A Lucky Child: A Memoir of Surviving Auschwitz as a Young Boy by Elie Wiesel, Thomas Buergenthal Page B
Authors: Elie Wiesel, Thomas Buergenthal
Tags: United States, General, Social Science, Historical, History, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, World War II, World War; 1939-1945, Military, Biography, Europe, Holocaust, Eastern, Jewish Studies, Poland, Holocaust survivors, Jewish children in the Holocaust, Buergenthal; Thomas - Childhood and youth, Auschwitz (Concentration camp), Holocaust survivors - United States, Jewish children in the Holocaust - Poland, World War; 1939-1945 - Prisoners and prisons; German, Prisoners and prisons; German
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I found ourselves
being pressed against the taller grown-ups and could barely breathe. Above us, at one end of the car, sat a heavily armed SS
guard in what looked like a brakeman’s cabin. Since the cars had no roof, the SS guard could see what was happening in the
car and anticipate any escape attempts. I seem to remember that, before leaving, we were each given a loaf of black bread
and a tin can that was supposed to contain meat. I never did find out what was in it since we had no can opener, knife, or
even rock that would help us open it.
Our car was so crowded at first that, despite the fact that we were riding in open cars in January, Michael, Janek, and I
were kept warm by the bodies that pressed against us. After a day or two, to avoid being trampled, we were able to work ourselves
toward a corner of the car. People were dying all around us, and when our guard was asked what to do with the bodies, he said
to throw them out. That was being done with increasing frequency as the days went by. Our car was gradually becoming less
crowded until it was no longer difficult to walk from one end to the other. The snow and wind seemed never to let up, and
we could feel the cold more now than before because there were fewer warm bodies pressing against us. Our bread was long gone,
and all we had to eat was snow. We imagined that it was ice cream, although I doubt that we remembered what ice cream tasted
like.
The nights in the car were horrendous. The hunger and cold were wearing people down not only physically but also mentally.
Some began to hallucinate. They walked into the walls of the car, making noises like wild animals. They seemed to be seeing
ghosts and monsters. They would fall over us or run into us and scream while waving their arms wildly as if trying to hit
us. We soon noticed that these men seldom survived the night.
Just when I was sure that it would only be a matter of a day or two before I too would die and be thrown out of the car, a
miracle occurred. As the train moved slowly through Czechoslovakia, making frequent stops, we began to see men, women, and
children standing on the bridges we passed under. They waved to us and shouted, and then loaves of bread began to fall into
our train. Under the first bridges, Michael was able to catch a loaf and told me to hold on to it while he and Janek readied
themselves for the next bridge. I put the bread under my legs. When they came back, the bread was gone. Somebody had managed
to steal it out from under me, and I was too numb to feel it. But we soon had more bread because the Czechs kept throwing
it at us from the bridges. Had it not been for that Czech bread, we would not have survived. I never learned how this magnificent
campaign had been mounted, but as long as I live, I will not forget these angels — to me they seemed to be angels — who provided
us bread as if from heaven.
We were fortunate that the train could not take the shorter and more direct route from Gliwice to Germany, our final destination.
By the end of January 1945, the Allies had severely damaged the German rail system, forcing our train to take the route through
Czechoslovakia. That proved to be our salvation. Of course, had the train been able to proceed directly to Germany, some of
those prisoners who died while we were traveling through Czechoslovakia might have survived.
Our train reached Germany after a trip that lasted more than ten days. The one stop in Germany that I remember most vividly
was a freight station in Berlin. Here, I believe, we remained for only a few hours before going on to Oranienburg, some forty
kilometers away, where the concentration camp of Sachsenhausen, our final destination, was located. I had two experiences
at that station in Berlin that I have never forgotten. Shortly after the train had come to a stop, I heard a German woman
exclaim for all to hear, “
Es stinkt schon wieder von Juden!
”
being pressed against the taller grown-ups and could barely breathe. Above us, at one end of the car, sat a heavily armed SS
guard in what looked like a brakeman’s cabin. Since the cars had no roof, the SS guard could see what was happening in the
car and anticipate any escape attempts. I seem to remember that, before leaving, we were each given a loaf of black bread
and a tin can that was supposed to contain meat. I never did find out what was in it since we had no can opener, knife, or
even rock that would help us open it.
Our car was so crowded at first that, despite the fact that we were riding in open cars in January, Michael, Janek, and I
were kept warm by the bodies that pressed against us. After a day or two, to avoid being trampled, we were able to work ourselves
toward a corner of the car. People were dying all around us, and when our guard was asked what to do with the bodies, he said
to throw them out. That was being done with increasing frequency as the days went by. Our car was gradually becoming less
crowded until it was no longer difficult to walk from one end to the other. The snow and wind seemed never to let up, and
we could feel the cold more now than before because there were fewer warm bodies pressing against us. Our bread was long gone,
and all we had to eat was snow. We imagined that it was ice cream, although I doubt that we remembered what ice cream tasted
like.
The nights in the car were horrendous. The hunger and cold were wearing people down not only physically but also mentally.
Some began to hallucinate. They walked into the walls of the car, making noises like wild animals. They seemed to be seeing
ghosts and monsters. They would fall over us or run into us and scream while waving their arms wildly as if trying to hit
us. We soon noticed that these men seldom survived the night.
Just when I was sure that it would only be a matter of a day or two before I too would die and be thrown out of the car, a
miracle occurred. As the train moved slowly through Czechoslovakia, making frequent stops, we began to see men, women, and
children standing on the bridges we passed under. They waved to us and shouted, and then loaves of bread began to fall into
our train. Under the first bridges, Michael was able to catch a loaf and told me to hold on to it while he and Janek readied
themselves for the next bridge. I put the bread under my legs. When they came back, the bread was gone. Somebody had managed
to steal it out from under me, and I was too numb to feel it. But we soon had more bread because the Czechs kept throwing
it at us from the bridges. Had it not been for that Czech bread, we would not have survived. I never learned how this magnificent
campaign had been mounted, but as long as I live, I will not forget these angels — to me they seemed to be angels — who provided
us bread as if from heaven.
We were fortunate that the train could not take the shorter and more direct route from Gliwice to Germany, our final destination.
By the end of January 1945, the Allies had severely damaged the German rail system, forcing our train to take the route through
Czechoslovakia. That proved to be our salvation. Of course, had the train been able to proceed directly to Germany, some of
those prisoners who died while we were traveling through Czechoslovakia might have survived.
Our train reached Germany after a trip that lasted more than ten days. The one stop in Germany that I remember most vividly
was a freight station in Berlin. Here, I believe, we remained for only a few hours before going on to Oranienburg, some forty
kilometers away, where the concentration camp of Sachsenhausen, our final destination, was located. I had two experiences
at that station in Berlin that I have never forgotten. Shortly after the train had come to a stop, I heard a German woman
exclaim for all to hear, “
Es stinkt schon wieder von Juden!
”
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