Night PDF by Elie Wiesel

 Also by Elie Wiesel DAWN THE OSLO ADDRESS DAY (previously THE ACCIDENT) TWILIGHT Night THE TOWN BEYOND THE WALL THE SIX DAYS OF DESTRUCTION THE GA...

 Also by Elie Wiesel DAWN THE OSLO ADDRESS DAY (previously THE ACCIDENT) TWILIGHT Night THE TOWN BEYOND THE WALL THE SIX DAYS OF DESTRUCTION THE GATES OF THE FOREST (with Albert Friedlander) A JOURNEY INTO FAITH THE JEWS OF SILENCE (conversations with John LEGENDS OF OUR TIME Cardinal O'Connor) A BEGGAR IN JERUSALEM A SONG FOR HOPE (cantata) ONE GENERATION AFTER FROM THE KINGDOM OF MEMORY SOULS ON FIRE SAGES AND DREAMERS THE OATH THE FORGOTTEN ANI MAAMIN (cantata) A PASSOVER HAGGADAH (illustrated ZALMEN, OR THE MADNESS OF GOD by Mark Podwal) (play) ALL RIVERS RUN TO THE SEA MESSENGERS OF GOD MEMOIR IN TWO VOICES (with François Mitterand) A JEW TODAY KING SOLOMON AND HIS MAGIC FOUR HASIDIC MASTERS RING (illustrated by Mark THE TRIAL OF GOD (play) Podwal) THE TESTAMENT AND THE SEA IS NEVER FULL FIVE BIBLICAL PORTRAITS THE JUDGES SOMEWHERE A MASTER CONVERSATIONS WITH ELIE THE GOLEM (illustrated by Mark WIESEL (with Richard D. Podwal) Heffner) THE FIFTH SON WISE MEN AND THEIR TALES AGAINST SILENCE (edited by Irving THE TIME OF THE UPROOTED Abrahamson) ELIE WIESEL T R A N S L A T E D FROM THE F R E N C H BY MARION W I E S E L H I L L A N D WANG A DIVISION OF FARRAR, STRAUS AND GIROUX NEW YORK  In memory of my parents and of my little sister, Tzipora E.W. Hill and Wang A division of Farrar, Straus and Giroux 19 Union Square West, New York 10003 Copyright © 1958 by Les Editions de Minuit Translation copyright © 2006 by Marion Wiesel Preface to the New Translation copyright © 2006 by Elie Wiesel Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech copyright © 1986 by the Nobel Foundation All rights reserved Distributed in Canada by Douglas & McIntyre Ltd. Printed in the United States of America Published simultaneously in hardcover and paperback by Hill and Wang First edition of this translation, 2006 Library of Congress Control Number: 2005936797 Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-0-374-39997-9 Hardcover ISBN-10:0-374-39997-2 Paperback ISBN-13:9 78-0-3 74-50001-6 Paperback ISBN-10:0-374-50001-0 This new translation Designed by Abby Kagan in memory of my grandparents, Abba, Sarah and Nachman, www.fsgbooks.com who also vanished into that night 17 19 20 18 16 M.W.  Preface to the New Translation by Elie Wiesel I F IN MY L I F E T I M E I WAS TO WRITEonly one book, this would be the one. Just as the past lingers in the present, all my writ- ings after Night, including those that deal with biblical, Tal- mudic, or Hasidic themes, profoundly bear its stamp, and cannot be understood if one has not read this very first of my works. Why did I write it? Did I write it so as not to go mad or, on the contrary, to go mad in order to understand the nature of madness, the immense, terri- fying madness that had erupted in history and in the conscience of mankind? Was it to leave behind a legacy of words, of memories, to help prevent history from repeating itself? Or was it simply to preserve a record of the ordeal I endured as an adolescent, at an age when one's knowledge of death and evil should be limited to what one discovers in literature? There are those who tell me that I survived in order to write this text. I am not convinced. I don't know how I survived; I was weak, rather shy; I did nothing to save myself. A miracle? Cer- tainly not. If heaven could or would perform a miracle for me, why not for others more deserving than myself? It was nothing I had many things to say, I did not have the words to say them. more than chance. However, having survived, I needed to give Painfully aware of my limitations, I watched helplessly as lan- some meaning to my survival. Was it to protect that meaning that guage became an obstacle. It became clear that it would be neces- I set to paper an experience in which nothing made any sense? sary to invent a new language. But how was one to rehabilitate In retrospect I must confess that I do not know, or no longer and transform words betrayed and perverted by the enemy? know, what I wanted to achieve with my words. I only know that Hunger—thirst—fear—transport—selection—fire—chimney: without this testimony, my life as a writer—or my life, period— these words all have intrinsic meaning, but in those times, they would not have become what it is: that of a witness who believes meant something else. Writing in my mother tongue—at that he has a moral obligation to try to prevent the enemy from enjoy- point close to extinction—I would pause at every sentence, and ing one last victory by allowing his crimes to be erased from start over and over again. I would conjure up other verbs, other human memory. images, other silent cries. It still was not right. But what exactly was "it"? "It" was something elusive, darkly shrouded for fear of For today, thanks to recently discovered documents, the evi- being usurped, profaned. All the dictionary had to offer seemed dence shows that in the early days of their accession to power, the meager, pale, lifeless. Was there a way to describe the last jour- Nazis in Germany set out to build a society in which there simply ney in sealed cattle cars, the last voyage toward the unknown? Or would be no room for Jews. Toward the end of their reign, their the discovery of a demented and glacial universe where to be in- goal changed: they decided to leave behind a world in ruins in human was human, where disciplined, educated men in uniform which Jews would seem never to have existed. That is why every- came to kill, and innocent children and weary old men came to where in Russia, in the Ukraine, and in Lithuania, the Einsatz- die? Or the countless separations on a single fiery night, the tear- gruppen carried out the Final Solution by turning their machine ing apart of entire families, entire communities? Or, incredibly, guns on more than a million Jews, men, women, and children, and the vanishing of a beautiful, well-behaved little Jewish girl with throwing them into huge mass graves, dug just moments before golden hair and a sad smile, murdered with her mother the very by the victims themselves. Special units would then disinter the night of their arrival? How was one to speak of them without corpses and burn them. Thus, for the first time in history, Jews trembling and a heart broken for all eternity? were not only killed twice but denied burial in a cemetery. It is obvious that the war which Hitler and his accomplices Deep down, the witness knew then, as he does now, that waged was a war not only against Jewish men, women, and chil- his testimony would not be received. After all, it deals with an dren, but also against Jewish religion, Jewish culture, Jewish tra- event that sprang from the darkest zone of man. Only those dition, therefore Jewish memory. who experienced Auschwitz know what it was. Others will never know. But would they at least understand? CONVINCED THAT THIS PERIOD in history would be judged Could men and women who consider it normal to assist the one day, I knew that I must bear witness. I also knew that, while weak, to heal the sick, to protect small children, and to respect the wisdom of their elders understand what happened there? sion that every one of us has been entrusted with a sacred spark Would they be able to comprehend how, within that cursed uni- from the Shekhinah's flame; that every one of us carries in his verse, the masters tortured the weak and massacred the children, eyes and in his soul a reflection of God's image. the sick, and the old? That was the source if not the cause of all our ordeals. And yet, having lived through this experience, one could not keep silent no matter how difficult, if not impossible, it was to Other passages from the original Yiddish text had more on the speak. death of my father and on the Liberation. Why not include those And so I persevered. And trusted the silence that envelops in this new translation? Too personal, too private, perhaps; they and transcends words. Knowing all the while that any one of the need to remain between the lines. And y e t … fields of ashes in Birkenau carries more weight than all the testi- monies about Birkenau. For, despite all my attempts to articulate I remember that night, the most horrendous of my life: the unspeakable, "it" is still not right. …Eliezer, my son, come h e r e … I want to tell you Is that why my manuscript—written in Yiddish as "And the s o m e t h i n g … Only to y o u … C o m e , don't leave me alone…Eliezer…" World Remained Silent" and translated first into French, then into English—was rejected by every major publisher, French and I heard his voice, grasped the meaning of his words and the American, despite the tireless efforts of the great Catholic French tragic dimension of the moment, yet I did not move. writer and Nobel laureate François Mauriac? After months and It had been his last wish to have me next to him in his agony, months of personal visits, letters, and telephone calls, he finally at the moment when his soul was tearing itself from his lacerated succeeded in getting it into print. body—yet I did not let him have his wish. Though I made numerous cuts, the original Yiddish version I was afraid. still was long. Jérôme Lindon, the legendary head of the small but Afraid of the blows. prestigious Éditions de Minuit, edited and further cut the French That was why I remained deaf to his cries. version. I accepted his decision because I worried that some Instead of sacrificing my miserable life and rushing to his things might be superfluous. Substance alone mattered. I was side, taking his hand, reassuring him, showing him that he was more afraid of having said too much than too little. not abandoned, that I was near him, that I felt his sorrow, instead Example: in the Yiddish version, the narrative opens with of all that, I remained flat on my back, asking God to make my these cynical musings: father stop calling my name, to make him stop crying. So afraid was I to incur the wrath of the SS. In the beginning there was faith—which is childish; trust—which In fact, my father was no longer conscious. is vain; and illusion—which is dangerous. Yet his plaintive, harrowing voice went on piercing the si- We believed in God, trusted in man, and lived with the illu- lence and calling me, nobody but me.  "Well?" The SS had flown into a rage and was striking my change the course of history or shake the conscience of the father on the head: "Be quiet, old man! Be quiet!" world. My father no longer felt the club's blows; I did. And yet I did Books no longer have the power they once did. not react. I let the SS beat my father, I left him alone in the Those who kept silent yesterday will remain silent tomorrow. clutches of death. Worse: I was angry with him for having been noisy, for having cried, for provoking the wrath of the SS. "Eliezer! Eliezer! Come, don't leave me a l o n e … " T H E READER would be entitled to ask: Why this new translation, His voice had reached me from so far away, from so close. But since the earlier one has been around for forty-five years? If it is I had not moved. not faithful or not good enough, why did I wait so long to replace I shall never forgive myself. it with one better and closer to the original? Nor shall I ever forgive the world for having pushed me In response, I would say only that back then, I was an un- against the wall, for having turned me into a stranger, for having known writer who was just getting started. My English was far awakened in me the basest, most primitive instincts. from good. When my British publisher told me that he had found His last word had been my name. A summons. And I had not a translator, I was pleased. I later read the translation and it responded. seemed all right. I never reread it. Since then, many of my other works have been translated by Marion, my wife, who knows my In the Yiddish version, the narrative does not end with the im- voice and how to transmit it better than anyone else. I am fortu- age in the mirror, but with a gloomy meditation on the present: nate: when Farrar, Straus and Giroux asked her to prepare a new translation, she accepted. I am convinced that the readers will ap- And now, scarcely ten years after Buchenwald, I realize that the preciate her work. In fact, as a result of her rigorous editing, I was world forgets quickly. Today, Germany is a sovereign state. The able to correct and revise a number of important details. German Army has been resuscitated. Use Koch, the notorious And so, as I reread this text written so long ago, I am glad that sadistic monster of Buchenwald, was allowed to have children I did not wait any longer. And yet, I still wonder: Have I used the and live happily ever a f t e r … W a r criminals stroll through the right words? I speak of my first night over there. The discovery of streets of Hamburg and Munich. The past seems to have been the reality inside the barbed wire. The warnings of a "veteran" erased, relegated to oblivion. inmate, counseling my father and myself to lie about our ages: my Today, there are anti-Semites in Germany, France, and even father was to make himself younger, and I older. The selection. the United States who tell the world that the "story" of six mil- The march toward the chimneys looming in the distance under lion assassinated Jews is nothing but a hoax, and many people, an indifferent sky. The infants thrown into fiery d i t c h e s … I did not knowing any better, may well believe them, if not today then not say that they were alive, but that was what I thought. But then tomorrow or the day a f t e r … I convinced myself: no, they were dead, otherwise I surely would I am not so naive as to believe that this slim volume will have lost my mind. And yet fellow inmates also saw them; they were alive when they were thrown into the flames. Historians, tion's officialdom. The most striking example is that of the among them Telford Taylor, confirmed it. And yet somehow I did United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C.; not lose my mind. it has received more than twenty-two million visitors since its inauguration in 1993. This may be because the public knows that the number of BEFORE CONCLUDING this introduction, I believe it important to survivors is shrinking daily, and is fascinated by the idea of shar- emphasize how strongly I feel that books, just like people, have a ing memories that will soon be lost. For in the end, it is all about destiny. Some invite sorrow, others joy, some both. memory, its sources and its magnitude, and, of course, its conse- Earlier, I described the difficulties encountered by Night be- quences. fore its publication in French, forty-seven years ago. Despite For the survivor who chooses to testify, it is clear: his duty is to overwhelmingly favorable reviews, the book sold poorly. The sub- bear witness for the dead and for the living. He has no right to de- ject was considered morbid and interested no one. If a rabbi hap- prive future generations of a past that belongs to our collective pened to mention the book in his sermon, there were always memory. To forget would be not only dangerous but offensive; to people ready to complain that it was senseless to "burden our forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time. children with the tragedies of the Jewish past." Since then, much has changed. Night has been received in ways that I never expected. Today, students in high schools and SOMETIMES I AM ASKED if I know "the response to Auschwitz"; I colleges in the United States and elsewhere read it as part of their answer that not only do I not know it, but that I don't even know curriculum. if a tragedy of this magnitude has a response. What I do know is How to explain this phenomenon? First of all, there has been that there is "response" in responsibility. When we speak of this a powerful change in the public's attitude. In the fifties and era of evil and darkness, so close and yet so distant, "responsibil- sixties, adults born before or during World War II showed ity" is the key word. a careless and patronizing indifference toward what is so inade- The witness has forced himself to testify. For the youth of to- quately called the Holocaust. That is no longer true. day, for the children who will be born tomorrow. He does not Back then, few publishers had the courage to publish books want his past to become their future. on that subject. E.W. Today, such works are on most book lists. The same is true in academia. Back then, few schools offered courses on the subject. Today, many do. And, strangely, those courses are particularly popular. The topic of Auschwitz has become part of mainstream culture. There are films, plays, novels, international conferences, exhibitions, annual ceremonies with the participation of the na-  Foreword by François Mauriac F OREIGN JOURNALISTS frequently come to see me. I am wary of them, torn as I am between my desire to speak to them freely and the fear of putting weapons into the hands of interviewers whose attitude toward France I do not know. During these encounters, I tend to be on my guard. That particular morning, the young Jew who came to inter- view me on behalf of a Tel Aviv daily won me over from the first moment. Our conversation very quickly became more personal. Soon I was sharing with him memories from the time of the Occu- pation. It is not always the events that have touched us personally that affect us the most. I confided to my young visitor that noth- ing I had witnessed during that dark period had marked me as deeply as the image of cattle cars filled with Jewish children at the Austerlitz train s t a t i o n … Y e t I did not even see them with my own eyes. It was my wife who described them to me, still un- der the shock of the horror she had felt. At that time we knew nothing about the Nazis' extermination methods. And who could have imagined such things! But these lambs torn from their mothers, that was an outrage far beyond anything we would have thought possible. I believe that on that day, I first became aware man—this set of circumstances would surely have sufficed to in- of the mystery of the iniquity whose exposure marked the end of spire a book to which, I believe, no other can be compared. an era and the beginning of another. The dream conceived by It is, however, another aspect of this extraordinary book that Western man in the eighteenth century, whose dawn he thought has held my attention. The child who tells us his story here was he had glimpsed in 1789, and which until August 2, 1914, had be- one of God's chosen. From the time he began to think, he lived come stronger with the advent of the Enlightenment and scien- only for God, studying the Talmud, eager to be initiated into the tific discoveries—that dream finally vanished for me before those Kabbalah, wholly dedicated to the Almighty. Have we ever con- trainloads of small children. And yet I was still thousands of miles sidered the consequence of a less visible, less striking abomina- away from imagining that these children were destined to feed tion, yet the worst of all, for those of us who have faith: the death the gas chambers and crematoria. of God in the soul of a child who suddenly faces absolute evil? This, then, was what I probably told this journalist. And when Let us try to imagine what goes on in his mind as his eyes I said, with a sigh, "I have thought of these children so many watch rings of black smoke unfurl in the sky, smoke that em- times!" he told me, "I was one of them." He was one of them! anates from the furnaces into which his little