My neighbour urges me to select a good, sharp pair of scissors for my work. I find a pair of barber shears and tell my friend Leybl to do the same, since he knows about as much about barbering as I do.
The clock strikes 12.00 and we hear a bugle call. Everyone heads in the direction of the place where we are to be given a midday meal. My friend and I try to stay close to our neighbour, since we don’t yet know how things are done here. Everyone tries to get as close to the kitchen as possible. We all stand in rows of five. After a short while we move in the direction of the kitchen.
When we come to the kitchen, the window is still closed. We wait for several minutes, then, marching in groups of five past the little window, we get the soup. Everyone tries to eat as quickly as possible. Soon we hear the bugle call again. All of us have to stand in rows as before. That has to happen very quickly: whoever gets disorientated and doesn’t stand in the right place is whipped.
I continue to stay close to my neighbour. With a few minutes to spare, I try to learn from him how to go about the work. His explan-ation is as follows: when a fresh transport arrives, the same murderer rushes over. His name is Kiewe; he has been here a long time. He yells out: — Barbers! and we have to report at once. We are led to the chamber where our brothers and sisters are gassed. My neighbour points out that we have to cut the hair as quickly as possible. It must all happen extraordinarily fast. The murderers are standing around and whoever cuts slowly is badly beaten.
The bugle call sounds again and we get ready. Each group is inspected and then we move, each to his place. The work continues. I try to go through the clothing as quickly as possible, but I forget that it is forbidden to stand upright. I straighten up for a few minutes and suddenly one of the bandits approaches and starts to whip me without stopping. Then he asks me if I know why I was whipped. I answer: — Jawohl! The bandit has cut me in the head and blood runs over my face. I find a bottle of water and put a wet rag to my head. My neighbour yells: — Remember to stay bent over, or you’ll get more lashes!
I bend over. With one hand I hold the wet rag to my head, and with the other I sort the clothes. It is a long time before I stop bleeding. My face is bloody, and my friend quietly tells me to wash it, because anyone with the marks of blows on his face is shot.
I try to wash myself and get back to work. After a while, my foreman orders me to take the sorted bundles to the warehouse.
He shows me the way and warns me to make it fast, especially on the way back, when I am not carrying anything. I grab a parcel and head in the direction of the storage area for men’s coats. I put down my load and see that every few metres there is a great pile of various kinds of clothing and every pile has a sign indicating what is in it.
I hurry back to my work, and by carrying the bundles I become familiar with the place and know where everything is located. The work goes much too quickly. Every few minutes the murderers come with whips in their hands and shout: — Faster. Get moving!
From time to time they order the workers to lie down and give them a few hard lashes. After the blows you have to get up quickly and run back to work. That is what our work is like.
4
It is 6.00 in the evening. We hear a bugle call. We stop work and stand to attention in groups of five. The foreman, a Jewish engineer called Galewski, counts us and makes his report. We hear an orchestra playing. We turn right and move in the direction of the kitchen. The kitchen window is opened and we approach it in rows to get our soup. We head for the barracks, which stand opposite the kitchen. The barracks are filled to capacity and we have to lie on the ground.
I look at my friend Leybl and he at me and our tears pour down like rain. Each of us asks the other why he is crying. I cannot answer. I have lost the power of speech. We try to comfort and calm one another as much as possible. Leybl, I say to him, yesterday at this time my young sister was still alive. He answers: — And my whole family, my brothers and twelve thousand poor Jews from my town.
And yet we are alive and witness this great misfortune and are so hardened that we can eat and endure the heartbreak. How can one be so strong, have such unnatural strength to endure? As we stand there, we notice a friend, Moyshe Ettinger, from our town.
He falls on us sobbing. After he has calmed down a bit, he tells us that yesterday he was running naked to the gas chamber. Along the way he happened upon a pile of clothing and crawled into the middle of it. He grabbed a pair of trousers and a jacket from the pile and put them on. Not far away he saw a Jew marching past.
He begged him to save him and find him a pair of shoes. Fortunately, the worker found a pair and brought them to him. Then he worked his way out of his hiding place and stood near the pile of clothing and began sorting it. The workers standing next to him helped him and told him what to do. In that way he saved himself from death.
Now he stands next to us and weeps. He cannot forgive himself for having saved himself when his wife and child went to their deaths. We are all as if drugged. Yesterday all of my family were living and now — all are dead. Each of us stands as if turned to stone. I weep for my fate, for what I have lived to see.
At that moment I hear, to the left of the barracks, the miserable survivors standing and saying the evening prayers, and after praying they recite Kaddish for the dead with tears in their eyes.
Kaddish wakes me up. I look closely: yes, all who are here are wretched orphans and accursed individuals. I become almost wild and shout at them: — To whom are you reciting Kaddish? You still believe? In what do you believe, whom are you thanking? Are you thanking the Lord for his mercy in taking away our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers? No, no! It is not true; there is no God. If there were a God, he would not allow such misfortune, such transgression, where innocent small children, only just born, are killed, where people who want only to do honest work and make themselves useful to the world are killed! And you, living witnesses of the great misfortune, remain thankful. Whom are you thanking?
My grief-stricken friend Leybl tries to settle me: — Calm yourself, you’re right. Yesterday all my brothers and sisters and their little ones were alive, and today they are no longer in this world.
He is trying to calm me, he is beside himself and begs me: — Yekhiel, don’t shout, you know where we are…
He is shouting louder than I am.
We fall to the ground from fatigue and cannot get up. I lie there and remind myself that I wronged my poor sister. A few minutes before she died I dissuaded her from eating a piece of bread so she was driven hungry to her death. Did she forgive me? The murderers have robbed all of us of our understanding.
We lie like that in our pain. The clock strikes 9.00 in the evening. The barracks are locked, the lights turned off. I lie on the ground all night.
5
At 5.00 in the morning we are awakened by the alarm and we tear ourselves from our sleep. We walk to the kitchen. Each of us receives coffee and bread, and at 6.00 — off to work. I discover that there are several groups of sorters. Each group takes its place separately, and after all of them are counted, some seven hundred people in total, each group is led away to work with its Kapo and foreman at the head. I am given the same work as the day before, sorting clothes. While sorting I find the dress that my sister was wearing. I stop, grasp the dress, hold it for a moment and examine it from every angle. I show it to my neighbour. He drops his guard for a moment and pities me. Then immediately he shouts: — You are forgetting yourself. Naturally; who can help himself ? Our fate is so wretched. But remember, you can get the whip for that.