He beats me without stopping. I am foaming at the mouth and feel that my strength is at an end. The same is true of my friends. In the distance stands a murderer observing our work. He calls over one after another of us, tells each one to undress and descend into the pit. The victims have to bend over and receive a bullet in the head. They then fall on top of the corpses that lie spread out below.
After about fifteen minutes perhaps twenty of my comrades are missing. Our group is thinning out. I look around and see that there is almost no-one left. I am sure that my turn will come in a few minutes. I don’t know where I get the extraordinary strength to throw myself into my work, to the point where the murderer standing next to me and beating me says to me—You work well. I won’t shoot you.
I am unsteady on my feet and can’t go on … The comrade working next to me begs me to keep going. He is a little stronger than I am and tries to make things easier for me. He fills my barrow with sand so I can have a minute to rest.
It is about 4:00 in the afternoon. Of the thirty fellow-inmates who came here, I see that no more than six remain. One after the other had to undress, go down into the pit and receive a bullet in his head. We did not hear so much as a groan. Down in the pit stand two workers who lay out the dead.
Suddenly a new murderer appears. He tells us to put down our barrows and leads us to a different job. He tells us to take hold of what look like ladder-shaped litters. The litters are bloody. Two of us grab a litter and are driven to a distant building. In it are scattered piles of stiff bodies to a height of one storey. These are the people who were gassed.
We have no time to think because the whips fly over our heads. I don’t know what to do. I look on for a while, then see how Jews come running with empty litters, put them down quickly and run over to the pile of corpses. One of them takes the dead body by one hand, a second by the other hand. They pull it off the pile, drag it onto the litter and run off as quickly as possible.
I try to do the same, but it is hard for me; I am stunned by the picture before my eyes. I grab the hand of a corpse that has several other corpses lying on top of it. My comrade grabs the corpse’s other hand and we try to pull it down. But we cannot. One of the murderers sees that we have been standing there for several minutes and runs over and beats us without stopping. The blood is pouring down our faces. But we pay no attention to that and try to pull out another corpse. We succeed. Seeing how things are done, we drag the corpse quickly onto the bloody litter and run in the direction where everyone is running. Along the way we are once again accompanied by the whips of the murderers who stand on both sides. Being new, we don’t orientate ourselves right away and are beaten even more.
Along the way stand the “dentists” who inspect every corpse to see if it has any gold teeth. Not knowing about this, I don’t stop, because I’m afraid of being beaten. A dentist sees that the corpse I am carrying has gold teeth. He stops me and won’t let me go any further since he has to extract the teeth. He shouts to me to stand still and blocks my path. I shout to him—Why won’t you let me run? I’ll get whipped on account of you. He reassures me that by standing next to him I won’t be beaten. He tells me quietly that if he lets a corpse with false teeth pass him by he will get a bullet to the head. I see how his hands are trembling. After a few seconds he tells me—On your way!
I break into a line of carriers who are running with corpses one after another. We come to a deep pit and I try to imitate what the carriers running ahead of me are doing. I try, like them, to dump the corpse by tilting the litter to one side. But the head of the corpse gets stuck between the rungs of the litter and we can’t do anything about it. We try to pull out the head of the corpse, but we are unable to. Meanwhile we are delaying those who are waiting behind us. The worker, a Jew, who lays the bodies out straight like herrings shouts to me to lay the litter down on the ground quickly and pull the head of the corpse out from between the rungs. A murderer standing near the pit runs over and rains down blows on us with his whip until we finally succeed in pulling out the head of the corpse and then run off with the empty litter in the direction of the heap of dead bodies.
During the time I am delayed by pulling out the head of the dead man the chain of workers is broken, and as the first to arrive I receive supplemental beatings. By now every part of my body is in pain and I am at a loss what to do.
We arrive at the grim mound. I quickly throw the litter down and I run over and pull down a corpse from the top layer. Though I see a bandit coming, intending to beat us, I pay no attention and throw the corpse face down onto the litter. The bandit detains and beats me.
A carrier running past shouts to me to put the litter down and turn the corpse right side up and make sure that the head is resting on a board, because if it lies between the rungs it will be stuck when the body is dumped. I put down the litter, turn the victim over, and we run off.
Running back and forth several times I finally see what things look like in the deep pit: several laborers stand in the pit, all of them Jews, and lay out the dead bodies one next to the other. That is how the work proceeds. The pit becomes more and more full. There can be no question of resting for a while because we have to run one after the other, without a break. We run back and forth. The two hours that pass in this way, until evening, seem to me like a year.
The clock strikes 6:00. We run one after the other with our litters to the shed where the litters and shovels are stored. All must be put away correctly, otherwise we get the whip.
Finally we assemble for roll-call. After being counted, to the accompaniment of music, we are driven into a barracks surrounded by barbed wire.
Chapter Eight
My comrade Yankl chooses me for his partner
to carry corpses.
A sweet dream about my dead mother.
The avenue of hanged Jews.
The columns march out to work.