sister and his mother He had seen his mother, a beloved little sister, and most of his had been thrown after thousands of other victims: family, except his father and two other sisters, disappear in a furnace fueled by living creatures. As for his father, the boy had Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned to witness his martyrdom day after day and, finally, his agony my life into one long night seven times sealed. and death. And what a death! The circumstances of it are narrated Never shall I forget that smoke. in this book, and I shall allow readers—who should be as numer- Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose ous as those reading The Diary of Anne Frank—to discover them bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky. for themselves as well as by what miracle the child himself Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith for- escaped. ever. I maintain therefore that this personal record, coming as it Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me does after so many others and describing an abomination such as for all eternity of the desire to live. we might have thought no longer had any secrets for us, is differ- Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God ent, distinct, and unique nevertheless. The fate of the Jews of the and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes. small town in Transylvania called Sighet; their blindness as they Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to confronted a destiny from which they would have still had time live as long as God Himself. to flee; the inconceivable passivity with which they surrendered Never. to it, deaf to the warnings and pleas of a witness who, having es- caped the massacre, relates to them what he has seen with his It was then that I understood what had first appealed to me own eyes, but they refuse to believe him and call him a mad- about this young Jew: the gaze of a Lazarus risen from the dead yet still held captive in the somber regions into which he had Almighty to whom my life had been bound for so long. In the strayed, stumbling over desecrated corpses. For him, Nietzsche's midst of these men assembled for prayer, I felt like an observer, cry articulated an almost physical reality: God is dead, the God of a stranger. love, of gentleness and consolation, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob had, under the watchful gaze of this child, vanished for- And I, who believe that God is love, what answer was there to ever into the smoke of the human holocaust demanded by the give my young interlocutor whose dark eyes still held the reflec- Race, the most voracious of all idols. tion of the angelic sadness that had appeared one day on the face And how many devout Jews endured such a death? On that of a hanged child? What did I say to him? Did I speak to him of most horrible day, even among all those other bad days, when the that other Jew, this crucified brother who perhaps resembled him child witnessed the hanging (yes!) of another child who, he tells and whose cross conquered the world? Did I explain to him that us, had the face of a sad angel, he heard someone behind him what had been a stumbling block for his faith had become a cor- groan: nerstone for mine? And that the connection between the cross and human suffering remains, in my view, the key to the unfath- "For God's sake, where is God?" omable mystery in which the faith of his childhood was lost? And And from within me, I heard a voice answer: yet, Zion has risen up again out of the crematoria and the slaugh- "Where He is? This is where—hanging here from this gal- terhouses. The Jewish nation has been resurrected from among lows." its thousands of dead. It is they who have given it new life. We do not know the worth of one single drop of blood, one single tear. On the last day of the Jewish year, the child is present at the All is grace. If the Almighty is the Almighty, the last word for each solemn ceremony of Rosh Hashanah. He hears thousands of of us belongs to Him. That is what I should have said to the Jew- slaves cry out in unison, "Blessed be the Almighty!" Not so long ish child. But all I could do was embrace him and weep. ago, he too would have knelt down, and with such worship, such awe, such love! But this day, he does not kneel, he stands. The human creature, humiliated and offended in ways that are in- conceivable to the mind or the heart, defies the blind and deaf divinity. I no longer pleaded for anything. I was no longer able to lament. On the contrary, I felt very strong. I was the accuser, God the ac- cused. My eyes had opened and I was alone, terribly alone in a world without God, without man. Without love or mercy. I was nothing but ashes now, but I felt myself to be stronger than this Night 1  T HEY C A L L E D HIM Moishe the Beadle, as if his entire life he had never had a surname. He was the jack-of- all-trades in a Hasidic house of prayer, a shtibl. The Jews of Sighet—the little town in Transylvania where I spent my child- hood—were fond of him. He was poor and lived in utter penury. As a rule, our townspeople, while they did help the needy, did not particularly like them. Moishe the Beadle was the excep- tion. He stayed out of people's way. His presence bothered no one. He had mastered the art of rendering himself insignificant, invisible. Physically, he was as awkward as a clown. His waiflike shyness made people smile. As for me, I liked his wide, dreamy eyes, gaz- ing off into the distance. He spoke little. He sang, or rather he chanted, and the few snatches I caught here and there spoke of divine suffering, of the Shekhinah in Exile, where, according to Kabbalah, it awaits its redemption linked to that of man. I met him in 1941. I was almost thirteen and deeply observant. By day I studied Talmud and by night I would run to the syna- gogue to weep over the destruction of the Temple. 2 3  One day I asked my father to find me a master who could great emphasis, that every question possessed a power that was guide me in my studies of Kabbalah. "You are too young for that. lost in the answer… Maimonides tells us that one must be thirty before venturing into Man comes closer to God through the questions he asks Him, the world of mysticism, a world fraught with peril. First you must he liked to say. Therein lies true dialogue. Man asks and God study the basic subjects, those you are able to comprehend." replies. But we don't understand His replies. We cannot under- My father was a cultured man, rather unsentimental. He rarely stand them. Because they dwell in the depths of our souls and re- displayed his feelings, not even within his family, and was more main there until we die. The real answers, Eliezer, you will find involved with the welfare of others than with that of his own kin. only within yourself. The Jewish community of Sighet held him in highest esteem; his "And why do you pray, Moishe?" I asked him. advice on public and even private matters was frequently sought. "I pray to the God within me for the strength to ask Him the There were four of us children. Hilda, the eldest; then Bea; I was real questions." the third and the only son; Tzipora was the youngest. We spoke that way almost every evening, remaining in the My parents ran a store. Hilda and Bea helped with the work. synagogue long after all the faithful had gone, sitting in the semi- As for me, my place was in the house of study, or so they said. darkness where only a few half-burnt candles provided a flicker- "There are no Kabbalists in Sighet," my father would often ing light. tell me. One evening, I told him how unhappy I was not to be able to He wanted to drive the idea of studying Kabbalah from my find in Sighet a master to teach me the Zohar, the Kabbalistic mind. In vain. I succeeded on my own in finding a master for my- works, the secrets of Jewish mysticism. He smiled indulgently. self in the person of Moishe the Beadle. After a long silence, he said, "There are a thousand and one gates He had watched me one day as I prayed at dusk. allowing entry into the orchard of mystical truth. Every human "Why do you cry when you pray?" he asked, as though he being has his own gate. He must not err and wish to enter the or- knew me well. chard through a gate other than his own. That would present a "I don't know," I answered, troubled. danger not only for the one entering but also for those who are I had never asked myself that question. I cried because already inside." because something inside me felt the need to cry. That was all And Moishe the Beadle, the poorest of the poor of Sighet, I knew. spoke to me for hours on end about the Kabbalah's revelations and "Why do you pray?" he asked after a moment. its mysteries. Thus began my initiation. Together we would read, Why did I pray? Strange question. Why did I live? Why did over and over again, the same page of the Zohar. Not to learn it by I breathe? heart but to discover within the very essence of divinity. "I don't know," I told him, even more troubled and ill at ease. And in the course of those evenings I became convinced that "I don't know." Moishe the Beadle would help me enter eternity, into that time From that day on, I saw him often. He explained to me, with when question and answer would become ONE. 4 5 AND THEN, one day all foreign Jews were expelled from Sighet. Day after day, night after night, he went from one Jewish And Moishe the Beadle was a foreigner. house to the next, telling his story and that of Malka, the young Crammed into cattle cars by the Hungarian police, they cried girl who lay dying for three days, and that of Tobie, the tailor who silently. Standing on the station platform, we too were crying. begged to die before his sons were killed. The train disappeared over the horizon; all that was left was thick, Moishe was not