I Saw It

You want to know, you should know. I have seen it, heard it, experienced it, I want to write it down for you without adding anything, without concealing anything.

When our homeland was occupied by Hitler and transformed into a German protectorate, we lived in Brno. I was a doctor in a Sanatorium in Brno, and my wife helped my mother with business and sewed with my sister in her tailor's workshop. We lived together in a small 2 bedroom apartment. We sensed that the arrival of Hitler meant disaster for us, and saw the acute danger clearly and immediately before us. Those possibly could ran away, but we could not get away. The rich were long gone, the less well-off remained. A wave of suicides wiped out the weak, who did not feel up to the threat of danger, and the rest braced themselves with all their moral strength to hold out for whatever else might come. We made some more desperate attempts. My sister had the chance to go to Palestine with an illegal transport. She recoiled from the uncertain fate and hardships. She had to pay for it with her life. My brother, an emigration consultant, specialist in all questions of emigration, helped some people to get out, but he himself got stuck just before the finish line. He had to pay for it with his life. My Erna and I had an American affidavit with a hopeless quota number, and a visa to Shanghai, hopeless from a transportation perspective. But that was not the point. I had a job that held me down with a thousand shackles. Near Brno was a factory that had been converted into a refugee camp. Jews from Vienna, Jews from the Sudetenland, from Burgenland and elsewhere, hunted out of house and home, were rounded up here and concentrated under Gestapo supervision. They were not allowed to leave the camp and lived in inhumane conditions. Badly fed, poorly dressed, robbed to the last, deprived of their freedom of movement, beaten, broken, these people seemed to us the poorest of the poor. The Jews of Brno, who were still free to live in their apartments outside and had begun to recover from the first shock of the Anschluss, began to hear with horror the descriptions of how these poorest of the poor vegetated in the camp. How gladly we would have exchanged places with them later. This was something new, outrageous for us, but also a foreshadowing of what was ahead of us. The doctor on duty in the camp ran away one day, unable to witness the cruelties of the SS. I was called to take his place. Despite all of my family’s warnings and complaints, I accepted the job and soon loved my work out there so much that it held me with greater force than my driving need to emigrate. Despite and against the wishes of the SS men, who visited the camp daily, I managed to set up a hospital and an emergency room, to organize care for children and the elderly, and to ease the lives of those interned as far as possible. The Gestapo, when they saw that I was not intimidated, allowed me to do so, and I was even able to persuade them to help me in my efforts, under the guise of avoiding epidemics. And they were terrified of the spread of infectious diseases, because even the German supermen were not immune to them. At that time there were already actions there, albeit to a lesser extent than later. From time to time the gentlemen of SS, mostly drunk, entertained themselves by making old men run in a circle for hours, or gymnastics, forcing boys to jump from upper floors, and so on. We were horrified. It was the first time we saw something like this with our own eyes. How harmless these entertainments were compared to what came later.

At the time, I also had my practice in Brno, had a great deal to do, had the immense luck of having a beloved wife with me, and gradually we got used to the conditions. On June 20, 1941, the day that the Germans invaded Russia, we (Erna and I) had to move to Eibenschütz, where the refugee camp was located, on the order of the Gestapo. At first we were very unhappy about that, because that meant I had to give up the practice and thus a large part of my income. But soon we were satisfied with this change. We got a small, very nice apartment and we set it up to our taste. It was actually our first apartment together. Out there in the small town Hitler’s terror was not as noticable, because there were almost no Germans there. The Czech population helped us when they could, firstly because they liked us, secondly in protest against the Germans. For a while, it almost looked as if the Jewish question would take a back seat after all. If no action was taken for a few weeks, everyone took a breath, believing that the worst terror was over. I earned enough to ensure a carefree life; we were able to provide our people in Brno with all types of food, which was scarce; and we sent parcels to Vienna almost every day. There, Mother Knoll, Bronja and her two children were very dependent on it, because there it was much worse for Jews. There, something had long since begun that would later [rob us] of rest and sleep - transports. It is difficult to describe what the word Transport did to Jews. No sooner had it been spoken than it lay like an alp in the landscape of every family, in every company, people looked at each other in shock, fear and horror marked on their foreheads. For transports meant forced deportation to Poland. You did not know that, but one thing was certain: it was a terrible thing. Thousands of people with packs drove on in cattle cars to face an uncertain but miserable fate. Here and there came letters or postcards from Poland, cries for help. They were starving, freezing, tormented by all the devils. One did not learn more, for no one dared to write the truth. All we knew was that the deported Jews lived and worked crammed in the ghetto. Their luggage was stolen from them, they got almost nothing to eat. My wife could not find peace. Every day she trembled at the news from Vienna, fearing that her mother or the children would have to experience it. But they were spared for the time being. Erna organized an aid operation from Kiganen. She went from house to house, asking, begging, packing, and sending parcels, growing in her new job. Mountains of letters of thanks arrived. Soon we got used to it and the misery of the world became everyday.

We ourselves lived almost as if in peace. Although the staggering Jewish decrees and daily persecution of Jews forced us to realize that Hitler was about to fulfill his Jewish program, that we were condemned to death, but we did not want to feel it, resisted it, we soaked our souls with indestructible optimism: The whole world was against Hitler, so the whole world helped us and each day had to bring us closer to the good end, which could not be long in coming. But soon it started again, and blow over blow it overcame us. In Brno there were smaller scale actions. Streets were destroyed, all the men who were found, arrested and dragged away. A total of 224 men. Within six days, 222 stereotypical telegraphic death reports came, they had died in Mauthausen, causes of death: angina, heart attack, pneumonia. The remaining two disappeared without a death report. Similar actions were repeated. Then a few weeks to recover, and that was enough to revive the unfounded, or at least premature, optimism.

