Marek Sznajderman, born in 1929

Childhood in the ghetto and concentration camps

I was born in Warsaw. My father, Ignacy Sznajderman, was a doctor. In September 1939, while escaping from the Germans, my mother, Amelia, née Rozenberg, my younger brother, and I found ourselves in Złoczów. After the seventeenth of September, Złoczów, located in the Western Ukraine, was incorporated into the Soviet Union. After the outbreak of the German-Soviet War and the invasion by the Germans, my mother was arrested and executed, so that my brother and I returned to our father, who was in the Warsaw Ghetto. In August 1942, I was taken from the ghetto to the labor camp Fort Wola, while my father and brother were sent to an extermination camp. It was then that my entire extended family perished, as well.

I was in the labor camp for over eight months. On the thirtieth of April, 1943, along with the entire camp, I was transported to the concentration camp in Majdanek and subsequently, in the middle of July 1943, to the concentration camp Auschwitz-Birkenau. I remained there until October 1944, that is, for over fifteen months. From there, toward the end of October 1944, I was transported to Sachsenhausen, from there to the camp in Ohrdruf, and next, in January 1945, back to Sachsenhausen, and in February, to the camp in Nossen, Saxony. In the middle of April 1945, during the evacuation of the camp, I escaped and wandered for several weeks in the forest. I was liberated by the Soviet Army on May 7, 1945.

Immediately after liberation, I returned to Warsaw, where I did not find anyone from my family, and was placed in the children’s home in Zatrzebie, operated by the Central Committee of Polish Jews. Then, I transferred to a dormitory on Jagiellońska Street in Warsaw.

In 1947, I completed the J. Słowacki Lyceum and began studies in the Department of Medicine at the University of Warsaw, continuing them afterward at the newly opened Academy of Medicine. I finished my studies in 1952, obtaining a physician’s diploma. In 1951, still during the time of my studies, I began professional work in the Second Clinic of Internal Medicine, Academy of Medicine (later renamed the Clinic of Vascular Diseases, Institute of Internal Medicine, Academy of Medicine) in which I subsequently worked for thirty years. In 1953, I spent seven months in the Polish Red Cross Hospital in Korea, for which I was decorated with the Knight’s Cross of the Order of Polonia Restituta.

Zatrzebie is a district on the outskirts of Warsaw on the right bank of the Vistula.
Order of Polonia Restituta – “Poland Restored,” a decoration awarded for outstanding service to the country.

In 1959, I was awarded a doctorate in medicine, in 1967, the degree of Doktor Habilitowany, and in 1980, the academic title of associate professor. In 1980, I was a recipient of the National Team Prize, Second Rank, for work in the area of high blood pressure. In 1981, I transferred to work in the Institute of Cardiology in Warsaw in the post of professor, chief of clinic, which I occupy to this moment. In April 1990, I was awarded the academic title of full professor.

Doktor Habilitowany – postdoctoral degree which qualifies one for a professorship.

In 1988, my wife, who was also a professor of medicine, passed away. In 1991, I remarried. I have a thirty-year-old daughter and three grandchildren. Warsaw, 1992

My Journey to Majdanek
To the memory of my parents and brother Warsaw, the labor camp Fort Wola, April 29, 1943 (This account was originaly written in 1945.).

At two o’clock in the morning, I suddenly feel that someone is impatiently tugging at my arm. I wake up, heavy with sleep and, as if in a dream, I hear the words, “Marek, they are taking us away!” It is a friend sleeping in the neighboring bed, whispering hoarsely as if not in his own voice. I still don’t understand exactly, but already a terrifying thought is forcing its way into my brain.

And so, the horrible moment has arrived. We had known for a long time that it was coming. We were expecting it, but, in reality, we could hardly imagine it, and now it had come. I wipe my eyes; yes, it is true. The windows let through the light from searchlights, and the humming of cars can be heard from outside. We get up. Ten minutes later, I am already composed, ready for anything. It is a calm, hopeless feeling of resignation.

