This week, I spent my "blogging time" writing a short story for my history class. The subject: The Holocaust. I decided to post my short story as this week's article. Yeah, yeah, I know, the Holocaust wasn't the Civil War, but if you think about it, Jews at the concentration camps were basically slaves. Though the Southern plantation owners needed their workers and the Jews were meant to die.
The Silver Belt: A Story of the Holocaust
When Papa died, he told me to
take care of the family. Now that we’re separated at Auschwitz, I can’t do that.
My name is Jonas Stein. This is
my story.
I’m prisoner number B6886, or
so the tattoo reads on my left arm. My family and I have been imprisoned by the
Germans for the last 2 years at this horrendous place called Auschwitz, a death
camp. I hate the Germans. They took everything away from me: My family, my
money, my home, my sanity….
I’m a Jew. When I was 14, our
home in Poland was invaded by German SS soldiers. They told us we had 1 hour to
pack our things and come with them. We were right in the middle of Shiva, the seven days of mourning after losing
our father to influenza, but the Germans don’t care about Jewish rituals. My Mutter
began to weep, and my sisters looked at me for direction. After Papa died, he
told me I was the man of the house now. So I took control and began stuffing
some clothes and food into sacks. I had no idea how long we’d be gone, and I
wanted to be ready. My twin, Elizabet, came to her senses and began choosing
some dresses and books for her and Jennie. At twelve, Jennie tried to console
Mutter. I placed pewter candlesticks in the sack, and placed the only silver
coins we had inside notches I made inside my belt. Papa had worked hard to make
the money that would’ve sent us to America. If only we had left a month earlier.
We went down the steps of our
apartment, and went out into the street, where we joined a huge crowd of our
Jewish neighbors. The Germans lined us up and copied down our names, then went
through each of our belongings. They told us they would keep them safe and that
we would get them back later. I didn’t believe them, but hesitantly handed everything
over, except for the coins in my belt. I would keep them for now. They didn’t
know about them…yet. I didn’t realize that while walking to the trucks I was experiencing
the last ounce of freedom I would have for over 2 years.
Everybody assumed we were being
moved to one big Jewish neighborhood, like most of their relatives from
surrounding villages had been told. We were loaded on trucks, bused to a train,
and loaded onto cattle cars. It was crowded, and they quickly ran out of room.
Then they locked us in like prisoners to wait out the night. We spent the first
half an hour trying to get everyone into a comfortable sitting position. My
legs were cramped all night and I longed to stretch them out. The train finally
began to jolt sometime in the morning. I could see the sun through a crack, and
could hear German soldiers boarding the train. I was happy to be moving, but
little did I realize how much I would miss the stillness of that sunrise.
Since the train car was black,
the sun quickly heated it. Inside the car, the heat was sweltering. Jennie seemed to be fading, and Mutter kept
fanning herself, but Elizabet and I seemed to be holding up. I noticed a little
later that my eyesight began to waver, and I began shivering despite the heat. I
was the man of this family, so I didn’t say anything about it.
A few hours later, the train
stopped, and the doors opened. The cool air was refreshing; however, the Germans
only stopped the train to load more passengers onto our already-full car. We
were all standing as they shoved more and more into the car until there wasn’t
space to turn around. One woman fainted, but we were packed in so tightly that she
stayed standing. I was so hungry I felt dizzy, but I knew if I vomited it would
only join the mess already on the train floor. The smell was overwhelming. I
tried unsuccessfully to convince myself I was back in school cleaning toilets;
a paradise compared to this.
When they ran out of passengers
to shove on our cars, they handed us a small bucket of water and a basket of
bread. Our family was so far back in the car that we didn’t get any before the
bucket was dry. I did give Jennie and Mutter a small bread crust I found to
share, but otherwise we got nothing.
It was after 3 more days of
jolting and stopping and sweating when we finally were allowed out of the
cattle car. My head hurt. I had already fainted inside the car, but I had to
gather my strength for the girls. I was the man; I had to lead them to safety.
I would, or die trying.
The Germans led the hot,
starving crowd down a steep hill pathway, and into a wooded area. I was
terrified, but I tried not to let it show. Elizabet held Mutter’s arm, and I
supported Jennie. Her already-thin frame was easy to carry, but she worried me.
She had just gotten over influenza herself. I led the Stein family firmly, with my
shoulders back and head held high. They were treating us like animals, but I
wouldn’t prove them right. We are humans. We are Jews, God’s chosen. He would
get us out of this.