All Jews and people of Jewish descent were registered and separated once and for all from the rest of the world. An incalculable downpour of ordinances separated them from the other world. A flood of prohibitions and laws rained down. First, we had to wear a yellow star that marked everyone who was legally recognized as a Jew from afar. We were outlawed. No Aryan was allowed to speak with us. Half-grown rascals attacked the marked women and old people and beat them bloody, and in packs they attacked men and abused them too. One night I came from an ill person and was attacked. I came away with a broken nose and a few wounds from blows. My family could not recognize me when I was brought home. But all these were episodes and events that we accepted and suffered in the prospect of the imminent end, which could not be long in coming. The Jews acquired a facial expression that made them recognizable, even if they had not worn the star. Fear, terror, restlessness in the eyes, slinking along the walls, always ready to be hit, slain, beaten to death. Only within their own four walls, among themselves, could they relax their nerves, open up, speak with eyes shining of the day of liberation, which had to come and would come soon. In spirit, our tormentors were caught, hanged, punished, and the better world we dreamed of arose in our mind's eye. After 8pm no Jew was allowed on the street, and they could enter no restaurant, no cinema or theater. In the tram they were only allowed to ride on the front platform of the sidecar. Those who lived in houses remained within, because they dared not go into the alley. And again restriction on top of restriction. Jews were not allowed to buy tobacco, fruit or vegetables, they could only pick up their laughable food rations at certain times. Radios, furs, cameras, luxury goods, binoculars, jewelry, gold, silver, valuables had to be surrendered. Any evasion of these ordinances meant certain death.

But everything could be endured. However, the great variable in life lay like an alp: transports. In Vienna, they had become an everyday event. Thousands of people went to Poland twice a week from there. Our protectorate had been spared until now. In the autumn of 1941, it started to hit us. First, 4 transports had to leave Prague, each with 1000 people, to Lodz. The selection was completely arbitrary, rich, poor, healthy, old, children, ill. After each transport, handled with German thoroughness and cruelty, we hoped that it was the last one. But they kept on going; the longer the breaks between the transports lasted, the quicker the optimism returned. It was completely unfounded. Because with relentless regularity transport followed transport. On November 19, 1941, the first thousand people were taken from Brno. My brother had to go. Was it useful to him that he became a transport leader? He had to go with his wife. The telephone conversation in which we said goodbye to each other was unforgettable, as if it were forever. I could not even take the 30 km train to Brno to see him once, because it was forbidden for Jews. We both knew that we would not meet again. At that time, for the first time, I swore I would never feel pity for a German when the time came. He left.

They ended up in Minsk, Russia. Just last week, in Vienna, I was able to sketch the details of his fate there when I was handed over his letters. The 80,000 Jews residing in Minsk, Polish and Russian, were exterminated in mass executions. Under indescribable terror they had to dig their own mass graves, had to undress in the winter cold and stand on the edge of the graves. Then they were shot down with machine guns, and fell backward into the grave. The bodies were covered with lime and buried by the next victims, whether they were dead or alive. Aryan eyewitnesses report that they saw the earth move for days afterwards. Then the next shuffle came, until everyone was murdered. Under the terror of submachine guns people dug their own graves, they did not grumble, they did not shirk. Some prayed, but all walked up, dug, undressed, were shot down, fell into the graves, and died. People, with senses and intellect.- In place of these unfortunates, Jews were imported from all over Europe: From Hamburg, Berlin, Brno, Prague. They populated the ghetto of the murdered, only to be exterminated themselves soon afterwards. They worked hard and suffered unspeakably from starvation and cold like all of their fellow-travelers. Most dropped dead, many were killed, some managed to stay above water. Including my brother. He was clever enough, not only to get a good job, but he also managed to send signs of life under the greatest mortal danger. There were a total of 8 letters from him that could be published as they are. Already in the second he shared the death of his wife, whom he loved above all else. She had to undergo a stomach operation, which was performed on a kitchen table with improvised instruments. A good friend of mine performed it. Eight days later she died of complications. He only hinted at what they had experienced before that. Each action chased the last and, as everywhere in camps and ghettos, had the purpose of clearing the ranks of the poorest of the poor and taking away the old, ill, and children, that is, the ballast, but to reach the quota ordered young and healthy people were taken too, to make room for the newly-arrived, like cattle to slaughter. The other letters are from a broken man. Under infinite danger and difficulty, his Viennese friends sent him food that kept him alive. It took a lot of cleverness to avoid the racing actions. He succeeded until October 1943. Emaciated to the skeleton, he had lost over 30 kg, deeply depressed about the loss of his wife, resigned to his fate, he wrote his last, shocking letter in which he hinted at his imminent fate. The person who passed on his letter, who must have been very fond of him, added words in a trembling script that leave no doubt that he, too, was murdered, like hundreds of thousands of others. The only hope that remains is that he did not have to suffer, beyond what he went through before.

But back to us. Transport after transport was completed, from Brno, from Prague, from the provinces. It transpired that the transports no longer went to Poland but to Theresienstadt, a town on Czech soil, where a ghetto was being built. More and more friends had to leave, and our ranks cleared. The transports were always labeled with letters, the first with A, then B, C and so on. My brother had left with Transport F and from the day of his deportation until his death he had no name, but he was the number F 998 1Note 1: F 994. When they were finished with the alphabet, double letters came up: Aa, Ab, Ac, etc. Weeks, months passed by. We felt fairly safe, because we had been assured by the Germans as well as from the Jewish side that we were indispensable and would not be deported. I was a licensed Jewish doctor / only a small fraction of Jewish physicians were allowed to practice. / And,

next to the camp, a group of Jewish miners was in charge of armaments. At that time, families were not torn apart. If someone was deported, then it was with the whole family, or the family stayed home.

