Long Lost Brother

by Don Kafrissen

  The guards were unusually cruel. Each carried a thin steel rod with a leather grip, which they used frequently. By the end of the first week, each worker carried numerous welts and bruises. The guards, of course, were quite restrained when any managers were nearby. Isaac found paper and pencils in a desk drawer and, at the few minutes they were granted at noontime meal, sketched each of the guards. While Isaac worked, one, Willi, came up behind him. “That’s quite good, Jewboy. You draw Klaus very well, but I think his nose is larger.”

  Isaac knew what was coming. “I do not think so, Captain. It looks quite like him, don’t you think?”

  Willi leaned closer and whispered menacingly, “Draw his nose larger, Jew, or feel my rod.”

  Reluctantly, Isaac rubbed the tip of the nose with his thumb and added just a little, still keeping it aquiline. He could feel the guard, Willi, standing at his shoulder.

  One of the other prisoners caught Klaus’s eye and motioned him over. This was dangerous. All the prisoners tried to have as little one-on-one contact with either of the guards. “Look at the excellent picture the youngster has drawn of you, sir.”

  Klaus snatched it out of Isaac’s hand and scrutinized it carefully. “I look quite noble, do I not Willi?” He held it at arm’s length and smiled, “It is too bad you smudged the nose, Jew. Tomorrow I will bring some better paper and you can draw us both.”

  Before Isaac could finish his water, Willi struck his cup with the rod and splashed it across the table. Willi and Klaus both laughed and strode over to the nearby wall and resumed leaning on it.

  Later that day, as they were forming up for the evening count, Willi called Isaac out in front. “Five lashes for not showing the proper respect to a superior.”

  Isaac cringed and shuffled forward. There was no getting out of it so he prepared himself. Willi had him kneel and pull his top up to his shoulders.

  “Insubordination will not be tolerated!” he shouted, whipping his rod downward. Thwack! A red welt appeared on Isaac’s back. This was followed by four more.

  Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lowered his top over his now bleeding back. He barely staggered to his feet and resumed his place in line. A hand reached out to steady him. Isaac looked up into the sympathetic eyes of one of his co-workers. He couldn’t remember the man’s name but was grateful for the courtesy. He nodded his thanks.

  The workers were finally counted and lined up for the evening meal: a crust of bread, some water and, this night, a scrap of dried meat. The men sat outside. It was a warm night. Occasionally they could hear the aeroplanes flying overhead. There was a rumor that there had been messages sent secretly to the Allies, the British and the Americans, about the situation, killings and cremations at the camp, but so far, nothing had been done.

  The next morning the slop bucket was overflowing and, though a prisoner named Mika tried to be careful of spilling it, he managed to spill some on Klaus’ boots when someone jostled him. Klaus flew into a rage, striking and striking the poor man until he dropped to his knees. As the men stood in horror, Klaus grasped the unfortunate Mika by the back of his neck and forced his head into the bucket. The prisoner weakly struggled and finally grew still. When he did, Klaus pulled him up. He just flopped on the ground, dead. Such small infractions or perceived slights were all it took to get one killed at Auschwitz or a sub camp.

  In about an hour, a truck came by towing a rickety farm trailer. It was already half full of naked bodies, piled like logs. Klaus gestured to two prisoners to add Mika’s body to the cartload.

  Then they were ordered back to work. Isaac fervently hoped a bomber, Russian, British or American, would bomb this factory and kill everyone. It was better than the abuse they constantly received from the SS guards. How could the Allied forces not know what was happening at the main camp? The glow from the crematoriums, now numbering five, lit up the sky and, though they were more than an hour’s distance, the smell was easily detectable in the air.

  The next day, two new men were assigned to the assembly tables. One was placed next to Isaac. He managed to whisper out of the side of his mouth as he worked. “My name is Morrie. What is yours?”

  Isaac glanced around, “Isaac. You come from Buna or Main Camp?”

  “Main Camp. I helped carry the bodies yesterday. Many bodies.”

  Isaac nodded, “Yes, more Jews and who else?”