A Jewish policeman, Weilheimer, arrives and officially notifies us. We greet him with grim silence. After several minutes, they open the doors and let us out. We pass through a long double line of soldiers. This is the Wehrmacht. These are primarily men who for so many months worked with us, guarded us, and, after all, lived with us in mutual understanding. Now, they are looking at us, but you can see that they have pity and want to show that it is not up to them.

Wehrmacht – regular German Army troops, less cruel than the SS.

We arrive in cars at the Befehlsstelle (command post) on Żelazna Street. There, we stand motionless in the courtyard for about ten hours. From above, members of the youth brigade spit on us and throw trash at us. In the afternoon, they take us out. We walk along the empty, deserted, burned-out streets of the ghetto. We approach the famous Umschlagplatz, the assembly point for all Jews being deported. There are already more people there. They sit motionless in the dirty and bloody yard, weighed down, indifferent. They lead us to the second floor, herding us into a hall. It becomes so crowded that it is impossible in any way to change position or to even move an arm. I begin to feel intense hunger.

Every minute, one of the Ukrainians or Lithuanians, dressed in black, comes up to the threshold, leans with arms insolently on the hips and, in a raspy voice, barks out, “Who has a time piece? Who has good boots with tops? Who has leather gloves? Give them up. They will take them from you anyway!” Since there are no volunteers to give anything up, he tosses whatever heavy object he can grab into the hall or shoots and walks away, mumbling some curses under his breath.

Before evening, the order is issued, “Everybody down!” We rush down one by one along the winding, narrow, and slippery stairs, herded from behind by the youth brigade. Down below, a “surprise” awaits us. On both sides of the staircase stand two members of the youth brigade. The passageway is so narrow that only one person can pass through. One of the youths holds a rifle in his hand, the other, a long rubber truncheon. They both strike automatically, quickly, swinging with full force. I get a rifle butt in the back, and a truncheon on the head. For a moment, I lose consciousness, then I rush out into the yard.

In the square, there are a couple of thousand people. The members of the youth brigade are hitting with all their might and pushing everybody to the center. A powerful bloody mass of humanity rolls through the square, chased from place to place by the frenzied youth brigade. Still dazed from the blows received, I try to keep to the center and not fall. Whoever drops down soon becomes trampled over. Next to me, I see our former policeman, Grynszpan, staggering with his head cracked open, red all over, his wife and sister-in-law supporting him.

Finally, one by one, we reach the train platform. I cannot describe the bestial scenes that are taking place as we enter the wagons. Finally, we are inside the wagon. There are 75 of us. That is not many. Supposedly, 120 to a wagon went to Treblinka. On the walls, one can see various inscriptions left behind by people who were bidding farewell to the world in this way.

In the evening, it becomes suffocating. The window is  nailed shut. Movements become heavy and sluggish. There is no air to breathe.

We throw everything off, sprawling passively on the floor. Old women and some children fall to the ground. They are dying. Dr. Grodzieński pulls out a vial of poison. He stares blankly at his wife with a crazed look and at Dr. Hajman and his wife as well. However, he does not have the courage to make use of it.

During the night, someone manages to open a little window; people knock themselves out to get close to it. Suddenly, they step aside. Those who can no longer bear to suffer walk up to it, unsteadily—they prefer to take a risk. Dr. Landesman throws out his young wife, then jumps himself. Miedziński jumps out with little Ari and someone else as well. A few shots are heard, then silence.

Day breaks. We stop at some larger station. Small ragamuffins run up to the wagon. They have water. Dr. Grodzieński gives a couple thousand złoty several times for a bottle of water. They don’t bring it. At last, when he has already handed out all his money, someone honest brings and passes a partially filled bottle. In the wagon, turmoil ensues. They try to pull the bottle away, spilling the precious drink. At last, Dr. Grodzieński succeeds in taking back the rest of the water, from which I also partake. This refreshes me a little. Besides, it is already day.

Around noon, we arrive in Lublin. There, we stand for a couple of hours. Then the train goes very slowly into some kind of side track, an enormous gate opens, and the entire train rolls into a huge square. The gate closes. This is Flugplatz. After the train is cleared of dead bodies and waste, we arrange ourselves in groups of ten, facing the center of the square. A couple thousand people are there.