As awful as the transports were, at Eibenschütz we only saw them from afar. We continued living our quiet, almost idyllic life there. Away from the horrors of terror, retreating to our beloved apartment, surrounded by good friends, supported and sustained by the open sympathy of the locals, fully engaged in satisfying work, we lived in the hope that we would survive this terrible time in this way and that it could not take much longer. In February 1942, the big turning point in the war came: Stalingrad. Every day we got our reports, studied newspapers, listened to banned overseas broadcasts and longingly counted the days: how long it could take? We were aware of the evil times and yet no one could guess what awaited us. We saw before us the misery of camp life in Eibenschütz, but we also saw that it was possible to make things easier for the children and the ill in the camp, and even gives them better lives than they could have outside, since Jewish children outside the camp were inhibited by wearing the Jewish star and forced to navigate a maze of prohibitions. After careful consideration, we came to the decision to have a child at this stage in life. We trusted in the inexorably approaching end of the war. We trusted in ourselves. Erna’s pregnancy made her blossom like never before. She had never looked so good, she was never as strong, as beautiful as in this time. With her usual conscientiousness, she prepared everything. Nor do I have to say that, like everything else that she took up, she also managed the business with exemplary perfection. The times were difficult, she had no help, she had to help out with the practice and take care of the entire household. She turned out to be an excellent cook, Peppi would have enjoyed it if she had seen her in her new element. It is difficult to describe how happily we were in those months, in spite of it all. Outside, the flood raged, murder, fire, misery, terror, but it seemed to stop at the doors of our home, which, like an island of peace and happiness, provided a sanctuary not only for us but for our friends as well. The pregnancy was nearing its end when it broke upon us. First, on 27. 3. 1942 my mother became the number Af 261 and had to enter the schleuse. No sooner had I said goodbye to her than we too were called up. From all sides we were assured that it was a mistake, we should not pack, because we were indispensable. The German director of the coal mine telephoned and telegraphed and informed me that I should to stay away from the transport and he would take responsibility. I didn't do it, and shortly thereafter all the Jewish miners were lined up as well. Erna was due in the next few days, she already had a big belly. She packed for three, because we needed to bring everything for the child. She ironed, washed, organized, hid, sewed jewelry and gold into seams, was everywhere and did everything. She did not sleep for three days and three nights, then we were in the schleuse. My sister lined up next to us with her spouse in the school, which had been cleared for this purpose. As we walked through the gate of the school, the free world closed behind us. We could not know that barely one percent of those who had passed through this gate would survive the war.

The fall from the peaceful life of our home and our position into the deportation was a tremendous one. I did not feel it, because I was not spoiled and was trained in sports. But for a woman in her condition, it was terrible. Hundreds lay in on the ground in darkened classrooms. Cold, SS Terror, with shooting and beatings to intimidate us. We were dispatched in endless procedures, which still reminded us of normal life.

Food cards, money, all documents, apartment keys, valuables. After three days, at night, so that the general population did not see what was happening to us, we were lined up in rows and chased to the station. SS guards had their fun beating old people to make them run, mocking and ridiculing them. We got into our train cars, the Jewish aid organization had done exemplary work, all luggage was stored in our Kupes ordered by numbers and the 12 hour ride to Theresienstadt was not too bad. Ah 711, which was once my wife, sat beside Ah 712 and was happy, for it was rumoured that men and women were separated. Ah 713 and Ah 714, sister and brother-in-law, rode with us. The first shock was overcome and once again we regained our elixir of life; optimism, the joyful expectancy of the coming liberation.

When we arrived in Terezin, we heard that my mother had arrived well 3 days ago. At the station men and women were really separated. The head doctor of Theresienstadt recognized me and had Erna, considering her condition, transferred to the women’s barracks immediately, which meant that she was spared the three-day stay in the schleuse. Before being admitted to the ghetto, the new arrivals had to be channeled through the schleuse, a kind of quarantine, but it was mainly used to search and confiscate luggage. Medication, tools, instruments, tobacco products, canned goods, food, batteries, candles, lighters and much more were channeled. This expression was known to every ghetto inmate as a common word and was used to describe every kind of scam; one of the most important concepts in Theresienstadt. In this schleuse, hundreds of us lay on the ground, with a bit of straw beneath us. An old friend from Brno was on duty with the ghetto guard and helped smuggle me into the women’s barracks where Erna was staying on the first day. How happy I was to see her again. My mother had just taken her in, prepared her a kind of bed and made her halfway comfortable. So it was not so bad even if the men slept, lived and were fed like pigs, women had it better and above all, they stayed within our reach. We also see that our assumptions about the children were correct, and that the ghetto's management took care of their schooling much as I did in the refugee camp before, and the war would not last long. We took courage and looked forward to the things that were to come.