  Morrie leaned close to him. “They liquidated the Zigeunerlager (Gypsy camp) yesterday. I have heard that there were more than 20,000 men, women and children gassed and burned. I know that many men were busy in the forest cutting wood to keep the crematoriums stoked.”

  “Mein Gott,” said Isaac, thinking of his friend Luca. At noon break, the four friends sat together, and Isaac related what Morrie had told him. “I am sorry, Luca. At the rate this is going, I fear you shall be with them soon.” He glanced at the guards. “If they remember that you are Roma, you will be killed. You must remove your winkle. Adopt another, any other.”

  Luca just sat and wept, tears streaking his face. “My whole family, my clan, my people. We have been wiped from the earth.” He turned to Abraham, “Am I the only Roma left on earth?”

  Abraham sadly cocked his head, “Perhaps, my friend. I often wonder if we are the only Jews left.”

  Isaac motioned Morrie over. “Are there still more Jews left at the camp?”

  Morrie nodded, “Though fewer every day. Not many still come by train. Now, it is mostly Russian prisoners of war from the east.”

  Abraham asked, “And these prisoners of war, are they accorded some respect?”

  Morrie snorted, “Of course. They are given clean clothes and told to take a cleansing shower, in the gas chambers. A body is a body. An enemy of the Reich is an enemy. All die, all burn. Soon us.”

  They were all silent for a minute, and then Isaac asked, “And war news? How goes it for the Reich?”

  “Ah, so you want some good news? You know, there is a hidden short wave radio in the camp, and they disseminate news when they can.” He hunched and in a lower voice said, “It does not go well for our good German masters. The Allies landed in France several months ago and push east and south. They also landed in Italy and have pushed north, overthrowing that pig, Mussolini. The Allies grow stronger, the Germans grow weaker. Even the Russians are pushing back from the east. Soon this terrible war will be over. I just hope we live to see it.”

  Abraham said, “I fear that the Nazis will not want to leave much of a trace of their atrocities. We must be aware of that, my friends.”

  Isaac said, “Some must live to tell the story of what happened here. Some of us must live.”

  That night after muster and the line for food, Isaac looked around. “Where is Luca?”

  Yuri said, “He mentioned that he was going to use the toilet before we are locked in for the night.”

  Isaac knew. He suspected that Luca was going to run. What did he have to lose? They could hunt him down and kill him as a free man or send him to the gas chamber or work him to death. What difference would it make?

  Final count that night revealed three dead and one unaccounted for. Klaus called the three friends out. “Where is he, your friend?”

  Abraham shrugged, “He is no friend of ours, filthy Roma. I think he is one of the dead.” He gestured at the small pile of bodies.

  Willi jerked each head up and shone his torch into the face. “Nein, he is not here!”

  He motioned to Klaus, “Check the bunkhouse. We must find him.”

  In a minute Klaus returned, “Nein. Not there.”

  He motioned the three to kneel in the dirt. “Down, down! You have helped him escape. For that you will die!”

  Just then the factory door opened, “What is the meaning of this?” The man who had saved them from the road gang approached. He confronted Willi. “What are you doing?”

  “These men have helped another prisoner escape. He is missing.” Willi stood behind the three with his machine gun at the ready.


  “No, no, these are my best workers. We need them to fill the orders from the Junker factory. Let them be.” He drew himself up to his full on- hundred and sixty-five centimeter height and shook a finger in Willi’s face. “You make sure these men are at work in the morning. If you have misplaced one worker, that will be a big problem for you.” With that, he spun on his heel and marched back inside.

  “Up on your feet, Jews,” Willi shouted, wielding his rod on their backs and arms. “Inside, inside!”

  Abraham, Yuri and Isaac rushed inside, relieved that they were still alive. What a fortunate event that the Managing Director of the factory happened by just at that moment. Sometimes fate smiles, and sometime she frowns. Isaac fell into an exhausted sleep. The warm summer was coming to an end and he could feel the night chill creeping through the floor and into his bones now at night. He wondered what had happened to Luca. If they caught him alive, they would be lined up and be forced to watch him hang in the courtyard. As Abraham said, “He is in God’s hands now.”

