I Shall Live (22 page)

Toward the end of the year, I was assigned to work with a group at the train station loading sugar beets into railway cars. It was very cold, usually below zero degrees Fahrenheit, and the work was very hard. Supervising us was a tough German army sergeant who wouldn't let us rest for even a few minutes. But I was in good physical shape and had no trouble doing the job. After work I used to stop in at Fred's office. He always kept a supply of liquor on hand for the Gestapo, so I'd have a drink of strong Polish vodka just to get warm. Fred knew I didn't really like alcohol, and he used to make a joke of my “drinking.” “Here comes the big boozer,” he'd say when he saw me returning from work.

The severe winter weather forced some of the Jews who were hiding out in the woods near Hrubieszów to come to Jatkowa seeking shelter and food. In some cases Fred managed, by bribing Wagner with liquor or other scarce luxuries, to persuade him to let them join the camp and become “legal,” but he could not do it for old people or small children, who were not able to work. Sometimes people who had become “legal” themselves built skrytkas for their parents or small children in the cellars or attics of the houses they were quartered in, or in empty Jewish houses nearby.

Wagner was a frequent visitor to the camp. He was a tall, well-built man, an Austrian from Linz, perhaps six feet two inches, ramrod-straight. He had blue eyes, small, curved lips, and very pink cheeks—the picture of innocence and serenity. He once confided to Fred that he had been nervous and uneasy when he was ordered to shoot a Jew for the first time. He must have got used to it, because by the time we knew him in Jatkowa it didn't bother him even to kill children. It was hard to believe that this cherubic-looking man could be a cold-blooded killer of babies. He needed Fred because his medical problems persisted, and he considered Fred to be the best doctor around.

One day he was standing in the street with Fred when he spotted a young girl who seemed nervous. He ordered her to show him what she was carrying under her arm. It turned out to be some Polish
kiełbasa
(sausage), which was not part of our permitted rations. He took out his revolver and was about to shoot her. Fred, begging him not to do it, got Wagner and the girl to come to his office, and after more pleading Wagner relented and let the girl go. (She survived the war.)

But most of the time, particularly when it came to old people and children, even Fred's influence was not enough. One day I came back from work to find him completely shaken. During the day, while most of us were out working, a Polish woman had gone to the Gestapo and told them that she had heard the sound of crying babies coming from one of the empty Jewish houses. Wagner went to investigate and found a skrytka with nine small children in it, together with five old women—some of them the children's grandmothers. He took them all outside and serenely, with a half smile, shot them one by one in the head. One little girl tried to escape, but Wagner ran after her and shot her down too. Fred stood nearby, in helpless despair, knowing that throwing himself at Wagner to try to stop him would only have resulted in the annihilation of the camp.

Another time Wagner caught a pregnant girl from the camp carrying some “illegal” food and shot her on the spot. Apparently he was worried that the girl's boyfriend might seek revenge, because the next day he decided to kill the boyfriend as well, and came to Jatkowa looking for him. When the boy saw Wagner coming toward him, he tried to run to Fred's office, hoping Fred might save him. But he didn't make it; Wagner shot him on the run. He fell in the snow, where he bled to death, the red blood in sharp contrast against the stark white snow.

Alex, the Yiddish-speaking member of the Gestapo, didn't like Fred, especially Fred's occasional success in talking Wagner out of killing people. He had to be careful, though, because Wagner was higher ranking than he. One evening Alex came to the camp drunk, with a few phonograph records in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He ordered Fred out of his office. Fred thought Alex was going to kill him, but then Alex seemed to change his mind, threw down the records angrily, and walked away.

