Of the money we had brought with us to the camp, there was only one twenty-dollar bill left, and Fred had had it, sewn into his trouser fly. What had aroused Fehringer’s suspicions was unclear. We returned to the barracks in despair. Fred was especially upset that I had gotten myself involved, since there was no way I could have helped him. Sam and Felek were devastated. So many years of suffering, and now it looked like the end for Fred and me. It cast a pall on the whole Chemiker Kommando. They felt sorry for us, but they were also gravely concerned about the effect this would have on them, even though none of them had been involved in the incident.
Fred told us what had happened; Fehringer had suddenly come into the barracks and ordered him outside, demanding that he hand over “the money.” Fred told him he didn’t have any. Fehringer knew where people usually hid money. He ran his hands over Fred’s striped jacket and pants, felt the bill sewn in the pants fly, cut a slit in it with a razor blade, and took out the money, all in a few seconds. Then he handed the twenty dollars to his girlfriend, and they both started beating Fred up. Just taking the money wasn’t enough for Fehringer; he wanted to kill Fred. Now, thanks to my interference, we were both in a hopeless position.
I sat down at the table and tried to do some work, but I couldn’t bring myself even to push the buttons. “So this is the end,” I was thinking. “After all we’ve gone through.” Felek and Sam were heart-broken and kept hugging us, Sam shaking his head despondently. Everyone knew that resisting an SS guard meant almost certain death. They would probably display our bodies on the Appelplatz like Chilowicz.
We didn’t have to wait long to find out. On the way back to camp, after they had counted us at the gate, one of the guards called out: “Prisoners numbers so and so—step out.” They were our numbers. I tried to prepare myself for the worst, but still my heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Sam and Felek didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye; all I saw was their ashen faces as we were led away.
The guards took us to the SS camp headquarters, which were not far away. Before leaving the work barracks, Fred and I had agreed that no matter what they did to us, we would stick to the same story: we had no money, and Fehringer had been mistaken. We figured that if we told the truth and said that Fehringer had taken it, it would be worse for us. First, because we would be admitting to the illegal possession of money, a capital offense in itself, and second, we knew that they wouldn’t believe us anyway, not with the SS woman backing up Fehringer’s story. My intervention made it all look even worse.
When we arrived at the SS headquarters, several SS guards were standing about in the anteroom. One of them said, “Wait here. I will tell Obersturmbahnführer Müller they are here,” and went into the adjoining office. In a moment he came back and ordered Fred to follow him. They went in, and from the inner room I heard a loud voice questioning Fred. I couldn’t hear Fred’s reply, but there came a series of thuds, which I assumed meant someone was hitting or kicking him. This went on for a long time. I winced every time I heard a new thud. Of all the many things that had happened to me, I had so far been spared the sight or sound of anyone I was close to, let alone a brother, being methodically and brutally beaten up: the feeling was almost indescribable—a mixture of pain, bewilderment, helplessness, despair. But this time there was no possibility of intervening to stop it; the guards were standing right next to me, their guns at the ready. At last the sounds of the beating stopped, but soon they began again. Then I heard an especially heavy thud, as of a body falling to the floor. The door opened and I heard Müller shouting to the guards to bring me in. I entered the office, where for the first time I saw Müller close up. I had seen him often on the Appelplatz, but always from a distance. He was tall and thin, with cold gray eyes. Another SS officer stood next to him. I looked around and saw Fred on the floor in the corner. His head and face were covered with blood and he was lying on his side perfectly still, all crumpled up.
Suddenly he stirred and let out a moan. A wave of happiness rushed through me—he was alive! Müller made sure I had taken it all in, then said, “Get a good look at your brother, because that’s what will happen to you too if you don’t tell me where you hid the money.” “We didn’t have any money,” I said. Müller came over to me and hit me in the head with a heavy rubber truncheon. I saw stars. Müller continued to hit me in the head, blow after heavy blow. The first four or five blows hurt a lot, but after that I felt each blow less and less. After a while it was as if someone were hitting a big, soft pillow on top of my head.