  Chapter 17

  Summer turned into autumn, and then the snows came. The winter of 1944 was a cold, brutal one with strong winds blowing in from the north and east. Even though the war was already lost, the Germans kept fighting all along the eastern and western fronts, making it difficult and deadly for the Allied forces. Many of the older guards were pressed into decimated units. and younger boys, Hitler Youth, and old men were brought in as camp guards. Still, the SS maintained their grip on the main camp and many of the sub camps.

  One evening the sounds of huge explosions could be heard. The guards left their posts outside the doors to the barracks and buildings to see the red fires climb into the sky.

  “What is it?” asked Isaac. “Is it the Russians coming?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Abraham.

  From a place on the floor nearby, Saul, another prisoner, said, “I don’t think so. I don’t hear planes overhead. It sounds like they are blowing something up in the main camp.”

  The explosions continued for more than two weeks. Toward the end of December, trucks came to the sub camps, and all the prisoners were ordered into them.

  “Where are we going now?” Yuri asked one of the guards.

  “Main camp,” was all he answered, shoving and prodding the prisoners until the open truck was packed.

  Isaac looked down on the grinning faces of Klaus and Willi. Willi yelled to him, “Now you are going to die, Jude! They are wiping out the camp and all the prisoners!”

  Abraham looked down and smiled a toothless grin at him, “I hope you speak Russian, young man!”

  Willi’s face darkened, but before he could reply, the truck lurched forward and out of the courtyard. Isaac turned to his new friend, Saul, pressed against him. “If they are taking us to the main camp, I fear that they will liquidate us all.”

  Saul nodded grimly, “Stay with me, Isaac. All is not lost yet. While we have life, we have hope.”

  The line of trucks joined with another and then another, all headed for the main camp, all packed with prisoners clad in their black and white striped trousers and shirts. It was bitter cold, and the road hadn’t been plowed. The trucks slid around the curves and ahead they saw one that had slid off the road and overturned. As they slowed, they saw two guards methodically shooting the injured prisoners in the heads. Bang, bang, bang and the white snow was splattered with bright red dots and splashes. Isaac saw a hand reach out for help to their passing truck. He longed to stretch his hand and clasp the offered arm, pull him aboard and stand close to warm his fellow prisoner. He couldn’t see his winkle to tell if he was a Jew or not, but feared he was. Bang, and the hand fell, and was enveloped by the cold snow. The trucks moved on.

  Soon they entered the main camp, passing through the gate with its ironic motto. Work will make you free, the welded letters read. Roaring into the camp, the trucks formed ranks and the SS guards screamed at the prisoners, “Get down! Form up!”

  They were unceremoniously jerked down and shoved into loose ranks. Then they were marched in a line to the blasted crematorium and ordered to carry the rubble and stones to the back of this camp where they threw them into a huge pit containing the bodies of hundreds, maybe thousands, of dead. The Nazis were determined to leave no trace of their atrocities.

  “Mein Gott,” whispered Abraham. He looked at Isaac and Saul, working beside him. “What have these men done?” There were tears in his eyes. “Mein Gott,” he said again, then started mumbling to himself. “Yit’gadal v’yit’kadash sh’mei raba…”

  “What are you saying, Abraham?” Isaac asked.

  When Abraham didn’t answer, just kept mumbling, Saul said, “He’s saying the Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, though I expect that he will not live long enough to say a prayer for every one of them.” He let his stone roll down the side wall of the pit where it landed on the scarecrow leg of a naked dead man.

  All through that day, hundreds of prisoners walked back and forth carrying the rubble. They were fed in shifts, just some hot broth with vegetables in it, one cup per man.

  That night, after work they were taken to an empty barracks which was filled with filthy cribs, four high. They slept three and sometimes four to a crib, huddled together for warmth. There were no blankets or warm clothing. The Christmas and Hannukah season passed with no sign that either was observed. Abraham said a short prayer one evening when he felt that the Hannukah holiday, the festival of lights, was due. He finished with the eternal Jewish refrain, “Next year in Jerusalem.”

  Isaac remembered a Zionist coming to their synagogue before all the troubles and speaking glowingly of the “Promised Land of Israel”, and how all Jews were welcome. No one left with him. Even the Rabbi said that it wasn’t time for the Messiah to come and lead them there.