On 4. 4. 1942 we arrived in Theresienstadt, and on 9. 4. our son was born. In the morning, Dr. H., the gynecologist who looked after Erna, told me that the contractions had begun and that the birth was to be expected in the evening. I fought for a pass slip to enter the women’s barracks for 5 h. The gendarme who examined the slip at the gate asked, Ah, you're the one who got the boy? So I learned that it was all over and that we had a boy. He was born at 1pm. I stormed into the delivery room, and found a very pale but overjoyed Erna lying in bed. She was bleeding so much that I did not want to see the child at first. The birth was easy, but there was a complication after birth, and she had to undergo surgery and nearly bled out. But now everything was fine. Fine? He had been born in a barrack room, on a borrowed iron bed, and three hours later she had to go back to her Ubication, as the living quarters were called there, together with 12 2Note 2: number is unclear other women, some of whom were shortly before birth and others who were shortly before it. She could not get used to the environment, but she kept herself brave. Words cannot describe what kind of woman she was and what she managed.

She carried out motherhood in an exemplary fashion, as she did everything she put her hand to. She had to lie in bed for three weeks until she was well enough to be able to get up. She insisted on nursing the child, she looked after it like no other child was cared for. She was the model mother, the child the model child. We called him Michael Josef after Erna’s brother, who had been murdered by the Nazis. He was the most beautiful child born in Theresienstadt / 296 3Note 3: number is unclear children were born there all together/. My sister and mother helped Erna, but it was very hard. Constantly new and newer obstacles had to be overcome before mother and child were taken care of. The water had to be towed up 2 floors, then coal, wood, an oven, a berth, cot and changing table, and a hundred other things that had to be procured first. Whether it was smuggled or newly-made, it was paid for with food that was already so limited. We got to eat: 330 g bread, black coffee, 2 watery soups, 300 g potatoes with some sauce or vegetables. Workers got a little more bread and some margarine. But we still had some supplies from home, and I started working as a doctor and was soon able to earn so much that I could do it. But it was all only because Erna toiled tirelessly, she resisted the food and it was no wonder that she became quite run-down, as she did not want to hear a word about rest and recovery.

Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that Theresienstadt was not our final stop. As transports arrived - and there were 2-3 per week- equally strong ones were sent away again, to the east. Back 4Note 4: illegible could only be seriously ill and people 4Note 4: illegible has friends. Even families with small children were protected.

So we had nothing to fear and also because I worked as a doctor, we were not sent on a transport. But on April 28, 1942 my sister and her husband were to be transported to the East. It would have been possible to get her out, but she did not want to. She suffered so much from the separation from her husband; they were not allowed to see each other, since men and women lived and worked in strict separation, so she wanted to leave, hoping they would be together at their new destination. My sister wrote 3 cards from the Lublin area. She had not seen her husband since the ride. Then both were lost.

But life went on. We found solace in our child, which worried us a lot and yet thrived. Jews from all over Europe wallowed in Theresienstadt, were processed, sifted and sent on. Young people were not sent via Theresienstadt, but were sent directly from Vienna, Hamburg, Berlin, Munich and other cities to Poland to their ruin. Only people over 65 years came to Theresienstadt to die here, or to fall victim to a transport to the east. In the hot summer months, a Ruhr epidemic broke out, hundreds died daily in the fully stuffed barracks, and the bodies could not be taken away in time because there were too many. A crematorium was built because the gravediggers could not keep up. The epidemic also spread to the infants' home and nearly half of all children died. Erna contracted measles in July. This disease is serious and very dangerous for adults. She was in great danger and infected the child with it. For 48 hours it looked like both were lost. First, the mother recovered, but then the child got the feared diarrhea. Three anxious days and just as many endless nights we fought for his life. And he got well. What did we want more? We got our child back twice. Everything else was 6Note 6: end of the line is missing

...another happy surprise came. On the 6th of July a transport arrived bearing the quiet, modest and very skinny Mother Knoll. Can you imagine how happy mother and daughter were in all this 7Note 7: end of the line is missing

when they found each other. Of Bronja and her children, 8Note 8: end of the line is missing reported they were sent directly to Poland. At that time we knew that Poland meant certain death, and always hoped for 8Note 8: end of the line is missing.

And on a final happy reunion.

Meanwhile, conditions in Theresienstadt improved to some extent. At the beginning, only a few old barracks were accessible to the Jews and habitable, the whole city was later settled by Jews after the Aryan population had been forcibly evacuated. With this, the ban on leaving the house also fell.

And we were able to move freely in the city, so we could visit our families and do that when we wanted. The children were allowed in the gardens and although the food was so short that you could starve to death, there were ways and means to improve it. Old, single people were lost, sooner or later they died of hunger and exhaustion. But where there was a young person in the family, they could create and improve all sorts of things, be it better sleeping places, clothes or even more food. I had a wife and child, mother and mother-in-law, and two aunts to provide for. It was hard, but it worked out. The child soon became the center of the whole family, our hope, our pride. Mother, grandmother, aunts but also patients vied to give him everything he needed. So it went on halfway and it seemed once again that the worst was over. Then Erna began to ache. The heavy blood loss at birth, later the hard physical work without proper nutrition, and later the severe barrack fever, she went downhill rapidly. It had been a long time since she had had the thriving appearance of pregnancy. She began to cough and one day it was clear: she had something on her lung. That was nearly the worst thing that could happen in Theresienstadt. Not only that it lacked all the preconditions for healing, namely good air, plenty of food and rest, but above all, she immediately had to be separated from the child so as not to endanger it. Do you know what it means to be separated from the child as a young mother in such circumstances? I thought she could not stand it emotionally. It took weeks of convincing her that she needed to get well until she had the will to get well. It would be a long story to tell how a lounge chair was acquired, how the fight for food began, how we all hungered for many a day to exchange what was necessary for her and her child. It took a lot of effort to get them to eat as they did not want to take anything we had saved ourselves. We had to lie the blue out of the sky, assuring her how much we had to eat, and that nobody would come up short due to the rations we had saved for them. She got eggs, butter, fruit, things that were otherwise known only through hearsay. She began to recover. Fortunately, our condition continued to improve as postal mail was allowed, and even parcels could be sent. Our Czech friends risked great danger (because it was dangerous to help Jews) to send us nice food parcels. Month after month passed, critical, anxious weeks. But Erna was soon out of danger and the miracle happened: she got well again. Again she got color in her face, again she became rounded and cheerful. Her lung problem disappeared almost completely and with her recovery we spoke again of our beautiful future, that soon finally the miserable war would be over, how long could it last? The child did surprisingly well. The sisters to whom he had been entrusted loved him and cared for him above themselves.

