The Dentist Of Auschwitz by Jacobs Benjamin

Author:Jacobs, Benjamin [Jacobs, Benjamin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Non-Fiction, Historical, Autobiography, Memoir
ISBN: 9780813190129
Amazon: 0813190126
Barnesnoble: 0813190126
Goodreads: 339760
Publisher: University Press of Kentucky
Published: 2001-01-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter XI

On Cattle Cars to Auschwitz

It was early morning. I had barely fallen asleep when I heard the police shouting, “Get up! We are moving out.” Our freedom was slipping further away. Instantly everyone was in motion. A half hour later the twenty-six hundred “good workers” stood in rows of fives. Papa was at my right, my instrument box was on my left, and the ubiquitous soup utensil, the menashka,dangled in front of me.

As the main gates opened, I had hoped to see Tadek, but our guards were gone. In their place stood an echelon of tall, stern-faced Croats wearing Waffen SS uniforms. Their green jackets were buttoned up to their chins, and heavy carbines hung over their shoulders. The black-uniformed German SS men held German shepherds on leashes. We were ordered to march.

As we rounded the corner, I took a last glance at Gutenbrunn, which had been my home for more than a year. During this time I had believed that if Papa and I could endure just a little while longer, the Soviet army would free us. We were now on a winding road, parallel to the tracks that had just been built. The tracks, once so busy, looked deserted now. Our marching raised clouds of dust that swirled around us. As we passed Herdecke’s hut, he stood in the doorway looking at us. I tipped my cap, and he nodded. I saw good-bye in his eyes.

I had regarded him as my good fortune in Gutenbrunn. I was reminded of the others who had helped me, here and in Steineck: Zosia, Stasia, Witczak, and Tadek. The good people remained much longer in my mind and heart than the villains did. Someone once said, “No memorial has ever been built for bad deeds.”

“Quickly! Quickly!” the guards rushed us. After an hour we came to a road. Alongside it were three tracks. About fifty cattle cars waited on one of them, and about a dozen railroad people milled around. Beyond them was the station and a couple of steam locomotives. These tracks had been built by the sweat and blood of our brothers.

The SS men rolled open the doors of the cattle cars, and the real drama unfolded. The floor of the cars was more than a meter off the ground and difficult for inmates to climb up to. The guards again yelled, “Quickly!” and then we were beaten and pushed into the cars with their rifle butts. Though the cars were nearly full, they kept shoving more in. Only when the wagons were packed to the limit were the doors rolled shut. To avoid being beaten, some inmates ran like the animals that these cars were built to carry. Eventually our turn came. Thanks to some inmate’s outstretched hands, Papa and I were able to pull ourselves up. More and more inmates were forced in. The wagon door slid closed behind us, and there was no room to stand.

The old cattle cars were three meters high inside. About two

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