Flugplatz – landing ground; here, receiving area.

They begin to lead us slowly in some direction. Soon, we exit through the large gate onto the highway. Only now, I notice a big tower and an enormous black flag with a skull. Suddenly, a terrible roar and clamor resounds. As if out of nowhere, a whole pack of large dogs jumps forth, furiously barking and baring their fangs, and behind them, SS men. Of course, the dogs are held on a leash; otherwise, it is not certain what would have been left of us.

A brief order is issued. Deathly frightened, we quickly line up in groups of ten. I see that there is going to be a rather long march. I try to stay in the middle. The march changes to a run, faster and faster; the column elongates. More and more people drop out. Someone falls and doesn’t get up anymore. The SS men, time after time, sic the dogs on the edges of the column. The dogs tear the clothes and give painful bites. Those not having the strength to run further are either shot by the SS men or bitten by the dogs. Near the woods, the road winds. We run about two kilometers still, then we slow down. Over a hundred remain along the way.

We are approaching some camp, because from the distance, symmetrically placed barracks come into  view,  and  people’s  voices are heard. We walk up to some gate on the left side of the highway. We form into groups of five and slowly begin to enter. It is an empty square, without barracks, and in it are lying big stacks of coal. Near the entrance, each group of ten is given a small loaf of bread which disappears in the blink of an eye. We were and are terribly hungry, but there are no words to describe the thirst that we suffer. We have been three days without water. They let us into the square and close off the gate.

The square where we found ourselves lay between the fourth and fifth fields. We surmised that this was the place where they bring new transports of prisoners. Worn out and very weakened, we sat around on the ground. Behind the wires, in front of the barracks on the fifth field, were standing women with small children, eating and busily moving about. And here we sat, enfeebled, powerless, without hope, certain that the end was approaching. A couple thousand people were sitting in the square, and no one spoke to anyone.

Suddenly, something terrible began to happen. Crowds of people began to push in one direction, to become agitated, to fall all over each other. People ran around as if crazed, not knowing where they were going, pressing themselves forward, paying no attention to anyone or anything. Then I noticed the cause of this commotion. In another field, some people were holding in their hands a long rubber hose attached to a pump. Streams of water were falling like lava on the agitated mass of people, knocking themselves out to gain access to the lifesaving liquid, even if for a moment.

It is impossible to describe how it looked. Behind the wires stood the SS men, and they were watching this spectacle with laughter. Several times, I threw myself into the crowd, dreaming about even a droplet of water, and each time, I was pushed to the outside and roughed up. Finally, the flow of water was turned off.

By then, it was late evening, and, although it was already the last day of April, it was very chilly. I had nothing with me. All my things, overcoat, heavier pieces of clothing, all that I could and did take from Wola, I had left in Umschlagplatz, and what remained, in the wagon. I lay down on the ground, huddled inside a thin jacket, and fell asleep. I dreamt that some horrible apparitions were suffocating me, that they were lying on me, pressing, and that I was already close to suffocation when, all of a sudden, someone poured a pail of water on me. The apparitions took flight, the water poured and poured until it got cold.

When I woke up, a heavy dense May rain (it was the first of May) was pouring from the skies. Day was breaking, and I was lying in a puddle of water and was completely soaked. In my first instinctive impulse, I knelt down and began to greedily drink water from the puddle, and only afterwards, I looked about. All around, everyone was voraciously sucking the dirty water from the ground, nonstop, as if they had grown into it. I got up, and having nothing to do, I began to walk from place to place, somewhat refreshed.

In the morning, some SS men came and began to take out people in groups of a hundred to the showers. I had heard about a system of mass extermination of people under the guise of showers, and, therefore, I was totally prepared for death. I did not listen to what others were saying because I would probably have gone crazy. I tried not to look at the heartrending scenes of farewell. Women and men were being taken separately. Husbands could not tear themselves away from their wives and daughters. When there were not enough volunteers for a given set of a hundred, they rounded up and formed a group by force. It was all the same to me. I positioned myself in line and closed my ears.