the same. The joy in his eyes was gone. He no dirty smoke. longer sang. He no longer mentioned either God or Kabbalah. He Behind me, someone said, sighing, "What do you expect? spoke only of what he had seen. But people not only refused to That's w a r … " believe his tales, they refused to listen. Some even insinuated The deportees were quickly forgotten. A few days after they that he only wanted their pity, that he was imagining things. Oth- left, it was rumored that they were in Galicia, working, and even ers flatly said that he had gone mad. that they were content with their fate. As for Moishe, he wept and pleaded: Days went by. Then weeks and months. Life was normal "Jews, listen to me! That's all I ask of you. No money. No pity. again. A calm, reassuring wind blew through our homes. The Just listen to me!" he kept shouting in synagogue, between the shopkeepers were doing good business, the students lived among prayer at dusk and the evening prayer. their books, and the children played in the streets. Even I did not believe him. I often sat with him, after ser- One day, as I was about to enter the synagogue, I saw Moishe vices, and listened to his tales, trying to understand his grief. But the Beadle sitting on a bench near the entrance. all I felt was pity. He told me what had happened to him and his companions. "They think I'm mad," he whispered, and tears, like drops of The train with the deportees had crossed the Hungarian border wax, flowed from his eyes. and, once in Polish territory, had been taken over by the Gestapo. Once, I asked him the question: "Why do you want people to The train had stopped. The Jews were ordered to get off and onto believe you so much? In your place I would not care whether they waiting trucks. The trucks headed toward a forest. There every- believed me or n o t … " body was ordered to get out. They were forced to dig huge He closed his eyes, as if to escape time. trenches. When they had finished their work, the men from the "You don't understand," he said in despair. "You cannot under- Gestapo began theirs. Without passion or haste, they shot their pris- stand. I was saved miraculously. I succeeded in coming back. Where oners, who were forced to approach the trench one by one and offer did I get my strength? I wanted to return to Sighet to describe to their necks. Infants were tossed into the air and used as targets for you my death so that you might ready yourselves while there is still the machine guns. This took place in the Galician forest, near Kolo- time. Life? I no longer care to live. I am alone. But I wanted to may. How had he, Moishe the Beadle, been able to escape? By a come back to warn you. Only no one is listening to me …" miracle. He was wounded in the leg and left for dead… This was toward the end of 1942. Thereafter, life seemed normal once again. London radio, which we listened to every evening, announced encouraging 6 7 news: the daily bombings of Germany and Stalingrad, the prepa- to Palestine. I had asked my father to sell everything, to liquidate ration of the Second Front. And so we, the Jews of Sighet, waited everything, and to leave. for better days that surely were soon to come. "I am too old, my son," he answered. "Too old to start a new I continued to devote myself to my studies, Talmud during life. Too old to start from scratch in some distant l a n d … " the day and Kabbalah at night. My father took care of his business Budapest radio announced that the Fascist party had seized and the community. My grandfather came to spend Rosh Ha- power. The regent Miklós Horthy was forced to ask a leader of shanah with us so as to attend the services of the celebrated the pro-Nazi Nyilas party to form a new government. Rebbe of Borsche. My mother was beginning to think it was high Yet we still were not worried. Of course we had heard of the time to find an appropriate match for Hilda. Fascists, but it was all in the abstract. It meant nothing more to us Thus passed the year 1943. than a change of ministry. The next day brought really disquieting news: German troops had penetrated Hungarian territory with the government's approval. SPRING 1944. Splendid news from the Russian Front. There Finally, people began to worry in earnest. One of my friends, could no longer be any doubt: Germany would be defeated. It Moishe Chaim Berkowitz, returned from the capital for Passover was only a matter of time, months or weeks, perhaps. and told us, "The Jews of Budapest live in an atmosphere of fear The trees were in bloom. It was a year like so many others, and terror. Anti-Semitic acts take place every day, in the streets, with its spring, its engagements, its weddings, and its births. on the trains. The Fascists attack Jewish stores, synagogues. T h e The people were saying, "The Red Army is advancing with situation is becoming very s e r i o u s … " giant s t r i d e s … H i t l e r will not be able to harm us, even if he The news spread through Sighet like wildfire. Soon that was wants t o … " all people talked about. But not for long. Optimism soon revived: Yes, we even doubted his resolve to exterminate us. The Germans will not come this far. They will stay in Budapest. Annihilate an entire people? Wipe out a population dispersed For strategic reasons, for political reasons … throughout so many nations? So many millions of people! By In less than three days, German Army vehicles made their what means? In the middle of the twentieth century! appearance on our streets. And thus my elders concerned themselves with all manner of things—strategy, diplomacy, politics, and Zionism—but not with their own fate. ANGUISH. German soldiers—with their steel helmets and their Even Moishe the Beadle had fallen silent. He was weary of death's-head emblem. Still, our first impressions of the Germans talking. He would drift through synagogue or through the streets, were rather reassuring. The officers were billeted in private hunched over, eyes cast down, avoiding people's gaze. homes, even in Jewish homes. Their attitude toward their hosts In those days it was still possible to buy emigration certificates was distant but polite. They never demanded the impossible, 8 9 made no offensive remarks, and sometimes even smiled at the elry, or any valuables. Everything had to be handed over to the lady of the house. A German officer lodged in the Kahns' house authorities, under penalty of death. My father went down to the across the street from us. We were told he was a charming man, cellar and buried our savings. calm, likable, and polite. Three days after he moved in, he As for my mother, she went on tending to the many chores in brought Mrs. Kahn a box of chocolates. The optimists were jubi- the house. Sometimes she would stop and gaze at us in silence. lant: "Well? What did we tell you? You wouldn't believe us. There Three days later, a new decree: every Jew had to wear the yel- they are, your Germans. What do you say now? Where is their fa- low star. mous cruelty?" Some prominent members of the community came to consult The Germans were already in our town, the Fascists were al- with my father, who had connections at the upper levels of the ready in power, the verdict was already out—and the Jews of Hungarian police; they wanted to know what he thought of the Sighet were still smiling. situation. My father's view was that it was not all bleak, or per- haps he just did not want to discourage the others, to throw salt on their wounds: THE EIGHT DAYS of Passover. "The yellow star? So what? It's not l e t h a l … " The weather was sublime. My mother was busy in the (Poor Father! Of what then did you die?) kitchen. The synagogues were no longer open. People gathered But new edicts were already being issued. We no longer had in private homes: no need to provoke the Germans. the right to frequent restaurants or cafes, to travel by rail, to attend Almost every rabbi's home became a house of prayer. synagogue, to be on the streets after six o'clock in the evening. We drank, we ate, we sang. The Bible commands us to rejoice Then came the ghettos. during the eight days of celebration, but our hearts were not in it. We wished the holiday would end so as not to have to pretend. On the seventh day of Passover, the curtain finally rose: the TWO GHETTOS were created in Sighet. A large one in the center of Germans arrested the leaders of the Jewish community. town occupied four streets, and another smaller one extended From that moment on, everything happened very quickly. over several alleyways on the outskirts of town. The street we The race toward death had begun. lived on, Serpent Street, was in the first ghetto. We therefore First edict: Jews were prohibited from leaving their residences could remain in our house. But, as it occupied a corner, the win- for three days, under penalty of death. dows facing the street outside the ghetto had to be sealed. We Moishe the Beadle came running to our house. gave some of our rooms to relatives who had been driven out of "I warned you," he shouted. And left without waiting for a their homes. response. Little by little life returned to "normal." The barbed wire that The same day, the Hungarian police burst into every Jewish encircled us like a wall did not fill us with real fear. In fact, we felt home in town: a Jew was henceforth forbidden to own gold, jew- this was not a bad thing; we were entirely among ourselves. A 10 11 small Jewish r e p u b l i c … A Jewish Council was appointed, as well "I'm going right now," he said. "I'll return as soon as possible. as a Jewish police force, a welfare agency, a labor committee, a I'll tell you everything. Wait for me." health agency—a whole governmental apparatus. We were ready to wait as long as necessary. The courtyard People thought this was a good thing. We would no longer turned into something like an antechamber