I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree (6 page)

I explained about the liquidation of the ghetto and Eugen's offer. “He also told me he would put each of us in a different hiding place. Can you accept that, Mama?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Our last night on Novotnastrasse was an emotional one. We huddled together, reminiscing about times past, talking about Papa and Wolfgang.

I remember Mama holding a prayer book in her hand, reading psalms. Her tears covered the pages. I could barely hold back my own tears, wondering if we would see one another again.

At the first sign of light we closed the door at Novotnastrasse 10, leaving our remaining possessions behind. Each went in a different direction. It was October 1942.

Crawling through the narrow entrance of the tunnel wasn't easy, but I managed it without bumping my head. Suddenly a man shining a flashlight into my face stopped me.

“It's all right, you can let her in,” I heard Eugen say. “Mordechai saw to it that no one followed her.”

Eugen had given me instructions on how to reach this hiding place. Getting here had been like an obstacle course. First I had to enter a house on Halinastrasse, making sure I wasn't followed. The tunnel's entrance was in the cellar of that house. After removing several cleverly concealed planks, I lowered myself
onto a narrow underground walkway, careful of every step. When I reached the end, I found myself near a garden fence. There I was met by a man who led me to the real tunnel. The precautions were necessary, Eugen explained, because of the many would-be informers walking around.

While Eugen was busy directing other people into the tunnel, I was left to my own devices. It was extremely dark. More and more people came. I couldn't see them, but I felt their presence. The silence was broken only by an occasional whisper.

Hours passed. Eugen came once, shining a dim flashlight in my direction. He handed me a chocolate bar. It only took two bites to finish it. I had not tasted chocolate since I left home.

There was nothing to do but wait. From above came screams and cries and shots being fired. Dogs barked, adding to our fear that we might be discovered. I recited all the Hebrew prayers I knew by heart.

Hours later the noises stopped. We waited a long time before opening the entrance, fearing the silence might be a trick to get us out. A brisk wind whirled through streets dancing with discarded scarves and other articles left behind. Otherwise the ghetto was deserted.

I immediately looked for Eugen, hoping to learn where he had hidden Mama and Selly. When I couldn't find him, I set out on my own, looking into doorways and courtyards, going from house to house. I became lost in the inner ghetto, where one little street wound around another.

Over and over I softly called their names, but there was no response. A man in a dark overcoat seemed to be following me. I fled, remembering Eugen's warning about informants.

When evening drew nearer, I sat down on the stoop of a house. My hopes shattered, I sobbed into my hands. When I looked up, I saw Eugen, grim-faced, running toward me.

“I've looked for you for almost an hour. You
must hurry. The Germans are back. Their trucks are waiting to take us away!”

“What about my mother and brother? I can't leave without them!”

“You can see they are not here. Chances are they were discovered. I did my best, you have to believe that. Come with me now. They'll shoot you if you disobey.”

“Faster, faster, you pig,” an SS man yelled, hurling me onto a truck already filled with many people. There was barely enough room to stand. Fortunately, the ride was short.

The same words were repeated when the truck halted. I got out as quickly as I could to avoid being hit. There was only one thing on my mind: finding Mama and Selly.

The camp was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. Inside the camp's main square was the so-called Appellplatz, the place to be counted and humiliated and, as I found out later, where prisoners were punished. Lining the square were barracks. The overseer, a prisoner herself,
of the barrack to which I was assigned stood at the entrance of the building. She looked like a farm girl. Her sturdiness and rosy complexion belied the fact that she was a camp inmate.

“Here you do as I tell you,” she addressed us newcomers. “When I blow the whistle, you will run.”

It was obvious not only to me but to many of the women that had it not been for the nightmarish turn of events, this girl would never have risen to a position of power. After issuing us a thin blanket and a tin cup, she disappeared behind a curtained-off cubicle.

I waited eagerly for the evening meal, having had nothing to eat all day. When the food arrived, I was among the first to stand in line for the brown water that was supposedly coffee and a slice of bread with beet jam. It did little to satisfy my hunger.

Suddenly I was aware of a woman staring at me. “Forgive me,” she said. “For a moment I thought you were my daughter. You look so
much like her. We were separated a few weeks ago, and with every new transport that arrives my hopes of finding her go up.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “Until this morning my mother, my younger brother, and I lived together in the ghetto. We lost one another during the liquidation. I hope they are here. Does this place have a name?”

“This is Belzyce,” the woman said. “It is not bad, as labor camps go.” She invited me to bunk near her, where the straw was still fresh.

When Eugen came looking for me the next day, I asked for news about Mama and Selly. He had nothing to report. For him the good news was that he was again a
Judenrat
policeman. And he had the prospect of a job for me.

“There is a very small infirmary here. They need a nurse.”

I reminded him that I was not trained as a nurse.

“You don't need nursing skills to work in a camp infirmary. I know the doctor who runs
the place. We came from the same town. He will take you on as a favor to me.”

When it was settled, I started work in the infirmary. The small wooden barrack located at the end of the compound held only six beds. A cheerful redheaded man dressed in a white coat looked at me through thick lenses.

“Janek is the name,” he said, taking a bow. “About time they sent me a helper. Patients come and go. No one wants to stay. You see, it's not healthy staying too long.” He laughed, assuming I knew what he meant.

I appreciated his grim sense of humor, his easy manner, and looked forward to working with him. In one corner stood a cast-iron stove. I assumed it was there to boil water for sterilizing instruments, but I saw other possibilities. With a little bit of luck I might beg a potato or turnip from the kitchen. My tin cup would serve as a pot.

Dr. Mosbach, a tall, broad-shouldered man in a white coat, soon arrived. He greeted
me warmly and told me I would be safe here. We had only one patient that day, and after examining him, the doctor left.