I know, parents are not objective about their children, but our Mischa was a particularly well-done example of a human. He was a very beautiful child. Small and squat in stature, he resembled his mother otherwise; he had her olive skin color and her big, bright eyes, a tiny barely visible nose and pearl-white teeth. He soon started to walk and talk, of course only in Czech. His mother diligently learned this difficult language with him because she knew she would need it in the future. Mother and child were such a pleasing sight and a well-known phenomenon in Theresienstadt.

Unforgettable was my 34th birthday, when both dressed in white, each with a bunch of flowers in hand, they picked me up from work and congratulated me; how outraged my son was when I did not immediately give the flowers he had presented to me back to him. Mischa was the declared darling of all, with everything a child needs. He was dressed like a prince and had a new suit almost every day; I do not think he would have been better nourished or equipped had we been free. He was a very good child and often reminded us of Norberti when he was little. He hardly ever cried, even if he was ill. He liked to share his toys with others, which is rare with children. He loved his grandmothers above all else. He was happy when he could make those around him laugh and displayed considerable acting talent. We worried about him, but everything was made up for by the untold happiness that he brought to those around him.

Months passed, and each day the much-anticipated liberation came one step closer. The ghetto was improved and embellished. It became a figurehead, a model ghetto. They were expecting an International Commission and they wanted to show how well the Jews were doing. Parks were created, children’s homes with playgrounds and paddling pools, shower baths, open-air concerts with parades, theater, concerts, and a coffee house were built from the ground up. Although the purpose was clear, we became beneficiaries. In Terezin, the best artists in Europe were interned, so the performances were at a very high level. We heard concerts that cannot soon be forgotten. Two football fields on which championships were fought emerged. Sport events were also celebrated, e.g. at Lag Baomer. The commission came, viewed everything with indulgent smiles, and let themselves be fooled. As soon as they were gone, the magic collapsed. Again it was announced: transports. Whenever we forgot for a few days that we were interned in a concentration camp, the word transport was spoken, and with one blow everything changed. Terrified, people slunk through the streets, whispering groups stood together, hunched, waiting for the list to be announced, the same picture again and again: fear, terror, Are you in there? No, I'm not in it, I'm protected, but my mother is in! Have you already appealed? Yes, but it is hopeless. The same topic of conversation, the same haste, the same agitation everywhere. Rushing to pack, as soon as the list is posted you can see again the oh so familiar picture. Heavily packed figures, numbered tablets around their necks, wander towards the schleuse, a barracks that had to house the unfortunate victims who had lost their lives in the unknown and had to drive away towards certain death. As soon as everyone was gathered there, the gates closed, and they no longer belonged to us: they were the foreign body that was to be expelled, but first had to be put to the side, demarcated, separated. Then they are loaded in wagons, the wagons are sealed and the transport is gone. And now the miracle happens. Everything breathes relief, what's gone is gone. Probably a girl is crying here, who had to let her parents go, there a little mother, whose son was taken away. But life in Theresienstadt continues, this time it is still good. When, for God's sake, is the next transport? Oh well, until let the Soff 10Note 10: end be, every day is life won. But after three months there were always 1-2 more transports and always the same, cruel game. 200,000 people came to Theresienstadt, 30,000 now lived there, all the others left with transports. Eight times my mother was put on the list, eight times I was able to get her out thanks to my position and my connections. On 13. 12. 1943 she and Mother Knoll were put on a transport. This time all my efforts were in vain. Did misery never end? I gave her injections to create an artificial fever and make her unable to transport. To no end. She had to go. She behaved heroically; she would have left happy and courageous, but saying farewell to the child was very difficult. On the last night, which I spent with her at the schleuse,

she confessed that the months she had spent with us and her darling Misha, despite all the misery of deportation, were some of the happiest of her life. We did not know what awaited them, but we hoped that they would last the short time until our liberation, in hopes of a reunion. We did not see them again. The transport went to Birkenau Auschwitz. We smuggled secret letters out and asked for food parcels for both mothers. Over 30 packages were sent, but they did not receive one. They died of hunger shortly after their arrival.