to an operating room. have to look at all those hostile faces, endure those hate-filled We stood, waiting for the door to open. Neighbors, hearing the ru- stares. No more fear. No more anguish. We would live among mors, had joined us. We stared at our watches. Time had slowed Jews, among brothers… down. What was the meaning of such a long session? Of course, there still were unpleasant moments. Every day, "I have a bad feeling," said my mother. "This afternoon I saw the Germans came looking for men to load coal into the military new faces in the ghetto. Two German officers, I believe they were trains. Volunteers for this kind of work were few. But apart from Gestapo. Since we've been here, we have not seen a single of- that, the atmosphere was oddly peaceful and reassuring. ficer…" Most people thought that we would remain in the ghetto until It was close to midnight. Nobody felt like going to sleep, the end of the war, until the arrival of the Red Army. Afterward though some people briefly went to check on their homes. Others everything would be as before. The ghetto was ruled by neither left but asked to be called as soon as my father returned. German nor Jew; it was ruled by delusion. At last, the door opened and he appeared. His face was drained of color. He was quickly surrounded. "Tell us. Tell us what's happening! Say s o m e t h i n g … " SOME TWO W E E K S before Shavuot. A sunny spring day, people At that moment, we were so anxious to hear something en- strolled seemingly carefree through the crowded streets. They couraging, a few words telling us that there was nothing to worry exchanged cheerful greetings. Children played games, rolling about, that the meeting had been routine, just a review of welfare hazelnuts on the sidewalks. Some schoolmates and I were in Ezra and health p r o b l e m s … B u t one glance at my father's face left Malik's garden studying a Talmudic treatise. no doubt. Night fell. Some twenty people had gathered in our courtyard. "The news is terrible," he said at last. And then one word: My father was sharing some anecdotes and holding forth on his "Transports." opinion of the situation. He was a good storyteller. The ghetto was to be liquidated entirely. Departures were to Suddenly, the gate opened, and Stern, a former shopkeeper take place street by street, starting the next day. who now was a policeman, entered and took my father aside. De- We wanted to know everything, every detail. We were spite the growing darkness, I could see my father turn pale. stunned, yet we wanted to fully absorb the bitter news. "What's wrong?" we asked. "Where will they take us?" "I don't know. I have been summoned to a special meeting That was a secret. A secret for all, except one: the president of of the Council. Something must have happened." the Jewish Council. But he would not tell, or could not tell. The The story he had interrupted would remain unfinished. Gestapo had threatened to shoot him if he talked. 12 13  "There are rumors," my father said, his voice breaking, "that "Get up, sir, get up! You must ready yourself for the journey. we are being taken somewhere in Hungary to work in the brick Tomorrow you will be expelled, you and your family, you and all factories. It seems that here, we are too close to the f r o n t … " the other Jews. Where to? Please don't ask me, sir, don't ask ques- After a moment's silence, he added: tions. God alone could answer you. For heaven's sake, get u p … " "Each of us will be allowed to bring his personal belong- He had no idea what I was talking about. He probably thought ings. A backpack, some food, a few items of clothing. Nothing I had lost my mind. else." "What are you saying? Get ready for the journey? What jour- Again, heavy silence. ney? Why? What is happening? Have you gone mad?" "Go and wake the neighbors," said my father. "They must get Half asleep, he was staring at me, his eyes filled with terror, as ready…" though he expected me to burst out laughing and tell him to go The shadows around me roused themselves as if from a deep back to bed. To sleep. To dream. That nothing had happened. It sleep and left silently in every direction. was all in jest… My throat was dry and the words were choking me, paralyzing my lips. There was nothing else to say. FOR A MOMENT, we remained alone. Suddenly Batia Reich, a rela- At last he understood. He got out of bed and began to dress, tive who lived with us, entered the room: "Someone is knocking automatically. Then he went over to the bed where his wife lay at the sealed window, the one that faces outside!" sleeping and with infinite tenderness touched her forehead. She It was only after the war that I found out who had knocked opened her eyes and it seemed to me that a smile crossed her lips. that night. It was an inspector of the Hungarian police, a friend of Then he went to wake his two children. They woke with a start, my father's. Before we entered the ghetto, he had told us, "Don't torn from their dreams. I fled. worry. I'll warn you if there is danger." Had he been able to speak Time went by quickly. It was already four o'clock in the morn- to us that night, we might still have been able to flee…But by ing. My father was running right and left, exhausted, consoling the time we succeeded in opening the window, it was too late. friends, checking with the Jewish Council just in case the order There was nobody outside. had been rescinded. To the last moment, people clung to hope. The women were boiling eggs, roasting meat, preparing cakes, sewing backpacks. The children were wandering about aimlessly, THE GHETTO was awake. One after the other, the lights were go- not knowing what to do with themselves to stay out of the way of ing on behind the windows. the grown-ups. I went into the house of one of my father's friends. I woke the Our backyard looked like a marketplace. Valuable objects, head of the household, a man with a gray beard and the gaze of a precious rugs, silver candlesticks, Bibles and other ritual objects dreamer. His back was hunched over from untold nights spent were strewn over the dusty grounds—pitiful relics that seemed studying. never to have had a home. All this under a magnificent blue sky. 14 15  By eight o'clock in the morning, weariness had settled into our On everyone's back, there was a sack. In everyone's eyes, tears veins, our limbs, our brains, like molten lead. I was in the midst of and distress. Slowly, heavily, the procession advanced toward the prayer when suddenly there was shouting in the streets. I quickly gate of the ghetto. unwound my phylacteries and ran to the window. Hungarian po- And there I was, on the sidewalk, watching them file past, un- lice had entered the ghetto and were yelling in the street nearby. able to move. Here came the Chief Rabbi, hunched over, his face "All Jews, outside! Hurry!" strange looking without a beard, a bundle on his back. His very They were followed by Jewish police, who, their voices break- presence in the procession was enough to make the scene seem ing, told us: surreal. It was like a page torn from a book, a historical novel, per- "The time has c o m e … y o u must leave all t h i s … " haps, dealing with the captivity in Babylon or the Spanish Inqui- The Hungarian police used their rifle butts, their clubs to in- sition. discriminately strike old men and women, children and cripples. They passed me by, one after the other, my teachers, my One by one, the houses emptied and the streets filled with peo- friends, the others, some of whom I had once feared, some of ple carrying bundles. By ten o'clock, everyone was outside. The whom I had found ridiculous, all those whose lives I had shared police were taking roll calls, once, twice, twenty times. The heat for years. There they went, defeated, their bundles, their lives in was oppressive. Sweat streamed from people's faces and bodies. tow, having left behind their homes, their childhood. Children were crying for water. They passed me by, like beaten dogs, with never a glance in Water! There was water close by inside the houses, the back- my direction. They must have envied me. yards, but it was forbidden to break rank. The procession disappeared around the corner. A few steps "Water, Mother, I am thirsty!" more and they were beyond the ghetto walls. Some of the Jewish police surreptitiously went to fill a few The street resembled fairgrounds deserted in haste. There jugs. My sisters and I were still allowed to move about, as we was a little of everything: suitcases, briefcases, bags, knives, were destined for the last convoy, and so we helped as best we dishes, banknotes, papers, faded portraits. All the things one could. planned to take along and finally left behind. They had ceased to matter. Open rooms everywhere. Gaping doors and windows looked AT LAST, at one o'clock in the afternoon came the signal to leave. out into the void. It all belonged to everyone since it no longer There was joy, yes, joy. People must have thought there could belonged to anyone. It was there for the taking. An open tomb. be no greater torment in God's hell than that of being stranded A summer sun. here, on the sidewalk, among the bundles, in the middle of the street under a blazing sun. Anything seemed preferable to that. They began to walk without another glance at the abandoned WE HAD SPENT the day without food. But we were not really hun- streets, the dead, empty houses, the gardens, the tombstones… gry. We were exhausted. 