I have a slight depression at about the center of my skull that I have always believed was its weakest spot, and my only thought was that if Müller hit me there with the force he was using elsewhere on my head, he would crush my skull. As I saw the blows coming, I moved my head slightly so they would miss that spot. Müller continued hitting me and I felt no pain, but I sensed that if it went on much longer, he would probably kill me. I was quite calm now, and after about twenty or thirty blows I decided to pretend I had fainted, so I slipped down to the floor and lay there with my eyes closed. Someone threw water in my face and I opened my eyes. I heard Müller’s voice saying, “Get up.” I got up, expecting him to resume hitting me, but he must have been tired. On the floor Fred opened his eyes and looked at me in pain. “Throw the two pigs in the Stehbunker [standing bunker] and keep them there until they start talking,” Müller told his assistant. The assistant ordered Fred to get up. He tried but couldn’t, and motioned to me to help him. I went over to the corner where Fred was lying, helped him to his feet, and we embraced for an instant. Then the guards came in and led us away.
They took us to a barracks and pushed us into two adjacent cells, locked the doors, and left. So this was the Stehbunker. It was almost completely dark inside, but there was a small opening in the door through which I could see a tiny ray of daylight. The bunker was about two feet by a foot and a half, so it was possible only to stand up in it—one could neither lie, sit, nor crouch. It smelled foul, and the floor was covered with feces and urine. Next door Fred kept wailing, “Why did you do it? You couldn’t have helped me. Now they’ll kill us both!” I had no very intelligent answer to give him, and there wasn’t much I could say to cheer him up. After he calmed down a little we compared notes and reaffirmed our decision not to change our story no matter what they did to us. As the only occupants of the entire row of the Stehbunkers, at least we could talk freely.
Fred was in much worse shape than I, for his beating had been more severe than mine, and from time to time he moaned with pain. I just had a bad headache; when I touched my head it still felt like a big, soft pillow.
When the ray of light disappeared, we knew it was evening and wondered whether we would get any food, or at least some water; my mouth was very dry. I tried to change position, but the Stehbunker was too small. I couldn’t even lean against the wall; there wasn’t enough floor space to allow an angle.
Time dragged on endlessly. I was reminded of the first day of the Uściług action, when we were hiding in the ditch. I tried some uplifting thoughts, about German defeats and how Hitler must be suffering, knowing that his end was near, but that didn’t work for long. My knees started to hurt, and Fred told me to rub my legs, which helped a little. Finally I dozed off, but only for a moment; it was hard to sleep in a standing position. It seemed as though the night would never end. Fred and I spoke from time to time. We both felt that since they were almost certainly going to kill us, it would be better if they did it soon. We worried too about Sam and Felek, who probably thought we were dead by now. We hoped that the SS would not punish them for being our brothers.
When the little ray of light appeared again, we knew the long night was over. It was probably our last day, and we tried to prepare ourselves for whatever might come. It was getting very painful standing in the Stehbunker, and again we wondered if they were going to bring us any food, or at least a little water. Thirst was becoming unbearable, worse than the pain. Hunger was the least of ou
r discomforts. Time crawled. I watched the movement of the ray of light, trying to calculate what time it was, wishing for somebody, almost anyone, to come, for something to happen. The ray of light grew fainter, then disappeared. It was night again. We couldn’t understand why they hadn’t taken us out during the day, either for more interrogation or to kill us. Probably they were trying to soften us up in the Stehbunker so that we would “confess.” The mere thought of staying there much longer was terrifying. I felt that I was gradually sinking into a stupor. I had read about medieval prisons in which prisoners were kept in conditions similar to this, and now I knew what it was like.
The swelling on my head went down and I could feel my skull again. It hurt when I touched it. Thirst was becoming worse every moment, and now I was having trouble breathing. I urinated against the wall, and wondered how I would be able to move my bowels standing up. The night dragged on and on, and now and then I sank into a kind of sleep.
The ray of light appeared once more. Fred and I were exhausted and aching in every joint. We could scarcely talk, our throats were so dry; we managed only to exchange a few words from time to time. Nothing happened; no one came. My tongue started to swell and my lips cracked. I was losing all sense of time. The light disappeared again; we were into our third night. Occasionally I called out to Fred to make sure he was still conscious. Once when I called out he didn’t answer. “Fred! Fred!” I screamed, and finally he responded. He must have fainted. My tongue was so big it almost blocked my throat, and I could hardly breathe. The light came once again, and I thought that if this continued for one more day I would probably choke to death. My tongue was so swollen that scarcely any air was getting through my mouth or nose. I wheezed every time I took a breath.