My comrade’s bloody drink.
The jump into the well.
I FALL OVER AND CANNOT MOVE. I LIE THERE FOR A while and hear a shout from the kitchen, ordering us to go and get our coffee. I can barely stand. We are driven from the barracks and once again line up in groups of five to proceed to the kitchen. It takes a couple of minutes before the little window is opened. One after the other we receive a piece of bread and a little muddy water which is called coffee. I have a burning thirst and drink all the coffee without eating the bread, despite the fact that I am starving. The eating ends and we go back to the barracks. I am like a dead man myself. I look around and see that each of us is bruised and bloody.
Groans are heard from all sides. Everyone weeps over his wretched fate. I lie in pain and weep for what I have lived to see. Next to me lies another man who groans just as much as I do. I try to find out something about him. He tells me he is from Czestochowa and that his name is Yankl. We become friendly and he tells me a secret, which is that he has been here for ten days. He points out that no one knows this because none of us know each other. It is very rare for a labourer to last as long as he has. Every day tens of labourers are shot and new labourers are taken from the most recent transports. That way none of us get to know each other. He tells me that two days ago more than a hundred labourers were shot. He informs me that whoever has a bruise on his face is doomed. For that reason he advises me to pay attention and avoid receiving blows to the face insofar as possible. I tell him how many blows I have received and he laughs: here that is nothing new and he is used to it. But at every word he groans—Oy, everything hurts …
I ask him if we can carry a litter together. He doesn’t want to, because he will get additional beatings as a result of my inexperience. I beg him and promise that I will adapt myself to his routine and do everything he tells me to do. He finally agrees and advises me that at roll-call the next morning I should stand next to him, because running to work is a veritable madhouse and whoever is left without a partner gets whipped.
We continue to talk for a while, and my friend Yankl fal
ls asleep on the hard boards. I lie there and feel every part of me aching. I don’t know how I will be able to get up in the morning. I lie there and think: where am I actually? In hell. A hell with demons. We wait for death, which can come at any moment, in a few days at best. And for the price of a few days of life we have to dirty our hands and help the bandits do their work. No, we must not do it!
I fall asleep and dream of my honest, faithful mother, who died fifteen years ago. I was fifteen years old at the time. My mother weeps along with me over our fate. She died young. She was thirty-eight when she was torn from us and left us behind. To await such a death? Would it not have been better if the rest of us had not survived? How good it is that my mother did not live to be tortured, to experience a ghetto, poverty, hunger and at the end, Treblinka: to have her hair torn away, to be gassed, then tossed into a pit like tens of thousands of other dead people. I am happy that she did not live to experience that.
My headache wakes me up. Everything hurts and I cannot lie still. I try to turn over and unintentionally bump into my friend Leybl. He wakes up and cries—Murderer, what do you want from me? I try to apologize, but he answers with a groan—Oy, oy … I try not to touch him again. I want to fall asleep, but I cannot. The night passes slowly like a year, until finally we hear the shout—Aufstehen! (Get up!) People tear themselves out of their sleep, and everyone tries to stand near the door, which is still closed.
I notice that opposite me is dangling a man who has hanged himself. I point this out to my neighbor, but he waves dismissively and shows me that further along there are two more people hanging—That is nothing new here. Actually today there are fewer hanging than usual. He tells me that every day several bodies of hanged men are thrown out and nobody pays attention to such details.
I look at the hanging bodies and envy them for being at rest. After a short while the door is thrown open and we are driven out to the kitchen. We get coffee and I still have the piece of bread from yesterday. Most of the Jews just drink the black coffee. The clock strikes 5:30 and we hear a shout—Antreten! (Fall in!) We all run out. I see how each of us tries to stand next to another one to make a pair and I try to stand next to my comrade. Fortunately we find each other and are able to stand together.
As usual we are counted quickly. The gate is opened and we are let out: first, a group that works in the machine shop. Those are the mechanics who work on the automobile engine from which the gas is piped to the gas chambers. They rush off to work because a transport has arrived and the preparations to receive it must get under way.
Then the “dentist” group is let out. They run quickly into their cell. They have to grab their dental pliers as fast as possible and run to the open space in order to inspect the bodies and extract the false teeth of the dead.
After the “dentists” the carpenters are let out. Their work consists of building barracks and interior structures.
After them comes the Schlauch (tube) group. Their job consists of removing the blood of the victims spilled on the way to the gas chambers. Everything is covered with sand so no trace will remain. After cleaning the road they enter the gas chambers and wash the walls and floors. There must be no trace of blood. The entrances to the gas chambers are opened and a painter gives the walls a fresh coat of paint. Everything must be spotless before receiving new contingents in the cells.
After the Schlauch workers comes the Rampe (ramp) group. Those are the Jews who work at the gas chambers when a transport has already been gassed. At a signal, the exterior doors are opened and it is time for the Rampe workers to remove the corpses. This work is extraordinarily difficult, as the dead are tightly pressed one against the other.
