I tear off a piece of the dress and hide it in my pocket. (I had that piece of the dress with me for ten months, the whole time I was in Treblinka.)
The clock strikes 8.00. The foreman suddenly calls out: — Barbers!
All the barbers, ten men, five old and five new ones, stand next to him. He asks if each of us has shears (we have all provided ourselves with a pair) and then leads us away to the evil gas chambers, where the living are transformed into the dead.
He leads us into the first cell, which is open to the corridor and to the outside. It is a fine summer’s day. The sun’s rays reach us.
Long benches are set out and next to them dozens of suitcases.
The murderer orders us to take our places. Each of us stands behind a suitcase. A band of Ukrainians surrounds us, whips in their hands and rifles on their shoulders. The Kommandant of Treblinka comes in — a tall, stout murderer of about fifty. He orders us to work fast. After five cuts the hair must be all cut off. We have to make sure that no hair falls on the ground, and the suitcases must be fully packed. He ends his order this way: — If not, you will be whipped, you accursed dogs!
We stand as if paralyzed. A few minutes pass and we hear pitiful screams. Naked women appear. In the corridor stands a murderer who tells them to run into the room where we are. They are beaten murderously and driven with cries of “Faster, faster!” I stare wide-eyed at the victims and cannot believe my eyes.
Each woman sits down opposite a barber. A young woman sits down opposite me. My hands are paralyzed and I cannot move my fingers. The women sit opposite us and wait for us to cut off their beautiful hair, and their weeping is pitiful and terrible.
My friend next to me shouts: — Remember, you will be lost, because a murderer is standing there and can see you working slowly!
I force open the fingers of my dirty hand, cut off the woman’s hair and throw it into the suitcase like every one of us is doing. The woman stands up. I see that she is dazed from the blows she has received. She asks me where to go and I indicate the second entryway, on the left. Before I have time to turn around, a second woman is already sitting down. She takes my hand and wants to kiss me: — I beg you, tell me, what do they do with us? Is this already the end?
She weeps and begs me to tell her if it is a difficult death, if it takes long, if people are gassed or electrocuted…
I do not reply. She will not leave me alone and begs me to tell her, because she knows that in any case she is lost. Nevertheless I cannot tell the truth and calm her. The whole conversation lasts a few seconds, as long as it takes me to cut her hair. I turn away because I cannot look her in the eye. The murderer standing near us shouts: — Los! Schneller die Haare schneiden! (Come on! Cut the hair faster!) The woman is bewildered. After a bit she jumps up and runs out.
One victim after the other sits down and the shears cut and cut the hair without stopping. Weeping and screaming can be heard.
Many women tear off pieces of their own living flesh and we have to look on and are forbidden to say anything.
An elderly woman sits down in front of me. I cut her hair and she begs me to grant her a last wish before her death: to cut her hair a bit more slowly, because after her, opposite my friend, stands her young daughter, and she wants them to go to their deaths together. I try to oblige the woman and at the same time I ask my friend to speed up his cutting. I want to fulfill the last request of the elderly woman. But unfortunately the murderer screams at me and whips my head. I have to hurry and cannot help the woman any more. She has to run without her daughter…
Continuing to cut hair, I suddenly hear a shout. I turn and see a young girl of about eighteen run inside and begin shouting at all the women: — What is the matter with you? You ought to be ashamed! For whom are you crying? You should be laughing! Let our enemies see that we do not go to our deaths as cowards. The murderers enjoy our weeping!
All stand as if frozen to the spot. The murderers look around.
They become even wilder and the girl laughs in their faces until she leaves.
From among the wretched victims a pretty young girl sits down in front of me. She begs me: — Do not cut off all my hair. What will I look like?
I cannot reply. What can I say to her? I try to calm her…
A woman sits before me. She tears out her hairpins and shouts at me: — Faster! Do what you want. You can even cut some of the flesh out of my scalp. I know that I am lost…
Yes, we are all lost.
An older woman begs me to tell her if all the men are kept alive as labourers. She knows that she is going to her death. Still, she will be happy if her son, who came with her, remains alive. I calm her with my answer and she thanks me. She is content that her son will remain alive and take revenge on the murderers…
Thus hundreds of women pass through with weeping and shouting and I have become an automaton that cuts off their hair.
Suddenly the shoving of the next group of victims is interrupted because the gas chambers are over-full. The murderer standing by the door of the cell announces that there will be a break of half an hour and goes away. Some Ukrainians and several S.S. men remain with us. I look around and think: Good God, what kind of hell is this? The murderers force us to cut off the hair of our sisters a few minutes before their deaths and we, temporarily spared, do it in the shadow of the whips. We have been deprived of our reason and are the tools of criminals. My friend who worked with me sorting clothes asks me quietly: — Why have you changed so much? I don’t recognize you!
I don’t reply and he leaves me alone.
It doesn’t take long, and several murderers come in and order us to sing a song. But only a beautiful song.
The old barbers already know what that means: if we don’t sing, we will be beaten mercilessly, and out of fear several begin to sing. I am as if paralyzed: over there in the chamber they gas people and we are supposed to sing! A murderer, noticing that my mouth is closed, screams at me: — You dog, do you want to get it on your mug?
I open my mouth as if I were singing. Alas, we have to sing and amuse the murderers.
From time to time one of them goes out into the corridor and looks through a small window to ascertain if the victims are dead.
Half an hour passes in this way. A murderer comes in and announces that work is resuming. We must once again take our places in order to receive new victims. Once again we hear pitiful cries and soon naked women appear.
The work proceeds without hindrance. The whole transport is disposed of in an hour: several thousand people have been gassed.
6
The work is finished. Our section chief comes in and announces that the transport has been liquidated. We close the suitcases and place them to one side. We are immediately escorted to the open space and in the shadow of the dreaded whips we must forget that we have cut the hair of thousands of women. Now once again we have to search for money, gold and valuables for the murderers and again sort clothes. The chief notifies our foreman, Scher from Czestochowa, that by 12.00 the pile of Scheisse (shit) c