  Isaac often thought about the man with the red hair and beard and wondered if he wasn’t the Messiah and the Rabbi just didn’t recognize him. He also thought of the girl he’d kissed on the train, Deborah Eisenstein, and wondered what had become of her. Had she been gassed and burned? Had she been sent to one of the SS brothels to be used by guard after guard until she was used up, then cast aside, perhaps shot?

  What had they done, the Jews, to deserve this treatment? All through history, they’d been singled out and made to suffer just for being of a different religion. By now, Isaac hated the thought of religion, any religion.

  They worked into January, and then the order came down to evacuate all the camps in Poland. All prisoners were to be sent back to Germany.

  One day after the noon meal, the SS guards formed them into lines and ordered them to march west back toward Germany. The Fatherland needed them to build emplacements to repel the Allies and, once again, drive them from Europe. They were to be marched to the nearest rail depot that was still operating.

  Isaac looked over his shoulder at the lines of walking men. There were uncountable thousands. Occasionally a shot was heard. Some prisoner was dead, perhaps because he stumbled or slipped to his knees. It was enough to cause the guards to eliminate him. He was left where he fell. Search parties went on ahead, and cauldrons were set up for just some warm water with roots or mealworms in it. Several trucks, probably with food and warm gear for the SS men, led them. These trucks probably carried ammunition too.

  The prisoners walked, they stumbled, and they supported each other. Isaac thought of nothing but soup, the good thick nourishing soup his mother had prepared, filled with bits of beef or chicken, turnip and carrot, onions and peppers. A large bowl of soup and bread ̶ warm, fresh bread with the buttered crust on the top. It wafted its yeasty aroma into his nostrils as he tore it apart. He vowed to have it every day if he survived.

  Saul, a short, thick boy from Munich, had him by the arm and they walked together, telling each other their stories. Saul was only one year older than Isaac, He had been a rabbinical student at the yeshiva, a promising future Rabbi.

  “Do you still want to be a Rabbi?” asked Isa
ac.

  “Bah, religion. Never. They killed the religious ones first. When I knew they were coming, I threw away my yarmulke and my prayer shawl. I shaved my sidelocks and exchanged my clothes for anything that let me fit in with the non-Jewish population. But the Nazis were very efficient. They knew where all the Jews lived. The Final Solution was in full force by then. I managed to evade them for a few days, but one of my former German schoolmates pointed me out.”

  “So what will you do? I mean after the war?” Isaac had no idea what he would do. He was so filled with fear and hate that he needed to find what others had in mind.

  Saul looked at him incredulously. “After the war? We will be dead, Isaac. Do you think they will leave any witnesses alive?” He thrust his forearm in front of Isaac’s face. “Do you think anyone with the tattooed number will describe what he’s seen, will live to write about it or talk about it?” He snorted and muttered, “One day at a time. One day at a time, my friend.”

  The march lasted for five days. The last two they were given no food or water. Many men dropped and were shot. Some were dragged into the woods that bordered the road. Shots were heard and a guard would emerge, reload his weapon and continue the march. He learned later that almost 60,000 prisoners were marched out of Auschwitz that cold, dreary January day. They finally made it to a small town just over the border in the Czech Republic. The rail station was still standing, and a locomotive and a line of boxcars were quickly assembled.

  While the guards were busy with the rail stock, several prisoners made a break for freedom, running into the town, hoping to hide in some bombed-out buildings. The guards ran after them, shooting as they ran. All but two of the men were shot. The last two were brought back and hanged from a lamppost beside the depot. Other prisoners were forced to hang their own comrades. As evening came, the bodies swayed in the twilight, their swollen tongues sticking out.

  Finally, they were herded into the drafty cars, packed just as solidly as they had been in the trucks. The trains stopped only to unload the dead. They were given water once that day. The conditions were unbearable. The stench, the crowding, the constant rumbling of the wheels on the tracks. At night the train stopped and the men tried to lie down. By now the cars were less crowded. So many men had succumbed to the months and sometimes years of abuse, backbreaking labor and lack of any kind of life-sustaining nutrition.