16 17  My father had accompanied the deportees as far as the We were ready. I went out first. I did not want to look at my ghetto's gate. They first had been herded through the main syna- parents' faces. I did not want to break into tears. We remained sit- gogue, where they were thoroughly searched to make sure they ting in the middle of the street, like the others two days earlier. were not carrying away gold, silver, or any other valuables. There The same hellish sun. The same thirst. Only there was no one had been incidents of hysteria and harsh blows. left to bring us water. "When will it be our turn?" I asked my father. I looked at my house in which I had spent years seeking my "The day after tomorrow. U n l e s s … t h i n g s work out. A mira- God, fasting to hasten the coming of the Messiah, imagining what cle, p e r h a p s … " my life would be like later. Yet I felt little sadness. My mind was Where were the people being taken? Did anyone know yet? empty. No, the secret was well kept. "Get up! Roll call!" Night had fallen. That evening, we went to bed early. My fa- We stood. We were counted. We sat down. We got up again. ther said: Over and over. We waited impatiently to be taken away. What "Sleep peacefully, children. Nothing will happen until the day were they waiting for? Finally, the order came: after tomorrow, Tuesday." "Forward! March!" Monday went by like a small summer cloud, like a dream in My father was crying. It was the first time I saw him cry. I had the first hours of dawn. never thought it possible. As for my mother, she was walking, her Intent on preparing our backpacks, on baking breads and face a mask, without a word, deep in thought. I looked at my lit- cakes, we no longer thought about anything. The verdict had tle sister, Tzipora, her blond hair neatly combed, her red coat over been delivered. her arm: a little girl of seven. On her back a bag too heavy for her. That evening, our mother made us go to bed early. To con- She was clenching her teeth; she already knew it was useless to serve our strength, she said. complain. Here and there, the police were lashing out with their It was to be the last night spent in our house. clubs: "Faster!" I had no strength left. The journey had just be- I was up at dawn. I wanted to have time to pray before gun and I already felt so weak… leaving. "Faster! Faster! Move, you lazy good-for-nothings!" the Hun- My father had risen before all of us, to seek information in garian police were screaming. town. He returned around eight o'clock. Good news: we were not That was when I began to hate them, and my hatred remains leaving town today; we were only moving to the small ghetto. our only link today. They were our first oppressors. They were That is where we were to wait for the last transport. We would be the first faces of hell and death. the last to leave. They ordered us to run. We began to run. Who would have At nine o'clock, the previous Sunday's scenes were repeated. thought that we were so strong? From behind their windows, Policemen wielding clubs were shouting: from behind their shutters, our fellow citizens watched as we "All Jews outside!" passed. 18 19  We finally arrived at our destination. Throwing down our bun- NIGHT. No one was praying for the night to pass quickly. T h e dles, we dropped to the ground: stars were but sparks of the immense conflagration that was con- "Oh God, Master of the Universe, in your infinite compassion, suming us. Were this conflagration to be extinguished one day, have mercy on u s … " nothing would be left in the sky but extinct stars and unseeing eyes. There was nothing else to do but to go to bed, in the beds of THE SMALL GHETTO. Only three days ago, people were living those who had moved on. We needed to rest, to gather our here. People who owned the things we were using now. They had strength. been expelled. And we had already forgotten all about them. At daybreak, the gloom had lifted. The mood was more confi- The chaos was even greater here than in the large ghetto. Its dent. There were those who said: inhabitants evidently had been caught by surprise. I visited the "Who knows, they may be sending us away for our own good. rooms that had been occupied by my Uncle Mendel's family. On The front is getting closer, we shall soon hear the guns. And then the table, a half-finished bowl of soup. A platter of dough waiting surely the civilian population will be e v a c u a t e d … " to be baked. Everywhere on the floor there were books. Had my "They worry lest we join the p a r t i s a n s … " uncle meant to take them along? "As far as I'm concerned, this whole business of deportation is We settled in. (What a word!) I went looking for wood, my sisters nothing but a big farce. Don't laugh. They just want to steal our lit a fire. Despite her fatigue, my mother began to prepare a meal. valuables and jewelry. They know that it has all been buried and We cannot give up, we cannot give up, she kept repeating. that they will have to dig to find it; so much easier to do when the People's morale was not so bad: we were beginning to get used owners are on v a c a t i o n … " to the situation. There were those who even voiced optimism. The On vacation! Germans were running out of time to expel us, they a r g u e d … This kind of talk that nobody believed helped pass the time. Tragically for those who had already been deported, it would be The few days we spent here went by pleasantly enough, in rela- too late. As for us, chances were that we would be allowed to go on tive calm. People rather got along. There no longer was any dis- with our miserable little lives until the end of the war. tinction between rich and poor, notables and the others; we were The ghetto was not guarded. One could enter and leave as one all people condemned to the same fate—still unknown. pleased. Maria, our former maid, came to see us. Sobbing, she begged us to come with her to her village where she had prepared a safe shelter. SATURDAY, the day of rest, was the day chosen for our expulsion. My father wouldn't hear of it. He told me and my big The night before, we had sat down to the traditional Friday sisters, "If you wish, go there. I shall stay here with your mother night meal. We had said the customary blessings over the bread and the little one… Naturally, we refused to be separated. 20 21 and the wine and swallowed the food in silence. We sensed that we were gathered around the familial table for the last time. I spent that night going over memories and ideas and was unable to fall asleep. At dawn, we were in the street, ready to leave. This time, there were no Hungarian police. It had been agreed that the Jew- ish Council would handle everything by itself. Our convoy headed toward the main synagogue. The town seemed deserted. But behind the shutters, our friends of yester- day were probably waiting for the moment when they could loot our homes. The synagogue resembled a large railroad station: baggage and tears. The altar was shattered, the wall coverings shredded, the L walls themselves bare. There were so many of us, we could hardly YING DOWN was not an option, nor could we all sit down. breathe. The twenty-four hours we spent there were horrendous. We decided to take turns sitting. There was little air. T h e The men were downstairs, the women upstairs. It was Saturday— lucky ones found themselves near a window; they could the Sabbath—and it was as though we were there to attend ser- watch the blooming countryside flit by. vices. Forbidden to go outside, people relieved themselves in a After two days of travel, thirst became intolerable, as did the corner. heat. The next morning, we walked toward the station, where a Freed of normal constraints, some of the young let go of their convoy of cattle cars was waiting. The Hungarian police made us inhibitions and, under cover of darkness, caressed one another, climb into the cars, eighty persons in each one. They handed us without any thought of others, alone in the world. The others pre- some bread, a few pails of water. They checked the bars on the tended not to notice. windows to make sure they would not come loose. The cars were There was still some food left. But we never ate enough to sealed. One person was placed in charge of every car: if someone satisfy our hunger. Our principle was to economize, to save for managed to escape, that person would be shot. tomorrow. Tomorrow could be worse yet. Two Gestapo officers strolled down the length of the platform. The train stopped in Kaschau, a small town on the Czechoslo- They were all smiles; all things considered, it had gone very vakian border. We realized then that we were not staying in Hun- smoothly. gary. Our eyes opened. Too late. A prolonged whistle pierced the air. The wheels began to The door of the car slid aside. A German officer stepped in grind. We were on our way. accompanied by a Hungarian lieutenant, acting as his interpreter. "From this moment on, you are under the authority of the 22 23 German Army. Anyone who still owns gold, silver, or watches There was a moment of panic. Who had screamed? It was Mrs. must hand them over now. Anyone who will be found to have Schächter. Standing in the middle of the car, in the faint light fil- kept any of these will be shot on the spot. Secondly, anyone who tering through the windows, she looked like a withered tree in a is ill should report to the hospital car. That's all." field of wheat. She was howling, pointing through the window: The Hungarian lieutenant went around with a basket and re- "Look! Look at this fire! This terrible fire! Have mercy on trieved the last possessions from those who chose not to go on me!" tasting the bitterness of fear. Some pressed against the bars to see. There was nothing. Only "There are eighty of you in the car," the German officer the darkness of night. added. "If anyone goes missing, you will all be shot, like dogs." It took us a long time to recover from this harsh awakening. The two disappeared. The doors clanked shut. We had fallen We were still trembling, and with every screech of the wheels, we into the trap, up to our necks. The doors were nailed, the way felt the abyss opening beneath us. Unable to still our