After the Rampe workers, the group of kitchen workers comes out. The remaining inmates are then counted. Some of them are assigned to carry corpses and the rest are sent to the sand piles. I notice that the workers who have been here for several days try to avoid the work of carrying sand, because the Scharführer (platoon leader) of the sand workers, nicknamed “The White Man,” is a specialist in shooting. At roll call he often shows up by himself because he has shot his workers down to the last man.
My friend and I work as carriers. The day, as usual, is extraordinarily difficult. We get so many lashes that our feet can no longer carry us. A sip of water is not to be had. Our lips burn with thirst. It is no use begging or crying. All you get are blows, blows without end.
My comrade with whom I’m carrying a litter notices, while standing for a moment near one of the “dentists,” that the bowl into which the “dentist” throws the bloody teeth contains a little water. He throws himself on the ground and drinks the water together with the blood. He gets whipped, but he drinks.
The day is especially difficult. There is a transport today of eighteen thousand people, and all the gas chambers are active.
We work. From time to time it happens that carriers throw down their litters and jump into the deep well that stands near the death chambers and in that way end their accursed lives.
Finally the clock strikes 6:00. There is a shout—Antreten!—and we fall in. Our Scharführer (Section Chief), Mathias, orders us to sing a pretty song. We have to sing. It is almost an hour before we return to the barracks.
Chapter Nine
I join the “dentist” commando.
Forty hours in the gas chambers.
The mad rush before and after the gassing
of the victims.
The technique of “dental” work.
I am whipped for letting through a corpse
with false teeth.
AFTER FOUR WEEKS OF WORKING AS A CARRIER, I succeeded in getting into the “dentists” commando. There were nineteen dentists and I was the twentieth.
When Scharführer Mathias returned from leave, he ascertained at roll-call that there were nineteen men in the group of dentists. He ordered the Kapo of the dentists, Dr. Zimmermann, an acquaintance of mine, to raise the number of dentists to twenty. That was around 3 November [1942]. At that time the transports were increasing once again and more dentists were needed. When Dr. Zimmermann announced that he is looking for a “dentist”, I stepped out and declared that I was a dentist. Other people also declared themselves as dentists, but Dr. Zimmermann chose me and got me into his group.
We marched off to our work.
In the building containing the three smaller gas chambers there was an additional wooden shed, which was entered via the corridor that led to the gas chambers. In the shed stood a long table at which the “dentists” worked. In a corner of the shed stood a locked trunk in which were kept the gold and platinum crowns from the teeth of the corpses, as well as the diamonds that were sometimes found in the crowns, along with the money and jewels that were found under the bandages on the naked bodies or in the women’s vaginas. Once a week the trunk was emptied by Mathias or Karl Spetzinger, his adjutant. Next to the table stood long benches on which we used to sit tightly crowded together and do our work. On the table were placed dishes with extracted teeth as well as various dental tools.
Our work consisted of scraping out and cleaning the metal from the plaster of the fillings and from the natural teeth. An additional task was to separate the crowns from the bridges and then clean and sort them. For that purpose there was a special blowtorch which melted the rubber. The “dentists” were divided into specialized groups. Five men worked with the white false teeth, others with metal teeth, and two specialists were occupied with sorting the metals, especially white gold, yellow gold, platinum and ordinary metal. The “dentists” used to sit at their work under the direction of Dr. Zimmermann, who was a very decent human being. Germans used to come to him when they had some special business.
Before going on leave they used to come to us to pick out a couple of beautiful stones for themselves, or some foreign currency.
In the shed stood a small stove. On one wall of the shed there were two small windows, which looked out onto the open space in front of the building with the ten bi
g gas chambers. When a transport was brought in and the outer doors of the gas chambers were opened, the Germans would knock on the windows shouting—Dentisten raus! (Dentists out!). Depending on the size of the transport, one or more groups of six men would go out to work. With pliers in their hands they would position themselves along the path on which the corpses were carried from the ramp to one or more of the mass graves. (When they began to incinerate the dead, they were carried to the ovens.)
It is worth mentioning that at the time when I began working in the death camp, there were two gassing structures in operation. The larger one had ten chambers, into each of which as many as four hundred people could enter. Each chamber was 7 metres long by 7 metres wide. People were stuffed into them like herrings. When one chamber was full, the second was opened, and so on. Small transports were brought to the smaller structure, which had three gas chambers, each of which could hold 450 to 500 persons. In that structure the gassing would last about twenty minutes, while in the more recent structure it would last about three quarters of an hour.
On days when the gentlemen would learn by telephone from the extermination headquarters in Lublin that no new transports would be arriving the next day, the murderers, out of sadism, would let the people stand stuffed into the gas chambers so that they would be asphyxiated. Once they stood like that for forty-eight hours and when the exterior doors were opened, a few people were still struggling and showing signs of life.
Most of the people were entirely swollen and black. The SS men or the Ukrainians would look in through the peep-holes to see if everyone was dead and if the rear doors could now be opened.
Last Jew of Treblinka Page 4