Suddenly I heard the door to the bunker open. Two SS guards came in talking loudly. Then I heard a key turn in the lock to my door. “Raus!” the guard yelled. I tried to walk, but my legs were so stiff I could hardly move. They let Fred out too, and when he emerged he had to lean against the wall of the corridor. The guards gave us a few seconds to straighten our legs, then pushed us out through the barracks door. The daylight blinded me at first, and I kept blinking, trying to adjust to it. As we stumbled along I took a look at Fred’s face. It was awful, swollen and covered with purple bruises and dried blood. I saw that they were taking us back to the SS office. “Here comes another beating,” I thought. I reminded Fred of our decision to stick to our story no matter what.
When we arrived at the SS headquarters, Müller and another officer were standing outside. When Müller saw us, he said to the other, “Diese sind die zwei Verbrecher.” (These are the two criminals.)
To us he said, “You better tell me right now where that money is, or you’re going back to the bunker.” We told him again that we didn’t have any money. Müller looked at Fred and said to his companion, “Look at this Jew. He would like to kill me right now; I can see it in his eyes.” He then kicked Fred in the shin as hard as he could and said to us, “You can be sure that both of you will be hanged as soon as I get approval from Berlin.” He turned to the guards and ordered: “Take these two to the Strafkommando [the penalty commando].”
As the guards marched us off, I felt confused and relieved. Müller hadn’t beaten us up again, but what had he meant about approval from Berlin? Why couldn’t he just hang us right away? It was unheard of, the SS needing authorization from higher up to kill Jews. Was it because we belonged to the Chemiker Kommando? That seemed unlikely. And how long would it take for him to get “approval”?
We arrived at the quarry where the Strafkommando was working and joined the fifty or so other prisoners on the detail. On the run we had to pick up and carry big stones to a waiting truck. Compared to the Stehbunker, this was a picnic; even the blows we were dealt by the SS as we were running didn’t bother us much. A fifteen-minute lunch break came soon after we arrived. The first thing we did was get a drink of water. We had gone seventy-two hours without water, and the feel of it running over my swollen tongue and cracked lips was bliss. Fred’s leg had been badly damaged by Müller’s kick, the flesh torn and bloody. Fortunately, though, the bone wasn’t broken, and he was able to carry and run with the stones.
At the end of the day we marched back to the camp, and soon all four of us were reunited; we kept hugging and kissing one another. Felek and Sam were overjoyed; they’d been certain they would never see us alive again, although their pleasure at our return was dampened by Müller’s threat to hang us. Everyone was puzzled by what he had said about approval from Berlin. But despite this new cloud hanging over us, we could rejoice at being together again. It felt wonderful too to lie down on my bunk after the evening Appel; compared with the Stehbunker the bare wooden slats felt like a feather bed. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep at once and didn’t wake up all night.
The next morning Fred and I were afraid they would send us out to work again in the Strafkommando, but our names weren’t called during the Appel, so we happily returned to our Chemiker Kommando barracks. My fellow mathematicians were glad to see me back; they too were amazed that we were still alive. No one had ever heard of a prisoner physically resisting an SS guard and not being immediately executed. They were also mystified by the “approval from Berlin.” We speculated that perhaps the SS was running short of Jews; there were jokes about what a precious commodity we had become.*
A few days later we heard the news that our crazed camp commandant, Amon Goeth, had been arrested. We didn’t believe it at first, but it was soon confirmed by the prisoners who worked in the main office of the camp. Evidently, in the wake of the Chilowicz affair, the Gestapo had found out about the rake-off in money, gold, and jewelry he had been getting from Chilowicz and his gang. Everyone was happy to hear about Goeth’s downfall, especially those who had been in Płaszów the longest and had often witnessed his killings and torture.