anguish, back irrevocably cut off. The world had become a hermetically we tried to reassure each other: sealed cattle car. "She is mad, poor w o m a n … " Someone had placed a damp rag on her forehead. But she nev- ertheless continued to scream: THERE WAS A WOMAN among us, a certain Mrs. Schächter. She "Fire! I see a fire!" was in her fifties and her ten-year-old son was with her, crouched Her little boy was crying, clinging to her skirt, trying to hold in a corner. Her husband and two older sons had been deported her hand: with the first transport, by mistake. The separation had totally "It's nothing, Mother! There's nothing t h e r e … P l e a s e sit shattered her. d o w n … " He pained me even more than did his mother's cries. I knew her well. A quiet, tense woman with piercing eyes, she Some of the women tried to calm her: had been a frequent guest in our house. Her husband was a pious "You'll see, you'll find your husband and sons a g a i n … I n a man who spent most of his days and nights in the house of study. few d a y s … " It was she who supported the family. She continued to scream and sob fitfully. Mrs. Schächter had lost her mind. On the first day of the jour- "Jews, listen to me," she cried. "I see a fire! I see flames, huge ney, she had already begun to moan. She kept asking why she had flames!" been separated from her family. Later, her sobs and screams be- It was as though she were possessed by some evil spirit. came hysterical. We tried to reason with her, more to calm ourselves, to catch On the third night, as we were sleeping, some of us sitting, our breath, than to soothe her: huddled against each other, some of us standing, a piercing cry "She is hallucinating because she is thirsty, poor w o m a n … broke the silence: That's why she speaks of flames devouring h e r … " "Fire! I see a fire! I see a fire!" But it was all in vain. Our terror could no longer be contained. 24 25 Our nerves had reached a breaking point. Our very skin was But we were pulling into a station. Someone near a window aching. It was as though madness had infected all of us. We gave read to us: up. A few young men forced her to sit down, then bound and "Auschwitz." gagged her. Nobody had ever heard that name. Silence fell again. The small boy sat next to his mother, crying. I started to breathe normally again as I listened to the rhythmic pounding of the wheels on the tracks as the train T H E TRAIN did not move again. The afternoon went by slowly. raced through the night. We could begin to doze again, to rest, to Then the doors of the wagon slid open. Two men were given per- dream… mission to fetch water. And so an hour or two passed. Another scream jolted us. The When they came back, they told us that they had learned, in woman had broken free of her bonds and was shouting louder exchange for a gold watch, that this was the final destination. We than before: were to leave the train here. There was a labor camp on the site. "Look at the fire! Look at the flames! Flames e v e r y w h e r e … " The conditions were good. Families would not be separated. Once again, the young men bound and gagged her. When they Only the young would work in the factories. The old and the sick actually struck her, people shouted their approval: would find work in the fields. "Keep her quiet! Make that madwoman shut up. She's not the Confidence soared. Suddenly we felt free of the previous only one h e r e … " nights' terror. We gave thanks to God. She received several blows to the head, blows that could have Mrs. Schächter remained huddled in her corner, mute, un- been lethal. Her son was clinging desperately to her, not uttering touched by the optimism around her. Her little one was stroking a word. He was no longer crying. her hand. The night seemed endless. By daybreak, Mrs. Schächter had Dusk began to fill the wagon. We ate what was left of our food. settled down. Crouching in her corner, her blank gaze fixed on At ten o'clock in the evening, we were all trying to find a position some faraway place, she no longer saw us. for a quick nap and soon we were dozing. Suddenly: She remained like that all day, mute, absent, alone in the "Look at the fire! Look at the flames! Over there!" midst of us. Toward evening she began to shout again: With a start, we awoke and rushed to the window yet again. "The fire, over there!" We had believed her, if only for an instant. But there was nothing She was pointing somewhere in the distance, always the same outside but darkness. We returned to our places, shame in our place. No one felt like beating her anymore. The heat, the thirst, souls but fear gnawing at us nevertheless. As she went on howl- the stench, the lack of air, were suffocating us. Yet all that was ing, she was struck again. Only with great difficulty did we suc- nothing compared to her screams, which tore us apart. A few more ceed in quieting her down. days and all of us would have started to scream. The man in charge of our wagon called out to a German officer 26 27 strolling down the platform, asking him to have the sick woman moved to a hospital car. "Patience," the German replied, "patience. She'll be taken there soon." Around eleven o'clock, the train began to move again. We pressed against the windows. The convoy was rolling slowly. A quarter of an hour later, it began to slow down even more. Through the windows, we saw barbed wire; we understood that this was the camp. We had forgotten Mrs. Schächter's existence. Suddenly there was a terrible scream: "Jews, look! Look at the fire! Look at the flames!" And as the train stopped, this time we saw flames rising from a tall chimney into a black sky. T Mrs. Schächter had fallen silent on her own. Mute again, indif- HE BELOVED OBJECTS that we had carried with us from ferent, absent, she had returned to her corner. place to place were now left behind in the wagon and, We stared at the flames in the darkness. A wretched stench with them, finally, our illusions. floated in the air. Abruptly, our doors opened. Strange-looking Every few yards, there stood an SS man, his machine gun creatures, dressed in striped jackets and black pants, jumped into trained on us. Hand in hand we followed the throng. the wagon. Holding flashlights and sticks, they began to strike at An SS came toward us wielding a club. He commanded: us left and right, shouting: "Men to the left! Women to the right!" "Everybody out! Leave everything inside. Hurry up!" Eight words spoken quietly, indifferently, without emotion. We jumped out. I glanced at Mrs. Schächter. Her little boy Eight simple, short words. Yet that was the moment when I left was still holding her hand. my mother. There was no time to think, and I already felt my fa- In front of us, those flames. In the air, the smell of burning ther's hand press against mine: we were alone. In a fraction of a flesh. It must have been around midnight. We had arrived. In second I could see my mother, my sisters, move to the right. Tzi- Birkenau. pora was holding Mother's hand. I saw them walking farther and farther away; Mother was stroking my sister's blond hair, as if to protect her. And I walked on with my father, with the men. I didn't know that this was the moment in time and the place where I was leaving my mother and Tzipora forever. I kept walk- ing, my father holding my hand. 28 29  Behind me, an old man fell to the ground. Nearby, an SS man it? And the flames, do you see them?" (Yes, we saw the flames.) replaced his revolver in its holster. "Over there, that's where they will take you. Over there will be My hand tightened its grip on my father. All I could think of your grave. You still don't understand? You sons of bitches. Don't was not to lose him. Not to remain alone. you understand anything? You will be burned! Burned to a cin- The SS officers gave the order. der! Turned into ashes!" "Form ranks of fives!" His anger changed into fury. We stood stunned, petrified. There was a tumult. It was imperative to stay together. Could this be just a nightmare? An unimaginable nightmare? "Hey, kid, how old are you?" I heard whispers around me: The man interrogating me was an inmate. I could not see his "We must do something. We can't let them kill us like that, face, but his voice was weary and warm. like cattle in the slaughterhouse. We must revolt." "Fifteen." There were, among us, a few tough young men. They actually "No. You're eighteen." had knives and were urging us to attack the armed guards. One of "But I'm not," I said. "I'm fifteen." them was muttering: "Fool. Listen to what I say." "Let the world learn about the existence of Auschwitz. Let Then he asked my father, who answered: everybody find out about it while they still have a chance to es- "I'm fifty." cape" "No." The man now sounded angry. "Not fifty. You're forty. But the older men begged their sons not to be foolish: Do you hear? Eighteen and forty." "We mustn't give up hope, even now as the sword hangs over He disappeared into the darkness. Another inmate appeared, our heads. So taught our s a g e s … " unleashing a stream of invectives: The wind of revolt died down. We continued to walk until we "Sons of bitches, why have you come here? Tell me, why?" came to a crossroads. Standing in the middle of it was, though I Someone dared to reply: didn't know it then, Dr. Mengele, the notorious Dr. Mengele. He "What do you think? That we came here of our own free will? looked like the typical SS officer: a cruel, though not unintelli- That we asked to come here?" gent, face, complete with monocle. He was holding a conductor's The other seemed ready to kill him: baton and was surrounded by officers. The baton was moving "Shut up, you moron, or I'll tear you to pieces! You should constantly, sometimes to the right, sometimes to the left. have hanged yourselves rather than come here. Didn't you know In no time, I stood before him. what was in store for you here in Auschwitz? You didn't know? In "Your age?" he asked, perhaps trying to sound paternal. 