Surviving the Reich by Ivan L. Goldstein

Author:Ivan L. Goldstein
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MBI
Published: 2008-06-20T04:00:00+00:00

The single ticket the foursome—Andy Urda, Ed Kessler, Ed Lozano, and me—used to leave Gerolstein.

It was not unusual for me to turn to God at this moment of crisis. I had grown up with the story of how Mother had made her deal with her Divine Partner after Father died, and over the years, her staunch, enduring faith had become a part of me. Rocking to and fro, with the steady beat of the train wheels beneath my feet, my mind drifted to an incident that happened when I was about eight years old. My little brother Max was a baby of a year or two, and he was very sick, with a fever so high that the doctor said it could cause brain damage. Mother frantically tried everything to bring down his temperature, but nothing worked. Now she was panicking, screaming, crying uncontrollably as she rocked Max in her arms. I ran into my bedroom and prayed harder than I ever had in my life. “Please, please, save my little brother!” With my fists clenched and tears streaming from my eyes, I repeated my plea over and over. The fever broke that night. There was no question in my mind that God had heard my prayer and lovingly answered.

So I knew that He was listening, even in this stinking cattle car, with everyone around me going berserk. I knew He could keep me whole, keep me sane, if He wanted to—I just didn’t know if He would. How long could I hold on? “Please, please, protect me. . . .”

We remained in the train for three full days, moving by night and stopped under cover of forests by day. Prisoners were dying one by one, and I continued my dialogue with God. On the third day, for some reason, our captors attempted to move during daylight hours. Allied fighter-bombers immediately spotted the train, and as a plane screamed by overhead—wham—a direct bomb hit on my car! The explosion was deafening, shrapnel flew in every direction, and bloody body parts streaked past me. The man on my right was cut almost in half; the head of the soldier on my left was cracked open.

I was untouched. Not a scratch. Quaking, I stood alone among the dead and critically wounded. It was truly a miracle.

I must have gone into shock, because I don’t remember getting off the train or anything that happened immediately afterwards. The first memory I have, and I don’t know how much time had passed, is that I was sitting in the snow among prisoners from the train. The Germans had given each soldier a can of meat and a piece of dark bread. Someone said that the can contained horse meat. Sickened by the thought of eating the stuff, I traded my meat with another soldier for his piece of bread.

I wondered if my friends had been on the train and if they had died or gone crazy like the others. With sad resignation, I concluded that I would have to survive without them, if I survived at all.

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