They led us the same way in which we had come until we stood in front of a long winding building. This was the sauna, the camp bathhouse. They drove us into the barracks next to the sauna and ordered us to undress, throwing everything on top of a whole pile of rags. Then, each person went out of the barracks naked, and a prisoner, standing nearby in the company of an SS man, searched everybody thoroughly, not leaving any place out where something might have been hidden. Then, each one, in turn, ran over to the bathhouse, chased by the whip of an SS man standing in the doorway.

In the first room, barbers took care of us, shaving off all possible hair. Next, we were stood in a long row and allowed to pass one by one through a narrow corridor that had two doors on the opposite side. On the left-hand side, I saw some showers. I surmised, therefore, that this was a bathhouse. But at the same time, I noticed that not everybody was allowed to pass.

Standing near the door, a senior officer, with an indifferent almost imperceptible motion of his hand, was directing some to the right. I looked more closely. Here, Dr. Hajman, tall, thin, and very bony, walked up. The officer looked at him for a moment, then pointed to the right. Then came Lipman, with a deformed hip. Immediately, to the right. Then, I under- stood. This officer was the Lagerarzt, the camp doctor, and we were passing a selection, the first selection of my life in a Lager.

When we stood under the showers and were waiting for the water, I still could not believe that it was a shower, after all. It seemed to all of us that at any moment, gas would start to flow from the spouts and end it all. I believed it only when, indeed, streams of hot water poured over us, which was a great pleasure. After the bath and the issuance of camp clothing and wooden clogs, we were stood in a courtyard, where each group of ten received a loaf of bread which disappeared in the blink of an eye. Now, I really believed that we would live—but for how long?

Majdanek

They brought us to the third field. At the entrance stood a small house with a little window and a little porch. On the porch stood the Blockführer (block leader) who counted us, and, at the window, sat someone else who was keeping a record. I was not yet accustomed to such parades. Therefore, my companions, in comical rags with big crosses painted in four spots and the insignia KL (Konzentrationslager [concentration camp]), seemed to me to be a procession of apparitions. The hideous clogs caused the legs to buckle so much that it was impossible to walk straight, so every moment, someone fell. The Blockführer, standing next to the person taking the count, as well as the man who brought us there, were beating us severely with cudgels held in their hands. (It seemed to me that the latter was a prisoner as well, but well-dressed and appearing in good shape; he was the block foreman.) After entering the field, they immediately led us to the fourth block on the right-hand side, marked by the number 15.

For the first time, I saw real Lager barracks. From the floor, which was strewn with rough gravel, two rows of triple-decker bunks rose on both sides. Between each pair, there was a narrow gap. In front, the beds did not come up all the way to the wall itself. A table and three chairs were standing there. These were all the furnishings of this stable (these were the so-called Stallbaracken [stable barracks]). On each bunk lay a straw mattress and a blanket. We stood obediently between the two rows of beds and waited tensely.

After a moment, the gates opened and a couple of men walked in. One of them, very hefty, a Pole, was, as I found out later, the Lagerschreiber, which meant the camp scribe. He delivered a short speech. I don’t remem- ber much of it. Among other things, he said several important things, namely, that this is a concentration camp; that we do not yet know what that is, but soon we will learn; that we must forget about our life up until now and about our home because we will never see it again; that a con- centration camp is not a joke, that it is not a labor camp, although here one works more than in a labor camp; and finally, that only those who loyally and correctly fulfill their duties for the might of the German state and submit to the Lager customs will last. Then, he added still, from him- self, that we are no longer people but have become only numbers. Next, he introduced us to our block foreman, which means our barracks supervi- sor. He was a young twenty-some-year-old Jew named Zimmerman, a Polish war prisoner, as I learned later. He was confined here from the beginning of the war and already knew well the “educational program” for new prisoners. Therefore, right away, he made our lives miserable.

