two hobnailed boots wrapped in a shirt and a pair of size forty trousers, brown and belted.

  ‘You’re in a hurry tonight,’ observed the guard at the gatehouse, Jan Breyer.

  ‘A train to catch.’ Pushing the package up against my chest, I flashed my watch. ‘Hurry it up if you can.’

  ‘May I ask where you’re going?’

  ‘If you’re trying to be as impertinent as possible, yes, you may.’

  ‘It’s just… the parcel.’

  ‘My youngest sister’s getting married in Berlin.’

  ‘Berlin will look beautiful in the snow. I wish you all a very happy occasion. Do you mind if I quickly check the parcel?’

  ‘Of course.’ I handed it through the open window. ‘Wedding gift.’

  The guard gently felt the contours of the parcel. ‘Clothing and…?’

  ‘A dress and some fancy shoes I bought from town. If you open it, wrap it up better that I managed. Not very good at this kind of thing.’

  The guard sniffed and studied the parcel once more, feeling the ribbon between his fingers.

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ Breyer said finally. ‘It looks fine to me as is. Enjoy your Christmas.’ He returned the parcel unopened.

  ‘Thank-you, Breyer. Heil Hitler.’

  ‘Heil Hitler.’

  One first-class ticket to Berlin, returning on the 29th. There was a single stop at Wroclaw, although if I got that far, my mission had already failed. I waited on the platform under the vast brick archways, mingling with a group of soldiers, making sure to mention my holiday plans to at least three different youths. When the 19.30 train puffed into the station, I bid them goodbye, stepped on board and guarded the first-class cabin nearest the exit until I was sure all other passengers were seated. I had the luxury of the oak-lined snug all to myself, for five whole minutes.

  Right on cue, the train clacked to a stand-still in the eastern suburb of Bronowice, the first and only unscheduled stop. I rose with the parcel, slipped out into the scarlet corridor, checked both ways before lowering the door handle and stepping down into the cold black night. I slammed the door shut, jumped onto the gravel beside the tracks and scrambled underneath where I waited for the engine to pull away, remaining hidden until the last carriage rumbled over my head.

  Bronowice station was deserted, outside and in. The area had been chosen because of the generous amount of wooded cover provided. It didn’t take long to find Jordan Park and then the much larger Blonia Meadow.

  I walked south, traversing Cracow through its pleasant, leafy suburbs until I found the banks of the Wizla. I followed the river east as it wound its way through Plaszow and Rybitwy as far as
Popielnik, where I scrambled up the slope towards Nova Huta and the scattered remains of Austro-Hungarians forts. I kept moving uphill until I found the remains of the aristocratic country house with the roadside shrine outside, and two kilometres beyond it, the half-rotten wooden church.

  Inside, hanging behind the desiccated altar, exactly as promised, was the wire coathanger and the canvas garment bag. I tore open my parcel, shed Harry Mohnke’s SS uniform and changed into the loose peasant clothing I’d brought from the Auschwitz warehouses, trying not to think about the fate of the garment’s previous owners.

  I hooked the wire beneath the epaulettes of my jacket, folded the trousers over the base of the flattened triangle, remembering to remove the Nordland cigarettes and matches from the pockets, then wrapped the dust-bag around the whole thing, replaced the hook behind the altar and tucked my officer boots into the apse. As I watched the brown packing paper curl and blacken under match flame in the dry water font, I heard the truck approach outside and idle to a stop.