One day Wagner told Fred to go to see his Polish girlfriend, who was ill. Wagner went with him. We weren't supposed to leave the camp, but Fred assumed that on Wagner's orders it would be safe for him to go. While they were there, a messenger came running from Jatkowa and told Fred that Alex was at the camp, shouting and cursing because he couldn't find him. Fred told Wagner, “I'm afraid this time he's going to kill me. Please come with me.” They walked back to Jatkowa together, and Wagner told Fred to open the door to his office. He took out his gun and stood to one side. “Don't be afraid,” he said. “I'm right behind you.” Fred was afraid Alex might shoot him before realizing Wagner was there too, and opened the door wide. Before he saw Wagner, Alex, waving an automatic pistol, yelled at Fred, “What were you doing outside the camp?” Fred started to explain that he had gone there on Wagner's orders, to which Alex responded with a disparaging remark about Wagner. Wagner, gun in hand, stepped into the doorway and said, “What was that you said about me, Scharführer?” Alex stood there dumbfounded, and Wagner coldly told him to get out.

Extraordinary events were a daily occurrence at Jatkowa. One day Fred witnessed an incident that as a doctor he found almost incredible. An old woman who had apparently gone mad in her skrytka ran out into the middle of the street and started screaming
incoherently. She was completely disheveled, in rags. Wagner came and shot her in the head at point-blank range. The old woman continued to stand there and scream. Wagner shot her twice more, his gun only inches from her head. Still she was on her feet, shouting and cursing him. Wagner ran out of bullets, and in disbelief reloaded his gun and shot her once more. This time the woman collapsed and died. Fred told us later that he would have never believed that anyone with three bullets in the head could remain upright for so long.

Not all Gestapo men were as bad as Ebner, Alex, Demant, and Wagner. A new man came to join the Gestapo in Hrubieszów and got to know Fred, in whom he confided a bit. He told Fred that he had been drafted into the Gestapo against his will, and was unhappy about what Hitler was doing to the Jews. One day he was ordered to shoot a Jew who had been caught hiding. He killed the man, then came to Fred's office, white-faced and shaking, looking to get drunk. Shooting an innocent man made him sick to his stomach, he told Fred, but what could he do? If he disobeyed the order, he himself would be put to death.

Around this time, too, a new chief of Gestapo, Waldner, came to take over. He was a tall, erect man, who, we saw immediately, was not a bloodthirsty killer like most of the others. Under his command even the mass murderers such as Demant, Alex, and Wagner were no longer permitted to kill any member of the Jatkowa camp without a reason—which didn't, of course, stop Wagner and the rest from killing any Jews they found in hiding. Still, the new chief, although strict, seemed to want to be as just as he could, given the lawless hell in which we were living.

One of the men at Jatkowa was able to establish contact with Polish partisans, which, considering that he was a Jew, was unusual. A Pole in Hrubieszów tipped off the Gestapo, and Wagner
came to Jatkowa to shoot the man. He was in a room talking to Hy Silberstein and my sister Hanka. Suddenly Wagner walked in, pointed his gun at the man, and said, “Come with me.” While Wagner's attention was concentrated on the man, Hanka slowly opened the window. It took great courage for her to do that. Knowing he had nothing to lose, the man threw himself through it, fell to the ground, got to his feet, and started running toward the nearby Huczwa River. Surprised, Wagner ran after him, gun in hand, but it was too late; the Jew had escaped. Unfortunately, a few weeks later he and the Polish partisans whom he had joined in the forest were surrounded by the Germans and killed.

Unexpectedly, sometime in February, during the morning roll call, the Gestapo took forty people out of the lineup and loaded them onto a truck. Given our previous experiences, we were certain that they were going to be shot. Later we learned that they were taken instead to Majdanek, a concentration camp near Lublin. This was the first time since the liquidation action in Hrubieszów that any group of Jews was taken away and not killed.

In those times, even many of the truly religious people found it difficult to go on believing in God. Having witnessed the murder of their children, their parents, their brothers and sisters, they asked, “If there is a God, how could He have let this happen?” There were some, however, who continued to believe, their faith unshaken; they died chanting
“Shma Israel, Adonoi Alohejnu, Adonoi Echad”
(Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One). One man in the Jatkowa camp, Velvele, continued to pray every day, with prayer shawl and all. One day, when we were working together on the new Gestapo building, I asked him, “Velvele, they killed your wife, your children—how come you're still praying?” Velvele thought for a moment, then shrugged and said,
“Tomer”
(In case). Should God turn out to exist after all, Velvele wanted to make sure He was on his
side. But most of the young people in that time of death and despair did not think of turning to God.
*

Life in Jatkowa began to become almost routine. We were living in limbo, our moods swinging between hope and despair, depending on the events of each day.