How we missed our mothers! Our life normalized a bit. We were actually doing better and better. What had thus far gone towards our mothers now benefited the child and Erna. We got valuable packages and most of all, we got secret and dangerous newspapers and reports from outside. And we knew it was coming to an end. The front approached from the east, the invasion succeeded. We expected the collapse daily. I had converted a horse stable into a small single room, which we had for ourselves. What happy hours the three of us spent there. The future shone bright before us in beautiful colors, we loved to talk about our loved ones all over the world, how we would see them again and how proud we would be to show them our pride. Everything seemed to be correct. Of course it hurt that sisters, brothers and now also our mothers were separated from us; that they no longer lived, we did not think about that. Only the end came so slowly, so slowly, too slowly. When we no longer thought about this possibility, the disaster came. In the fall of 1944 came the order: 5,000 young men must go to work in the Reich, so again there would be transports. Overall, there were only about 5,400 men, so practically everyone had to leave. But soon it turned out that this time it was something that Theresienstadt had not seen yet. At intervals of 3 days, transport after transport, at first only men, then their wives and children, later, indiscriminately, everyone under 65 years. I got on the so-called blue protection list, a list of people who were indispensable and had to stay in Theresienstadt. Again we let ourselves think, as in Eibenschütz, that we were safe. And after each transport that was dispatched, everyone hoped: that was the last. But there was no end, it was like an evacuation. No one knew where the transports went, what happened to those on them. We were so blinded, we really were not capable of any logical thought. That it was a bad thing, we knew, they talked about new ghettos, women’s and children’s camp near the place where the men were supposed to work. A guessing game, no one knew what it was all about. Only those highest up knew what was happening, and they were silent as a grave. Theresienstadt was not recognizable. The crowded living rooms were emptying, everyone was packing, a mess of discarded and left behind things. -

On October 19, 1944 fate befell us, and the three of us were placed in the ninth transport of this series. Eleven were dispatched altogether. It was a hard blow, but we kept our heads up. The child was big enough for a journey, Erna was healthy and strong again and me, I did not have to talk about it. And how long could all this fun last? No, we did not let it get us down. As prudent and efficient as ever, Erna packed our things together. Misha was full of unbridled joy, as he was delighted to finally be able to ride the train.

On April 1, 1942, our freedom came to an end. On 19. 10. 1944 our life. - The conditions under which we were transported were indescribable. 92 people penned in a wagon together with all their luggage, without toilet facilities, almost without water, as we drove 2 days and 3 nights. At dawn on the 22nd, we drove slowly to the ramp

of Auschwitz. Auschwitz, that sounded bad, that was known as one of the worst concentration camps. But how could we know what Auschwitz really was? Words can never describe it, no, even the sickest imagination cannot conjure what happened there. To make a long story short: in the car, Polish Jewish in striped suits crept in at the doors and windows, shouting at us to get out and leave all our luggage behind. They made people take their wristwatches from their hands and beat them when they defended themselves. They began to rob and steal whatever they liked. We were stunned, stunned. Erna tried to speak Yiddish with them, they did not pay her any heed. Get out, they said, men here, women and children there. I said a quick goodbye to my wife and child and promised them to come to them in the course of the day, I managed to overcome all obstacles to get to Erna in Theresienstadt two years ago, why shouldn’t I be able to do the same here? Misha was in a very good mood, because he liked new things. Slowly, the columns moved forward. There were three senior SS officers, immobile waxy skulls, and later I learned that one of them was the infamous Dr. Mengele, lord of life and death for millions of people. For the first time, I saw the cruel game that I did not understand at the time and would later see so often. As each stepped forward, he pointed either to the right or to the left. He directed the young, strong people to the right; the old, women with children, and the ill to the left. He sent me right. When I saw that women with children on the left, I slipped to the left behind his back. An SS guard saw this and chased me back to Mengele. Herr Obersturmfuhrer, I am a doctor, I would like to go with the children and the ill. A scrutinizing look measures me from head to toe, then sends me to the right again. Once again I saw my wife, her exuberantly hopping son holding her hand, in the column of women with children, then they vanished from my sight. If only he had let me go with them! I would have been led with a thousand others, like millions before and after in the shower bath. There, inscriptions in all the languages ​​of Europe stated that one should remember the number where their clothes were hung, so that they would not be confused. Undressed, everyone got a piece of soap and a paper towel in their hands and were then admitted into the bathroom. A huge room with showers hanging from the ceiling. Only it was noticeable that 1500 people were being stuffed in, tightly packed. The showers were not showers, they just looked like them, decoys. Behind the last bather the doors closed hermetically and a German hero was provided with a gas mask, throwing cyanide bombs through a shaft into the room. He watched the success through a little window. If he had used enough gas, it took 13 minutes until the last scream fell silent, but sometimes they skimped, then it took half an hour or more. How were the cries? I hope they did not know where they were going. I saw her constantly in front of me, my wife, naked, the child on her arm, calm, superior, angelic, in the sanctity of her motherhood, in the jostling crowd of naked bodies. I see her in front of me, at the moment of the offense, as she tries to protect the child, tries to protect herself, I see her then united in death, the mother of my son and my son, and I am deeply sad that I was not allowed to lie there with them, and that I am not with them now.

What happened to them next was terrible. On massive [cranes], the corpses were taken to the crematorium, and each was examined by one of the 50 dentists who worked there day and night ripping out gold teeth. Then into the oven with it. First the children, they burn best, then women, men last. It could be even worse. There were a to-

tal of six crematoria in operation. Not all were so humanely equipped. If there was too much of a rush, or there was no gas, they did not [wait long]. There were several ways to kill people, from the ax to an execution-style shot with a small pistol, to save on the usual shooting. Little children were thrown into the fire alive. The roar of the victims of Crematorium VI was audible throughout the camp for hours. This Crematorium VI was very primitive and only used in emergencies, not out of sentimentality, but to save trouble. The victims were not allowed to know what was happening to them because otherwise they might defend themselves in their final despair. Crematorium VI looked like a farmhouse, nestled in a grove, surrounded by an opaque wooden fence. Near the house was a big pit, with straw in it, which was showered with gasoline. The slain ones were burned under the open sky here. Only after revolts and other unpleasant incidents had the machine been rationalized and brought to a more humane level. All of this is true, not the offspring of morbid fantasies.