It was still dark when I awoke the next morning, but I could tell by the sky that daybreak was at hand. I dressed quickly, grateful to have my loden cloth coat and two sweaters to keep me warm. It was all I had left. Crossing the dimly lit camp, I walked briskly to the infirmary. Janek was already there.

“You are early,” he greeted me.

“Hunger kept me awake,” I said.

“Help yourself to hot water,” he said. “It's on the stove.”

I placed my hands around the tin cup, almost burning myself. But it felt good, and I pretended I was sipping hot cocoa.

The whistle blew, barrack doors opened, and people ran to the place of assembly. Working in the infirmary exempted me from reporting there. Later Janek went to the camp kitchen to pick up our ration of “coffee” and
a slice of bread with a pat of margarine.

In the afternoon a patient arrived. I tried to engage him in conversation, but all I got out of him was, “When will the doctor be here?”

“How did you get that bullet in your leg? Where did you come from?” Dr. Mosbach fired question after question and let the patient know he would not touch him before he told him everything. Reluctant at first, the patient soon told his story in a rush of words.

“I had been hiding with a Polish farmer for over a year. I paid him well, but he wanted more and more money. He already had everything I owned, and I had nothing more to give him. Yesterday he tried to chase me off his property. When I refused to leave, he shot me.”

Dr. Mosbach went to work immediately. The patient was in great pain, there was no anesthetic, and the instruments were old.

When I returned the next morning, the patient was gone.

My own life started to get better than it
had been in a long time. Janek had a friend who worked in the kitchen and supplied us with an occasional potato or turnip, which we roasted on the stove. Even the soup portions were bigger because of his friend. But food was not my greatest concern. I was more concerned with knowing where my family was and how they were coping.

I liked looking out the window, especially at sunset. The amber sky often moved me to tears. When the sunset was beautiful, I was even more vulnerable, wondering if Mama and the boys were able to see what I saw.

•   •   •

I had worked in the infirmary for just over a month when Janek told me to get a bed ready, preferably the one in the far corner near the stove.

“Why that one?” I asked.

“One of the
Kapos
went to work on a young boy. I heard he is in bad shape. He'll need to be kept warm.”

I'd barely gotten the hot water and bandages ready when the door opened and the patient was brought in on a stretcher. His clothes were in tatters, and he was covered with blood. The minute they tossed him onto the bed and I saw his face, I screamed.

“What is it?” Janek asked.

“This is my brother. It's Selly!” I cried.

I became hysterical, screaming and running in circles. Janek grabbed me by the shoulders and demanded I get hold of myself. He went over to the bed.

“Can you hear me, Selly? Your sister, Hannelore, is right beside you. You're safe now.”

We sponged my brother's bruised face, removed his tattered clothes, and wet his swollen lips. Blood had congealed around his eyes and mouth. Selly wailed and moaned. If he recognized me, he didn't show it.

Dr. Mosbach came immediately and probed him all over. Selly winced and cried at the
slightest touch. It was agonizing to watch.

“Our main problem is a collapsed lung,” Dr. Mosbach told me. “The broken ribs and bruises will heal in time. It's the lung that concerns me. It may never fully function again. We'll keep him here for a few days, then we have to let him disappear in one of the barracks. He will not be able to work for quite a while, if at all.”

I knew we had to get Selly out of the infirmary fast. Leaving a patient there more than a few days would mean a death sentence.

Janek came with a bowl of soup. After I fed my brother, carefully spooning the soup into his mouth so as not to touch the bruised lips, he was able to talk in halting sentences. A
Kapo
in a foul mood had picked him at random for a beating. With no one to stop him the
Kapo
kept on beating him until he tired.

I would have liked to stay by Selly's side during the night, but I couldn't risk it. It was against camp rules. When I returned early the
next morning, Selly was awake. I brought all the food I had saved up, but it wasn't enough to fill him. He was not only in pain, he was also terribly hungry.

Although his rib cage was bandaged and he was far from well, he had to leave the infirmary. Dr. Mosbach arranged for him to do light chores in one of the barracks. I saw him daily. He was not getting much better, but there was nothing to be done under the circumstances. We talked about our hiding places in the ghetto and the fact that Selly had been here in this camp the entire time without me knowing it.

“Did you see where they took Mama? Did they discover her hiding place?”

Selly didn't have a single answer to my many questions.

The thought of spending the rest of the war in Belzyce was strangely comforting to me, and in my mind it was entirely possible. Here in Belzyce I could look after Selly, to a certain extent, and after the war I would seek out the best medical treatment for him. Perhaps a good doctor could restore full function to his lungs.

Eugen remained a good friend. He came to the infirmary often while making his rounds of the camp.

But just when everything seemed to be going well, there was disturbing news. Rumors went around that Belzyce was being liquidated. Eugen confirmed the rumors. We would all be
sent to Budzyn, a nearby camp that had a commandant who was said to be not only ruthless but also crazy. Shooting prisoners for no reason at all was a daily exercise for him.

My first thought was of Selly and what would happen to him. Obviously, he was not well. Always fatigued, he never had enough to eat, and hard work was much too taxing for a boy with a collapsed lung.

My days were occupied with caring for patients and cleaning the infirmary, so for the time being I dismissed the thought of the camp's liquidation. Weeks later a group of Nazis, accompanied by a man wearing a white armband that identified him as a member of a
Judenrat
, came into camp. They spent hours in the office going through files. From time to time food and liquor was brought in and snatches of their conversation were circulated to us, the anxious inmates. The Nazis had come from a nearby camp called Kra
nik to select craftsmen, tailors, and shoemakers to
take with them before Belzyce was closed.