JUST ANOTHER DAY

Auschwitz Entrance

Yes, it was just like any other day. We got up early, counted for the zillionth time, marched to work, cleaned the stable, cleaned the horses, and stood in line to pick up the meager rations.

Just like any other day!

The same routine: I knew that I had to plow the fields. I knew that I will look around to steal something to eat. I knew that I will come home dead tired. I didn't go to Yusek to find out the daily schedule. I knew it would be the same.

By eight in the morning, Yusek told me not to rush. My schedule was changed and he would let me know soon what my chores would be for the day. I wasn't concerned.

Just the opposite!

Sometimes we hauled vegetables from Rajsko. Sometimes the vegetables were delivered to the SS kitchen, and sometimes we delivered, mostly cabbage, to the kitchens in Birkenau. Everybody fought for this kind of job. The reason: hauling vegetables was simply an opportunity to put your hand on some additional food.

I thought I lucked out!

Yusek told me not to rush because the SS guard was eating his breakfast. I was more than happy to oblige. I harnessed my horses, Haity and Hallelujah, and lingered in the stable, waiting to be called.

I don't know why I suddenly felt uneasy? Something didn't feel kosher. I wasn't superstitious. It was a bright sunny day. The sky was blue and only a small cloud lingered over Birkenau. And the always present smell of burning flesh. A constant reminder of our sad realities. And a sad reality it was!

How many Jews were there in this world? What is our fate? Were we conditioned to go to the gas chambers like little lambs? Is this how we go to heaven, Rabbi Jungreis, through the chimneys? Weren't we promised to be a big nation? As many as the stars in the sky, or sand on the desert. I don't remember the exact quote. Whatever! It makes no difference. All those stories I was fed in the Hebrew school. All lies! All wishful thinking. The reality hit me right between the eyes.

What happened to my little brother? He was only 12. What happened to my cousins: six, eight, 10, 11 years old? My grandma, hardly 60? My aunt, less than 40?

Were we ever duped! Maybe we duped ourselves?

I slowly walked to the office to meet my SS guard. He was supposed to give me the orders for the day. He told me to harness the horses, pick up a wagon and tools to cut grass for the horses. I did what he told me, and came back to pick him up. He didn't look beastly in particular. I have nothing to be concerned about.

That’s what I thought. He sat next to me, and off we went. We stopped at the canteen. He picked up cigarettes and some food, and we continued to the outer circle. The SS guard signed us out at the gate. We continued to travel a short distance and arrived at a clearing next to a small forest. We stopped. The SS man looked over the place and decided it was suitable for cutting grass. I loosened the reins of the horses and started to cut the grass. When I returned to the wagon to pick up the pitchfork, the SS guard was smoking a cigarette. I was tempted to ask for a drag but changed my mind.

The SS man turned to me, and in a nonchalant way told me, “You know, you “arschkriecher,” (asshole) I was ordered to shoot you.”

I heard stories like this before. It wasn't the first time. Stories were told about guards who picked up a stone, threw it, and told the prisoner to run and pick it up. As the prisoner ran, the guard shot him dead and reported that the prisoner was trying to escape. I never experienced this. But, I thought, is this it?  Am I dealing with people of Goethe and Schiller? Where has the culture gone?

Where is the blindfold, the last cigarette? Was I watching the wrong movies? Then he said, “All right, why should I work? You cut the grass, and then I am going to knock you off.”

I didn't beg. I didn't pray. I was thinking. What now? What can be done? Suddenly a thought popped into my head. No, no angel appeared in front of me, or behind me, or above me. Whatever!

In front of me was the forest, behind me the SS guard, and above me, the smoked filled sky. The SS man was armed with a rifle. At most he had it loaded with five bullets. It wasn't an automatic weapon. I concocted a simple plan. I will turn toward the forest to cut the grass, and when he lights a cigarette, I will dash into the forest.

The bastard must have read my mind. He told me to stick close to the wagon. Why didn't I tell him, “Go shoot. I had enough! Load your own wagon.”

No, I was a nice boy, and brought up to listen. I continued to cut the grass and load the wagon. It prolonged my existence for another half an hour. It made no sense, but under the circumstances everything was senseless!

The moment of truth neared. I don't remember being scared. I had trembled more in front of my math teacher.

I was less than 16 years old!

What are my classmates doing now? Are they in class? Are they playing soccer? Are they dating girls? Are they making preparations for the final exams? Did they have breakfast? Is anybody as hungry as I am? What would they say if I appeared in my striped uniform in front of the class? Would they laugh, or have pity? Who knows? What would my nanny, Katka, say, who loved me so much, and was ready to hide me from the Nazis? What would my wise ass aunt Lenka, say, who knew everything better than everybody else?

And what would Rabbi Jungreis say? Would he stick to his anti-Zionist ideas? If to be a Zionist is a sin, to go to the gas chambers like a lamb, is a mitzvah? Dead is good? How would that poor coward explain the absence of divine intervention? You don't have to answer, Rabbi Jungreis! I know your answer. Questions like this are not allowed to be asked. What will happen if I do ask? Will I burn in Hell?

A voice brought me back to reality. It was my SS guard. He told me to harness the horses. “It's late.” He said. “Let's go home.” and added, “I was only kidding!”

On the way home he inquired about the whereabouts of my family. I pointed to the sky.

Just another day in Auschwitz.

Go figure!

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