We arrived in Block 15 on Thursday, and until Sunday, we went through a quarantine. During that period, no one was permitted to leave the block. On the first day, we had to stand in formation in the block until late evening while the block foreman and the scribe got acquainted with us, looked us over thoroughly, and made fun of us as well. Around seven in the evening, the block foreman took a dozen or so people and they brought soup. In the block, there were 350 persons. Some arrived in previous groups of 100, and 100 arrived after us. We each received a scant half liter of thick kasha soup without any spoons. Helping ourselves with our fingers, we thoroughly licked the bowls, everything standing up.

In the evening, the block foreman assigned two persons to a bed, and it was then that I became acquainted with his jabs. After several hours of standing at attention, my tired legs were already hurting a lot, and my eyes were closing after four sleepless nights. I thought that once we lay down on the straw mattress under the coarse blanket that we would need nothing more, and it would be the most pleasant moment of the last few days.

I did not yet have time to fall into blissful sleep when, as if from afar, his bellowed-out words reached us, “In two minutes, everybody must be standing in formation in front of the beds!” Half-asleep, trembling from the cold, we quickly jumped off the bunks and lined up at attention in a long row.

Meanwhile, our block foreman was teaching four new Stubendiensten, whom he had already managed to select, in what manner they should maintain obedience and order. At the same time, he was picking on those who had already fallen asleep and did not hear the order. Then, he stood in front of us and announced that from now on, he would issue orders to us only in German, that the wake-up call was at five, but that he would wake us up earlier in order to get us used to morning risings and to teach us the drill.

Stubendiensten – prisoners selected to assist the block foreman with clean-up and maintaining order.

That night, we were awakened several more times. Once, there was an error in the recording of names, and everybody had to walk naked by the little table of the scribe and give his name. This lasted more than half an hour. The second time, the number of prisoners did not jibe, and the block foreman could not in any way come up with the right number. The third time, we had to watch, half-asleep and freezing, a crazed settling of accounts with three of our companions whom the block foreman brutalized for sleeping in their drawers, although he had not at all forbidden it. We barely had a chance to lie down for the fourth time in bed when, after ten to twenty minutes, the voice of the block foreman resounded, “Aufstehen!” (Get up!), and immediately, vigorous blows of the whip fell on the heads of those who were slow in getting up.

It was still totally dark, and we waited for the normal wake-up call for over an hour and a half. During that time, the block foreman taught us how to make the bed. It was no mean trick. The blanket had to lie on the straw mattress in such a way as to be folded neatly with a completely even surface and precisely square edges. The block foreman announced that any deviations in the making of the beds would be severely punished.

After the drinking of bitter black coffee, the block foreman began to drill us. Sleepy and freezing, we could not revive ourselves, but under forceful blows of the block foreman, we came around. The block foreman began by demonstrating the roll call—the assembling of all prisoners which normally took place twice a day by block and, at noon, by work commando teams.

…“black coffee” – ersatz coffee made from grain.

We arranged ourselves in groups of five. On the left side stood the smallest ones, on the right, the taller ones, in the front, the shorter ones, in the back, the taller ones. Next, on the order, “Block 15 – stand!,” we had to stand, taut as a stretched string, with arms at our sides and heads to the front. God forbid that anyone should then move or make a sound.

When the next order was issued, “Mützen ab!,” it was necessary to take off our caps in the blink of an eye. During the normal roll call, this order was issued by our block foreman when the Blockführer, who received the report and counted us off, was approaching. After the Blockführer departed, the block foreman, sooner or later, depending on his mood, would issue the command, “Mützen auf!,” which meant that we could stand at ease and put on our caps.

After just a few exercises, I understood  what  it  was  all  about and tried to execute them well. But there were those for whom a quick comprehension of the orders issued in German, as well as nimble movements, posed a problem. Thus, during the two days of our drills, they were already half dead. The block foreman wanted to bring them up as good Häftlingen (prisoners), and the method to achieve this was through brutal beatings and torment.

By noontime, there wasn’t anyone in our group, it seems, who did not have some part of his body bruised. The block foreman was assisted by the Stubendiensten, who had already managed to “acclimatize.” We were heavy with sleep and resigned, but little did we know that this was nothing in com- parison to what awaited us. We had not yet encountered the real Germans.