1944?" "I'm eighteen." My voice was trembling. True. We didn't know. Nobody had told us. He couldn't be- "In good health?" lieve his ears. His tone became even harsher: "Yes." "Over there. Do you see the chimney over there? Do you see "Your profession?" 30 31  Tell him that I was a student? "What a shame, a shame that you did not go with your "Farmer," I heard myself saying. m o t h e r … I saw many children your age go with their m o t h e r s … " This conversation lasted no more than a few seconds. It His voice was terribly sad. I understood that he did not wish to seemed like an eternity. see what they would do to me. He did not wish to see his only son The baton pointed to the left. I took half a step forward. I first go up in flames. wanted to see where they would send my father. Were he to have My forehead was covered with cold sweat. Still, I told him that gone to the right, I would have run after him. I could not believe that human beings were being burned in our The baton, once more, moved to the left. A weight lifted from times; the world would never tolerate such crimes… my heart. "The world? The world is not interested in us. Today, every- We did not know, as yet, which was the better side, right or thing is possible, even the c r e m a t o r i a … H i s voice broke. left, which road led to prison and which to the crematoria. Still, I "Father," I said. "If that is true, then I don't want to wait. I'll was happy, I was near my father. Our procession continued slowly run into the electrified barbed wire. That would be easier than a to move forward. slow death in the flames." Another inmate came over to us: He didn't answer. He was weeping. His body was shaking. "Satisfied?" Everybody around us was weeping. Someone began to recite "Yes," someone answered. Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. I don't know whether, during "Poor devils, you are heading for the crematorium." the history of the Jewish people, men have ever before recited He seemed to be telling the truth. Not far from us, flames, Kaddish for themselves. huge flames, were rising from a ditch. Something was being "Yisgadal, veyiskadash, shmey raba…May His name be cele- burned there. A truck drew close and unloaded its hold: small brated and sanctified…" whispered my father. children. Babies! Yes, I did see this, with my own e y e s … c h i l - For the first time, I felt anger rising within me. Why should I dren thrown into the flames. (Is it any wonder that ever since sanctify His name? The Almighty, the eternal and terrible Master then, sleep tends to elude me?) of the Universe, chose to be silent. What was there to thank So that was where we were going. A little farther on, there was Him for? another, larger pit for adults. We continued our march. We were coming closer and closer to I pinched myself: Was I still alive? Was I awake? How was it the pit, from which an infernal heat was rising. Twenty more possible that men, women, and children were being burned and steps. If I was going to kill myself, this was the time. Our column that the world kept silent? No. All this could not be real. A night- had only some fifteen steps to go. I bit my lips so that my father mare p e r h a p s … S o o n I would wake up with a start, my heart would not hear my teeth chattering. Ten more steps. Eight. pounding, and find that I was back in the room of my childhood, Seven. We were walking slowly, as one follows a hearse, our own with my books… funeral procession. Only four more steps. Three. There it was My father's voice tore me from my daydreams: now, very close to us, the pit and its flames. I gathered all that re- 32 33 mained of my strength in order to break rank and throw myself Dozens of inmates were there to receive us, sticks in hand, onto the barbed wire. Deep down, I was saying good-bye to my striking anywhere, anyone, without reason. The orders came: father, to the whole universe, and, against my will, I found myself "Strip! Hurry up! Raus! Hold on only to your belt and your whispering the words: "Yisgadal, veyiskadash, shmey raba…May shoes…" His name be exalted and s a n c t i f i e d … " My heart was about to Our clothes were to be thrown on the floor at the back of the burst. There. I was face-to-face with the Angel of Death… barrack. There was a pile there already. New suits, old ones, torn No. Two steps from the pit, we were ordered to turn left and overcoats, rags. For us it meant true equality: nakedness. We herded into barracks. trembled in the cold. I squeezed my father's hand. He said: A few SS officers wandered through the room, looking for "Do you remember Mrs. Schächter, in the train?" strong men. If vigor was that appreciated, perhaps one should try to appear sturdy? My father thought the opposite. Better not to draw attention. (We later found out that he had been right. Those NEVER SHALL I FORGET that night, the first night in camp, that who were selected that day were incorporated into the Sonder- turned my life into one long night seven times sealed. Kommando, the Kommando working in the crematoria. Béla Never shall I forget that smoke. Katz, the son of an important merchant of my town, had arrived in Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose bod- Birkenau with the first transport, one week ahead of us. When he ies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky. found out that we were there, he succeeded in slipping us a note. Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith for- He told us that having been chosen because of his strength, he ever. had been forced to place his own father's body into the furnace.) Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me for The blows continued to rain on us: all eternity of the desire to live. "To the barber!" Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God Belt and shoes in hand, I let myself be dragged along to the and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes. barbers. Their clippers tore out our hair, shaved every hair on our Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to bodies. My head was buzzing; the same thought surfacing over live as long as God Himself. and over: not to be separated from my father. Never. Freed from the barbers' clutches, we began to wander about the crowd, finding friends, acquaintances. Every encounter filled us with joy—yes, joy: Thank God! You are still alive! THE BARRACK we had been assigned to was very long. On the Some were crying. They used whatever strength they had roof, a few bluish skylights. I thought: This is what the antecham- left to cry. Why had they let themselves be brought here? Why ber of hell must look like. So many crazed men, so much shout- didn't they die in their beds? Their words were interspersed with ing, so much brutality. sobs. 34 35  Suddenly someone threw his arms around me in a hug: Yehiel, In a few seconds, we had ceased to be men. Had the situation the Sigheter rebbe's brother. He was weeping bitterly. I thought not been so tragic, we might have laughed. We looked pretty he was crying with joy at still being alive. strange! Meir Katz, a colossus, wore a child's pants, and Stern, a "Don't cry, Yehiel," I said. "Don't waste your t e a r s … " skinny little fellow, was floundering in a huge jacket. We immedi- "Not cry? We're on the threshold of death. Soon, we shall be ately started to switch. i n s i d e … D o you understand? Inside. How could I not cry?" I glanced over at my father. How changed he looked! His eyes I watched darkness fade through the bluish skylights in the were veiled. I wanted to tell him something, but I didn't know roof. I no longer was afraid. I was overcome by fatigue. what. The absent no longer entered our thoughts. One spoke of The night had passed completely. The morning star shone in them—who knows what happened to them?—but their fate was the sky. I too had become a different person. The student of not on our minds. We were incapable of thinking. Our senses Talmud, the child I was, had been consumed by the flames. All were numbed, everything was fading into a fog. We no longer that was left was a shape that resembled me. My soul had been clung to anything. The instincts of self-preservation, of self- invaded—and devoured—by a black flame. defense, of pride, had all deserted us. In one terrifying moment of So many events had taken place in just a few hours that I had lucidity, I thought of us as damned souls wandering through the completely lost all notion of time. When had we left our homes? void, souls condemned to wander through space until the end of And the ghetto? And the train? Only a week ago? One night? One time, seeking redemption, seeking oblivion, without any hope of single night? finding either. How long had we been standing in the freezing wind? One hour? A single hour? Sixty minutes? Surely it was a dream. AROUND FIVE O'CLOCK in the morning, we were expelled from the barrack. The Kapos were beating us again, but I no longer felt the pain. A glacial wind was enveloping us. We were naked, hold- NOT FAR FROM US, prisoners were at work. Some were digging ing our shoes and belts. An order: holes, others were carrying sand. None as much as glanced at us. "Run!" And we ran. After a few minutes of running, a new We were withered trees in the heart of the desert. Behind me, barrack. people were talking. I had no desire to listen to what they were A barrel of foul-smelling liquid stood by the door. Disinfec- saying, or to know who was speaking and what about. Nobody tion. Everybody soaked in it. Then came a hot shower. All very dared raise his voice, even though there was no guard around. We fast. As we left the showers, we were chased outside. And ordered whispered. Perhaps because o