I saw the barbed-wire fences
long before we arrived. The stench of burning…something filled my noise, and I
began to gag. I don’t think I will ever forget that horrific smell. It came
from the biggest building on the 50 acre property. The whispers through the
crowd said that building was the gas chambers. Before, I had only heard rumors about
them; but now it stood right in front of me. The crematory, used to “bury the
evidence” was feet from the gas chambers. The Germans lined us up and separated
us by gender: Women on the left, Men on the right, Children/Elderly in the
center. Jennie always considered her 12 years to be above child status, so she
stayed with Elizabet and stood tall. Mutter cried to see me stand with the men;
and I prayed a special prayer for her to have strength. Elizabet gave me the
twin look: She’d take care of the girls; I just had to take care of me. Our
family would pull through and reunite someday. I nodded in response.
Separated, we were marched into
an office, took off our clothes and stood to be inspected by a doctor. I
shivered; I knew that I’d never get those coins from my belt back. I just
prayed no one else found them. They were hidden, after all. The doctor looked
me over and determined I was healthy enough to work. It was selfish; I’m sure,
to be sad when they shaved me head, but I loved the dark locks that I got from
Papa. I was given a shirt and pants, with a big “X” in the back in different
color fabric. The pants were too small, and the shirt too large, but you didn’t
complain. One man did, and he was taken out and never seen again. I looked down
at my bleeding left arm, where they gave me my identification number tattoo:
B6886. I was now reduced to a number, just like an animal.
The guards told us that this camp was called
Auschwitz.
Auschwitz was a place where
Germans worked Jews and other outcasts until they died, and killed the weak
along the way. Thousands daily poured into this place, and none were ever meant
to leave.
I was given a bunk with 6 other men, though the
bunk was made to fit 3. They were stacked 4 bunks to the ceiling, with 12 bunks
around the room. This bunker wasn’t made to fit so many men, but that’s exactly
what the Germans wanted. The bed was alive with fleas; and the stench was
unbearable. Some got nauseous and went outside for air, but were shot before
returning. The Germans didn’t spare anybody. If you got sick and didn’t go to
roll call, you got shot. If you couldn’t do your work, or even looked like fighting
back, you got shot. The guards sometimes just shot people for fun. The barbed
wire electric fence around the border of camp also killed people trying to
escape, or just trying to end the struggle to live. This camp was made to kill
any last ounce of hope, any last humanity a person kept hold of.
Prisoner B6886 stayed alive for
two years in that filth. I worked my hands to the bone, and then some. I had lost
most of the spirit I had when I was watching over my family. Then, my women
needed me, so I had to stay alive. But Auschwitz takes the spirit out of you
real fast. I have stared death in the face several times and have resolved to
not let the Germans win over me, but that resolution had mostly faded over those
2 years of ghastly torture. I had once thought that God would redeem us from
this prison, but now I can see I was wrong. He really didn’t care about us Jews.
He didn’t care about me.
I saw Elizabet a few times in
those 2 years, in secret. We would meet at the fence at noon, and whispered
quickly so as not to get caught. Every time I feared she wouldn’t come, and
every time she looked less and less alive. Her once sturdy frame was stooped
from working in bad light, and her eyes seemed to bulge out of her head. Almost
all of her hair had fallen out after they had shaved her beautiful auburn curls
off. Yet what she told me over those meetings tore open my already broken
heart: First that Mutter had died, and a year later that Jennie had
disappeared. We were the only ones left. I hated the Germans even more: They
had beaten my mother to dust, and my sister was gone. These men were monsters.
How could they go home at night and kiss their child with Jewish blood on their
hands?
Elizabet told me they made her construct
radios and equipment for the Nazi regime to use in war. That sounded like
paradise compared to my rock carrying and latrine digging. It was back breaking
work, and with the moldy bread scrap and hot water they called “soup”, I knew I
wouldn’t last much longer.
As the man of the Stein
household, I had given up emotions when the Germans entered our house that day.
But they began to win over me; I grew exhausted, depressed and full of despair.
I was sure I would never leave that horrid place. I had given in to their mind
games; I was forced to live like an animal, and I began to think like an
animal. I grew sicker and sicker every day. I just wanted to disappear; go see
Papa and Mutter in God’s Heaven. Every day I would collapse carrying rocks.
That was when I was selected to
go on forest pit-digging duty. Every pit that was ever dug was then filled with
the diggers’ bodies. I didn’t even look for a way out; the fight was drained
out of me. While being taken to the truck, some young man fainted; and the
guards began to laugh. The laugh was harsh and humiliating, and I’ll forever
remember those Germans laughing. I heard it when Mutter fell while walking to
Auschwitz…when someone screamed for help from inside the cattle car…while
praying the Lord’s Prayer in Hebrew like I’d always been taught walking toward death,
away from freedom. That was the last straw. From then on, I knew I had to
survive. I had to show that though they took everything away from me, I was
still alive. I began to search the woods for an escape. My heart began racing; thinking
fast, I climbed into the truck. Maybe on the way I could….