We were under quarantine with a Jewish block foreman and Jewish Stubendiensten. We could see how they behaved, and shivers came over us at the thought of how the Germans would behave toward us, to say nothing of the SS men who made up the Lager staff. We were ravenously hungry. Hunger took away our strength, did not permit us to think, and did not allow us to patiently bear the beatings. Many persons lay on the ground unable to get up. I tried not to think of what would happen later.

The block foreman exercised us from six in the morning until one in the afternoon without a break. At one o’clock, he took a dozen or so people, issued an order to the Schreiber to arrange us in line, and then left. After fifteen minutes, people carried in kettles with soup. We were not yet in position. Everybody knew that this was for lunch. Nobody thought of anything else but food; people became wild. At a certain point, I found myself in the middle of the mob that was pushing back and forth in front of the Schreiber, who, being of a somewhat gentle disposition, could not cope.

Then a horrible thing happened. The furious block foreman rushed through the door, grabbed the big rod used to carry soup, and threw himself at the crowd. Immediately, everyone scattered, hiding behind beds or wherever they could, and the block foreman, using the rod, struck those who fell down and were no longer able to get up.

For two hours, we did punitive drills. We had to quickly line up in a double row. Then, we had to hide again in a flash before the blows landed. After the two hours, we were already standing obediently in an orderly fashion, except for those who no longer had the strength to move. One at a time, we walked up for the midday meal which consisted of two rotten little potatoes with peelings and a half-liter of cabbage soup. Before we had time to get back to the other side, we stuffed our mouths with the dirty unpeeled potatoes and the soup. Lacking spoons, we scraped it out of the bowls with our fingers.

On Sunday afternoon, we went through the so-called Aufnahme, that is the admission and registration of new prisoners. The Schreibstube (registration office) was located then in the thirteenth block. The first part, in front, was occupied by a spacious office. Next, came a large hall with tables and chairs arranged along one side. Behind the tables, sat the clerk-prisoners, and only a few SS men were running around the hall, maintaining order through beatings.

In this same hall, I was later a witness to a martyr’s death for dozens of people. Into this hall, many times, entire Zugänge (groups of new prisoners) were brought, and the cruel Lagerälteste (camp elder or chief) would test their endurance to beatings by giving each one several dozen lashes of the whip and finishing off those who passed out. Into this hall would be brought those suspected of being in possession of something that was forbidden. They would be tortured until they admitted to the often imagined transgression, and then, they would be murdered in a cruel fashion.

Here stood a large stand, specifically for performing executions. The head was placed in a special hole, the legs behind a plank, and next to it lay several horsewhips serving to measure out the penalty. Finally, this hall was the most frequent place for drunken orgies of savage German prisoners tormenting unfortunate victims. How many times were there corpses, hung by the bestial tormentors, swinging from the ceiling all night long! It was the barbaric German prisoners, demonstrating to the SS men their talents to run the Lager.

We stood to the side, arranged in groups of five. One by one, we walked up to each table. God forbid that anyone should make a mistake, miss a table—he would then not be missed by the horsewhip of a Ger- man. At the first table, we received narrow metal tags with numbers imprinted on them as well as long silk strings. They told us to hang the numbers around the neck.

From then on, we were only numbers. Each person had to know his number by heart, like a first name and surname. I received the number 6530. It should be noted that in Majdanek numbers were not given out in sequence as, for example, in Auschwitz. Here, it was possible to receive the number of someone who had been murdered, a number that three prisoners had already worn on the neck. In other camps, according to the number, it was possible to more or less establish the period of stay in the camp. Here, it was not possible. I, for example, after a four-day stay had number 6530, while another prisoner, who had been staying here over a year, had number 18000. With numbers hanging around the neck,  we  advanced  slowly forward. At the second table, we each received two triangles of yellow and two of red material (triangular patches), as well as white strips on which our numbers were imprinted with a special stamp. Further, they measured us, weighed us, until finally, we came to the main table where they entered our personal data into the big Lager books. After giving the data, we were all inscribed as political prisoners. When to the question, “Did you take part in the fighting in the ghetto?” I answered in the negative, they said, “Yet, that is why you were brought here.” Further explanation was out of the question. Everyone was inscribed as a “rebel” who had taken part in the armed uprising against the Germans.