But I did not know all that then, I learned it only weeks after liberation. On the gray morning of our arrival in Auschwitz we went to the right. 1500 people, we had been loaded in Theresienstadt; 160 men and 40/60 11Note 11: The number is illegible. women went to the right. We too came to a bath after an hour's march. But even the way there taught us that we were in another world. Right and left stood a double 4m high barbed wire fence with large inscriptions reading: Attention: high voltage, do not touch. Flanked by SS guards with machine pistols at the ready. To the left and right behind the fences, infinitely long and infinitely barren rows of barracks. Their inmates were not allowed to leave the barracks while we were marching through, nobody was allowed to talk to us. From a block of women, a young woman shouted over to us to throw some food over the fence. A preserve, a loaf of bread flew over. There's a shot and the woman lies dead in her blood. Onward. Seems to be an everyday affair, because nobody behind the fence gets upset about it. I'm trying to start up a conversation with the guard whistling beside me. He is not unfriendly and answers my question about how it is for children here: With the children, yes, that was bad so far. But now it is better, they have their own group homes, the mothers live with them and go to work during the day. They have their own food and are cared for by older women when the mothers are working. This information calmed me to some extent and helped ease what came later. I do not want to linger on it long because what happened to me is not important. I kept going because I wanted to see my child again. Whatever happened from that moment until our liberation, I always had the child in mind and knew I had to stay alive. It is completely inexplicable to me today that I remained alive. In the Auschwitz bath, called the Sauna, we were robbed under bouts and beatings, bellowing and ranting, of the last things we still had. First we had to deliver money and gold, as far as we still had any: wedding rings, watches, fountain pens. I crushed my watch and buried my fountain pen. We were subjected to a renewed selection, as the beautiful game was called, each new sorting out, which we had first experienced at the station with Dr. Mengele and where was decided who should die immediately and who should be sent to the labor camp to die there after long torment. We were allowed to keep our glasses, belts and loafers, we had to hand over everything else. They searched all our body cavities for hidden valuables. Then we were shaved all over our bodies, sent under a cold shower, and chased out into the open in icy cold weather. Teeth chattering, we waited naked, until we got our new [clothes]. Filthy stinking striped prisoners suits, so-called pajamas, often stained with blood, presumably stripped from someone who had been beaten to death. Then the

new numbers were tattooed in the forearm, signed for life. So far I had been called Ah 712, from now on simply 119224. No underclothes, no coat, no stockings. Very cold, we stared at each other and did not recognize each other. Not just that we were shorn and disguised, as at a masquerade ball, but a new look was there. Naked horror, coupled with fear, but also a determination to pay them back what they were doing with us. So that was the work in the Reich we were sent to? Many fell during the procedures and did not stand up, not even when the flailing dog whip painted bloody welts on their skin. Even in front of the bath building, we drilled the main command: hats off, hats on. Shouts, beatings, shots. Where is Mischa now? Does Erna have enough blankets? Did they already get something to eat? These worries constantly went through my head because they were now alone and without my help. For the first time, actually. Finally, it is already evening, we march into our barracks. I ask our Stubendienst, an older prisoner, what he knows about the children. What, your child? Look there, there you have your child! He points to a huge chimney, visible from everywhere in the camp. The grisly symbol of annihilation. Giant, black, towering into the evening sky, meters high flames rise from it, although it is already a good 20 m high. Do you see how well your child is burning? You do not need to worry about your wife and child anymore. Mine went there half a year ago and as you can see, I am still alive. What does this man talk about? Has he gone mad? Or am I crazy? That's not possible, that's ... I walk down the camp street in a daze, meet a loyal companion from Theresienstadt, who has already been here for 3 12Note 12: The number is illegible. weeks. Completely disturbed, I tell him what I've just heard. He laughs at me, and says that it’s not true, or at least exaggerated. People do get gassed and burned, but only old people, cripples, disabled people. Children and women? What a thought! He himself had worked on an external commando near the FKL (women’s and children’scamp), he himself had seen how children played under the supervision of older women there, their rooms clean, painted white. I should not let people scare me. People like to do that here. He had trouble calming and convincing me. But, what man wants to believe, he chooses to believe. Still, I felt the barb. The comrade brought in more eyewitnesses, who had to confirm to me that the children had looked well, that the women had been allowed to keep their clothes, they had not even been shaved bald. That was all similar to what the SS guard had told me, and I had renewed hope. And besides, even they were human beings, and it is quite impossible that people, even if they are SS, would murder innocent children. I did not miss any opportunity later to catch up on any information about what happened to women and children in Auschwitz. Was it the wisdom of the informants or were they startled by my questioning eyes? I do not know, I collected statement after statement and became more and more convinced that they were still alive. How and where, the gods only knew.