When we assembled for the evening Appel a few days after that, we were greeted by the sight of three Jews hanging from the gallows, and an announcement that they had been sentenced to death for planning an escape. This was the first time we had heard the words “sentenced to death,” another innovation, like “approval from Berlin.” Never before had the Gestapo or SS found it necessary to justify the killing of Jews with any explanation whatsoever. Fred and I wondered how long it would be before we were hanging there ourselves. At every morning and evening Appel I was waiting tensely for our names to be called; I knew that Müller would get the approval to hang us, and unless something unexpected happened we were going to die soon. It didn’t cheer me up any when one evening after supper, Fehringer came over to me and said, “Don’t think your crime has been forgotten. The doctor and you too will be hanging soon.”
Over the past couple of weeks the situation on the fronts had not changed much. In the West the Allies had paused on the borders of Germany, and the Russian front in Poland was not very active. The Red Army was busy clearing the Balkans. Romania and Bulgaria had turned against their former allies, and in fact declared war on Germany, but this seemed unlikely to make any difference to us. Something drastic had to happen, and soon, if Fred and I were to be saved.
One morning in the second week in September, after the count on the Appelplatz was finished, the guards separated some of the prisoners in our barracks from the rest, Sam, Richie, and me among them. They started marching us toward the gate. I tried to explain to one of the guards that we belonged to the special Chemiker Kommando, but he just hit me over the head with his club and threatened to do it again if I said another word.
They were taking us toward Hujowa Górka, we soon realized, for there was a very unpleasant odor of burning. When we arrived at the Górka we were overwhelmed by a sickening sight. The ditches in which the thousands of Jews who had been killed on the Górka were buried had been opened and the earth removed from the top, exposing hundreds of naked, rotting corpses. The SS were going wild, frenziedly hitting and cursing the prisoners, some of whom were taking the corp
ses out of the ditches, others carrying them to a clearing a few hundred feet away, and still others stacking them up, pouring gasoline over them, and setting them on fire.
I threw up at the sight. Sam, Richie, and I were assigned to be corpse carriers. With one person holding a corpse’s legs and the other the arms, we carried it on the run to the clearing, the SS hitting us and yelling at us all the while to run faster. I was literally in shock, in a daze; I didn’t look at the bodies as I was carrying them, sometimes with Sam, sometimes with Richie. The feel of the cold, decomposing flesh was sickening. I moved as if in a dream, a terrible nightmare. The stench of the rotting and burning flesh was worse than anything I had ever known; I threw up several more times. My back hurt terribly, and Sam and Richie let me carry the legs of the corpses, which made it easier.
When at the end of the day they ordered us back to camp, I was so upset I couldn’t speak. Fred and Felek had been lucky; they and most of the others in the Chemiker Kommando had gone to work as usual. It was impossible to even think of eating that evening. After the Appel I went to my bunk in a stupor and lay awake most of the night in dread of the morning’s Appel and having to return to that place. As it turned out, though, I was lucky; our entire commando was sent to our usual workplace. But I couldn’t concentrate on my work all day, and from then on I worried more about being taken back to Hujowa Górka than about being hanged.
After the Appel one morning toward the end of September they ordered the nine mathematicians from our commando to step out of the ranks. Three SS guards surrounded us and led us to the gate. It was so unexpected and happened so fast that Sam and I had only enough time to shout “Good-bye!” to Fred and Felek, who remained behind with the rest of the prisoners.
At the gate each of us was given a fairly large portion of bread and margarine; then we were loaded onto a waiting truck. One of the guards sat with the driver, the other two in the back with us. I was unhappy at being separated from Fred and Felek, but I was glad to be leaving Płaszów, where the order to hang us could come at any time. Fred, of course, was still in grave danger, and I was hoping they would evacuate the rest of the Chemiker Kommando soon. It was a good sign that the mathematicians were being moved out as a unit. That meant we were going to continue our work; it was an extension of our lease on life. Perhaps this time they would take us deep into Germany so that we wouldn’t have to be evacuated again. I also felt that a group of only nine Jews was not very conspicuous, and might get lost in the shuffle at the end of the war. We had no idea if there were any Jews at all left in Germany, in concentration camps or anywhere else.
I Shall Live Page 23