When we came back to the block, it was already dark. The block foreman announced that the triangular patches and  the  numbers must absolutely be sewn on today. Tomorrow, we are going to work in commando groups. Woe to anyone who sets out for commando work with a triangular patch or number not sewn on or without the tag around the neck. We sewed until midnight. There were barely any needles. The numbers had to be sewn on in two places—on the jacket on the left-hand side, and on the trousers, on the right. Above the numbers, the triangular patches were to be sewn, yellow and red, in the shape of the star of Zion.

The next day, Monday, we were awakened exceptionally early. We had to immediately get out of bed, dress, and quickly make the bed. Since our arrival, we had not yet washed. We did not even know where the washroom was located. We relieved ourselves in big wooden cases, which were later carried out. It was terribly cold.

When the beds were made, we waited. It was not permitted to stand in the middle of the block because the Stubendiensten were already beginning to clean up. We sat down on the cold wet floor between the beds and the wall and trembled from the cold. Then, we again stood in line for a little cold bitter slop.

The doors finally open, it is still gray outside and, “Alles raus!” (Everybody out!). In a moment, “Halt ! Zurück!” (Stop! Get back!). We had to take off our boots and place them evenly under the beds! What kind of a whim is this? We do not know. We do know, however, that although this is already the beginning of May, outside it is almost freezing. The ground is lightly frozen from the silvery frost glazed on its surface. Barefoot, hunched over, we stand about two hours in the square. It begins to get light. The frost burns our feet so that we stand alternately on one foot or jump. Suddenly, the sound of a gong reverberates, the block foreman comes out, and, on the entire square, all the blocks line up for roll call. This is our first normal roll call in the Lager.

Day after day, roll calls came and went. Day after day, the block foreman reported the status to the Blockführer, and we stood at attention with uncovered heads. Day after day, we were forced outdoors barefoot while it was still dark. And so we would stand for roll call for two hours. Then, on the command “Arbeitskommando formieren!” (Work commando groups form!), we would station ourselves with our commando units and march out to work. Now, the unit would come under the authority of the Kapo or Vorarbeiter, who led them to work and were responsible for them until the evening roll call. Of course, when we reentered the Lager in the evening, a number of dead bodies were carried, but they paid no attention so long as the numbers agreed.

Vorarbeiter – foreman for the working unit, rather than for the block living unit.

After the exit of the commando units, a strict inspection was conducted in the Lager, to check whether someone was hiding, avoiding work. The inspection was conducted in a brutal fashion. When the units were already standing in formation ready to march out, the Kapos and the block foremen moved steadily to the front, taking control of the unit and pushing everybody else back. After the formation of the commandos, there was terrible chaos. There was not room for everyone, because most of the time, the commando units had a defined size. Therefore, there were always those for whom there was simply no room, and they were wary of those commando units that were open to them, as certain death awaited them there.

In the end, a terrible fate awaited those unfortunate ones anyway. In the worst case, they would be kicked to death by some of the Kapos. In the best case, only their numbers were taken down, and they received a dose of lashes at the roll call in the evening. When a number was repeated several times, such an individual was hung as an “example.” Such spectacles recurred quite often.

There were many such so-called “gamle,” who did not have enough strength to march or drag themselves on their feet at all. Such people might still stand during the roll call, or, by then, some already lay on the ground, not able to get up. They lay, kicked by passersby, whether SS men or prisoner-Kapos or other notables. It seems that it was already all the same to them. After the departure of the commando units, a Rollwagen (truck) drove through the square and collected corpses and those who could no longer walk.

Gamle – camp word gamel (plural, gamle) refers to a prisoner swollen from hunger and in the final stage of exhaustion. It is derived from the German word gammeln – to live a rotten life.

Day after day, I went out with the commando unit. The future looked grim. However, when I looked at what was happening around me, I could not complain, because my fate, in comparison to the fate of tens of thousands, was still relatively good.

Written in Zatrzebie, 1945