I stayed in Auschwitz for four days. Hell cannot be worse. We got nothing to eat because our provisions were bartered away by our block elders for liquor and women. A shy protest attempt by an inmate ended with him being beaten half to death. He died shortly thereafter. Daily selections, sometimes twice a day. Sleeping on a cot, without a blanket. Hours of roll call, drilling, shots, whipping, roaring. Suicides plunging into the high voltage wires, hanging there, burned, for hours, days at a time. At night, the howling of the block eldest. And everywhere towering high into the sky: the unnerving image of the flaming, smoking chimney, the smell of burning singed flesh. How could I stand this? Again and again the nagging question, did they really only burn cripples and

old people? When had it been my mother’s turn, my aunt’s? It was like a dream - on the fifth day we were recruited into a work transport. Of the 160 selected at the station, barely half were left. Again, 1500 men, picked out of many transport, we hunted into prepared cars under vigilant watch, everything at a running pace, pushed, hunted, shots. Each of us grabs a loaf of bread, a slice of sausage, a piece of margarine. After four days of fasting, we jump on it like wolves. Trapped in cattle cars, we devour our [rations], soon to hear that it was intended to be food for three days. Three days trapped in the dark cattle wagon without a toilet, no water. Many pass out, in the dark one walks around the other. Standing, you sleep a few minutes, or was it hours? Through cracks and joints we try to recognize the direction of travel. Moravia, Olomouc, Brno. If only we stopped here somewhere. We could run away easily. Here we are at home. Continue. Vienna, Neulengbach, St. Pölten. Are we going to the dreaded Mauthausen near Linz? Linz. Long stop. No, onward, Salzburg, then we are in Bavaria. How long have we been riding? Three days or is it five? How many nights, how many days? Suddenly the seals are broken off, the doors are torn open. Out! Fast fast! Let's go, five, front man, side-facing! How many times should we still hear this command! Half stunned, trembling with cold, we stumble onto the platform, stretch, shake our numb limbs. It is night. The station clock shows ½ 1 h. I decipher the name Kaufering station. We march, fifteen groups of one hundred men for half an hour into a camp, again a double barbed wire fence, small wooden huts, partly underground like a bunker: we learn that it is part of a warehouse in Dachau. We get bread, hot coffee. Here you get something to eat! Misha, I will see you again. Where are you? Is your mother with you? - Our transport, made up of strong men, begins its everyday life in the labor camp. 14 to 16 hours of the hardest work daily, I work moving earth and concrete. Almost nothing to eat. First 300 g 13Note 13: The number is illegible., later less and less bread and 1 litre of water soup was the food for the day. Bitter cold, miserable clothes, beatings, hours of roll call before and after work, punishment, food deprivation, shootings, selections. Anyone who is ill or unable to continue is sent to Dachau to the gas chamber. Being ill for one day could cost a lifetime. We work through fever, diarrhea, pustulent hands and feet, open frostbite, bleeding wounds from the blows and rifle butts of our guards. Every day our ranks are diminished, new arrivals from Hungary, Lithuania, Poland, fill in the gaps. Same thing day after day. Getting up in the nighttime darkness, roll call in the freezing cold, for hours, endless. An hour's walk to work through dung, snow, water, ice, with perforated clogs, without stockings, many barefoot. Let's go to five, front man, side direction! Then heavy nonstop work, driven with whips, ranting. The hunger becomes unbearable, the fingers freeze on the icy shovels. In the evening, dead tired, go home to the camp. Again roll call, then down the water soup. People fell like flies. They died on the march, while eating, in their sleep, at the roll call. They died at work, under the blows of the overseers. They died of hunger, dysentery, edema, heart failure. No day off, now we know what hunger looks like. The lice eat us up, the humans turn into animals, they steal each other's bread, they beat each other bloody over some rotten potato peels. We eat rotten cabbage, dug out of manure, as it is, unwashed. Moldy bread crusts, thrown away by our guards. Living snails, if we found them, grass. Hunger drives us crazy. Teeth clenched, you have to hold on. The small group of friends from Theresienstadt

becomes smaller and smaller and melts away. New people come, they come and die, come and die. How easy is it to give up. All you have to do is drop into the wet mud, into which we sink deeply at work. Then you were either beaten to death or shot for refusing to work, or you just got pneumonia. Many gave up. That was out of the question for me. I saw the sweet head of my boy constantly in front of me, I heard him call: Tatínku pojď 1Note 1: Come, father, his mother held him by the hand and said calmly: You will endure it. I endured it. How? It is a mystery to me. Winter passed, in April the front began to approach. The cannons became audible. On the 24th of April everything seemed to dissolve, we expected our liberators, we did not go to work anymore. Then they said: the whole camp will march away. In endless gray ghostly colonies it begins to move. After more than 3 years we saw villages, cities, normal free people again for the first time. We must have been a terrible sight. Why did all those who saw us cry? We did not understand it. Today we know that the sight of us made them cry. They threw us bread, the guards shot at them, we marched day and night, without food, flanked by SS with wild bloodhounds. If there is anything worse than the horror of the labour camp, we experienced it on this Dachau death march. People sank down, unable to continue, and they were shot. If one collapsed in a city, he got an injection, as if receiving medical help, but in fact, he was killed in that inconspicuous way. 15,000 people started the march. On 2. 5. the Americans liberated us. 4,500 more dead than alive did not even have the strength to be happy about it. Sunken eyes gazed dully out of their sockets at this unbelievable luck. Well, we experienced it. Misha, where are you, where will I find you? - Of the 1,500 of us who came from Auschwitz to Kaufering, there were still 6. I weighed 42 kg 14Note 14: The number is illegible.. Continue.

I became an English interpreter, got a car and began to search. It was not long before I knew the whole truth. In Frankfurt I learned that there were 500 15Note 15: The number is illegible. Jewish children in Paris, orphans from concentration camps, one last glimmer of hope, regardless of all obstacles, I made my way to Paris. There I learned the whole truth. No Jewish child, no Jewish mother left Auschwitz alive. Over. Why did I endure everything? What am I still living for? It is a mistake, I do not belong here, I belong to the left, to the child, to the woman.

I had to go to hospital, where I spent 6 weeks because of a feverish heart condition, then I drove home to Prague. Home?