A new young man from the Gestapo arrived in Hrubieszów. He was a simpleton, with a horse-like laugh, but at least he never harmed anyone; he was the only member of the Gestapo no one was afraid of. He was supervising our crew that was working on the new Gestapo building, and he didn't think I was a very good worker. One day he observed me for a while, then came over and said, “Orenstein, you aren't even worth the salt you eat.” Pleased with his wit, he snorted with laughter. I remember thinking, “So this is a member of the Master Race.” That whole concept of a Master Race was puzzling to me. I never could understand how Hitler, who himself was at best an average-looking man with dark hair, had come to promote the idea of the racial superiority of blond Nordics.

After the Gestapo building was finished, the chief, very pleased with our work, ordered extra food for all the people at Jatkowa. He intended to feed us all in the new building but apparently changed his mind. Perhaps he thought that the other Gestapo members would not approve of such generosity to Jews, so instead he had the food sent over to Jatkowa.

I never again had a chance to pursue my friendship with Sarah, but a second opportunity unexpectedly presented itself. There was another girl, Henia, who seemed to like me too, and one day when I didn't go to work I found out that she had also stayed in the camp for the day. She came over to the room I shared with my brothers, where for once I was alone. We started kissing, and soon lay down together on the bed. We were taking a great risk—Wagner and others of the Gestapo made frequent unannounced visits to Jatkowa—but the urge was very strong, and we started to make love. Henia was an extremely passionate girl, with beautiful deep blue eyes. We were both very excited, and this time I had no difficulty. Afterward I noticed there was blood on the bedspread. I said, “Henia, was this the first time for you too?” “Yes,” she said, “and I am glad we did it.” She was a sweet girl from a very good home, and I'm sure that before the war she would never have dreamed of sleeping with a man before marriage. I took the bloody bedspread off the bed and buried it deep in the bottom of the garbage can. When my brothers came back from work they were mystified—why would anyone bother to steal an old bedspread?

Henia and I made love twice more. Once we almost got caught. We were in my room in the midst of lovemaking when we heard voices. We got up quickly and looked out the window, where we saw Wagner standing right next to our house talking to David Rotenberg, Fred's assistant. I often wondered what would have happened if Wagner
had surprised us. Had I not been Fred's brother, he certainly would have killed us. But even Fred's influence might not have saved us, given the seriousness of the “offense.”

The news from the fighting fronts was getting better and better. On February 2 the entire German army under General Paulus surrendered to the Russians in Stalingrad. Hitler had been desperate. Rather than let the world see a German army surrender, Hitler had preferred that all his soldiers be killed, and he ordered them to fight to the last man. At the very end he made Paulus a marshal of the German Reich, supposedly because no German marshal had ever surrendered. Paulus and his men fought bravely, but chose at last not to follow the Führer's orders, and surrendered. Beside himself with rage, Hitler declared Paulus a traitor.

The Russians were also victorious on other fronts, pushing the Germans farther to the west of Moscow and breaking at last the siege of Leningrad. The Russian people—both citizens and soldiers—who defended Leningrad wrote a new chapter in the history of endurance and heroism. They had been surrounded by the Germans for a year and a half. At first they received some meager supplies across the ice of Lake Ladoga, but soon nothing at all came through. Hundreds of thousands died of starvation; toward the end cannibalism was rampant, but they did not surrender.

In the south, the Russians took Rostov in March, and were approaching Kharkov.

In Tunisia, the ring around hundreds of thousands of Germans and Italians was drawing tighter. The Allies controlled the air and the sea; no supplies were coming through. Even in the Pacific, the tide of war was now running in favor of the Allies. There were bitter air and sea battles, in which the Japanese proved themselves formidable fighters, eager to die for the Emperor. But they couldn't cope with the flood of American war matériel. After the massive early defeats,
the Americans were learning how to fight the tough Japanese, and here too, in the Pacific theater, were gaining the upper hand.