“Men.” I was taken aback by the
guard who looked us prisoners in the eye. He looked to make sure no other
guards were near, then said “I’ll drive slow. Any of you who wish to live, jump
and run the other way. Just don’t tell the Germans about me.” I decided to take this chance for escape. I
would never receive another, I believed. I waited a mile out of camp, and then
I jumped, and I was the only one who did. I ran to the tall grass and hid until
nightfall. I heard the shots as the pit-diggers were killed, and praised the
God I knew was out there somewhere that that soldier had laughed. That laugh
changed everything. It had returned my spirit.
I jumped into a creek—made of
melted snow from the harsh winter--and swam downstream to the fence wall.
Across this last barbed wire fence was freedom. The water was icy, and I was
frozen by the time I got there, but I was as numb to fear as to cold. I was
going to get free, then go back and get my sister. That was my plan. I’d work on
the “how to do it” part later.
I found a group of workers
going outside to do factory work, a privilege given only to the select few. I
tried to look like I was part of their group, but I knew I couldn’t do it with
my soaking-wet pants. I had to change to look the part. So I found a pile of
clothes that was from gas chamber victims, and slipped on a pair. It was at
least 3 sizes too big, so I reached for a belt too. Though mismatched, it would
have to do. I prayed the guards didn’t notice me wearing different pants than
everyone else.
I slipped into the middle of
the group, and the guards didn’t notice, though the prisoners did. After we
left the walls, they began to ask me in Hungarian, Polish, Danish and something
I recognized as Eastern what I was doing. I told them I was late to join the
group, and wanted to catch up. I knew I lied to them, but I figured at this
life or death situation, God would forgive me. They just shrugged me off and
ignored me. After a few miles of walking, I decided to play dead. I figured the
guards would leave me and I could then escape. The plan worked, until a German
decided to have some fun and shoot the corpse I was supposed to be. Being shot
in close range really tore my shoulder up, but thankfully he was a bad shot and
missed my heart. I thought for sure he was going to kill me.
I stayed there until they were
out of sight, and then cried as I sat up. My shoulder bled, and I shoved my
hand into the wound to stop the bleeding. Running toward the nearest woods, I
slept there all night. I never knew leaves made such a good bandage. I woke up
weeks later, in a real house, in a real bed.
Apparently, some men fleeing
like I had had found me, half dead, lying by the trunk where I fell asleep.
They took turns carrying me to town, where they found refuge inside a kindly woman’s
barn. There they left me. It was easier to hide just one, and they wanted to
keep going. When my shoulder healed, and I got some of my strength back, I decided
to take the train to another town, farther from Auschwitz. The kind woman
offered to pay my way, but I wouldn’t take any of her money. She’d done enough
for me. As I walked toward the train depot, I tried to figure out what to do.
The woman had bound up my shoulder, but I took off the sling to hide the
evidence of a wound. I adjusted my belt; feeling a notch on the inside. I
couldn’t believe it: There were silver coins hidden inside this belt! I looked
down, it was my belt from all those
years ago!? God had saved me through utter terror, and given me the money to
escape. He hadn’t forgotten me after all. I would survive. With tears streaming
down my face, I thanked God over and over for not leaving me after all. I was
going to live through this.
Epilogue: Jonas always planned
to go back and find Elizabet. Even after he took refuge with a kind priest, he was
planning his return to the terrible Auschwitz. However, Auschwitz was liberated
before he could return, and soldiers helped Elizabet and Jonas reunite.
Though Jonas knew that Jennie
disappeared, he didn’t find out until he met up with Elizabet that Jennie had
actually escaped Auschwitz basically the same way Jonas himself had. She hid
with an old shoemaker as his German apprentice for a year, and then fled to
relatives in Poland. The family was reunited 2 years after the liberation of
Auschwitz, 4 years after leaving home into the hands of the Germans.
The Stein family, now reduced
to 3, immigrated to America in 1948. Jonas found work as a stonemason, which is
ironic after his experience carrying rocks in Auschwitz. Elizabet married an
Irish factory worker, and Jennie worked as a seamstress. Jonas never went back
to Germany; and said he never intended to. He was an American now, and he was
never looking back. He died a happy man, with 4 children and 15 grandchildren.
He was remembered as a man who loved to laugh, saying that he was trying to
cover the hate in his mind with the love of his family.
Please note: This is a story of fiction based on real people
and events.
Sources:
Ten Boom, Corrie. The Hiding Place. Old Tappan, Bantam:
1971. Print.
Zullo, Allan. Escape: Children of the Holocaust. New
York, Scholastic: 2009. Print.
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