latrine. If you took longer than that, an SS guard
would go in and beat you with a club until you were
finished and left. There was to be no dawdling at
Birkenau.
The joke was on the Germans this time though. By
leaving the same prisoners stationed at the latrine, the
one place we all had to go throughout the day, they
gave us secret postmen. The Nazis never wanted us to
talk to one another, but if ever you had a message for
someone else, you could whisper it to the prisoner on
watch at the latrine door as you went in. He would
remember it, and quietly whisper it to the recipient when he came to take care of his business later
that day.
One day as I went into the latrine with another prisoner, I heard the watchman whisper, “Tonight.” I
didn’t know what the message meant, but it wasn’t for
me anyway.
That night I was fast asleep on my shelf, slotted in
with all the other prisoners in my barrack when shouts
startled me out of my sleep. Kapo s and SS guards were
in the barracks, yelling at us to get up and smacking at
prisoners with their clubs. I blinked, disoriented and
scared, but I managed to tumble off of my shelf. This
was something new for Birkenau, where usually they
let us at least sleep through the night.
We quickly assembled in the yard, standing in rows,
and I could tell immediately that something was
wrong. The floodlights in the towers weren’t sliding
lazily over the grounds like usual. They were turned
outside, where they swept the woods quickly, back
and forth. Guard dogs barked beyond the barbed-wire
fence surrounding the camp, and cars and tanks rolled
by outside.
“Prison break,” a man next to me whispered.
A prison break! Who? How? My heart thumped in
my chest. I wished I was with them, whoever they were,
running for the forest, the hills — anywhere but here.
Get out , I prayed for them. Get away. Fly. A Nazi came around, checking our numbers against
a clipboard. There were always prisoners who couldn’t
get out of bed again, who had become Muselmanners.
That’s what the Nazis wanted, anyway, to kill us with
work and starvation. But which of the missing prisoners were dying back in the barracks, and which of
them were running free in the woods?
The Nazi grabbed my hand and read the number on
my arm, then moved off to the next prisoner. My wrist
still hurt where he’d grabbed me, his grip was so tight.
The Nazis were mad. Prisoners weren’t supposed to
stand up for themselves. Prisoners weren’t supposed
to escape.
Will they make it out? Where will they go if they do?
Could I escape from Birkenau too? I wondered. Could
I live in the woods eating berries and nuts, sleeping
out in the cold? It couldn’t be worse than the camps,
and maybe not every Pole was like the awful boys
throwing snowballs at the train station. Maybe some
sympathetic Pole would take me in, hide me in
their barn.
We stood for hours, late into the night. They even
went through the roll call again, as though some of us
might have slipped off in between, which didn’t seem
possible. Then, almost at dawn, there were shouts of
excitement from the Nazis beyond the fence. The gates
were opened, and a ragged bunch of prisoners were
marched back inside, all beaten and bloodied. I immediately felt sick to my stomach and swayed on my feet.
The escaped prisoners hadn’t made it. They’d been
caught. How, I didn’t know, and how many had run
and how many they’d caught I didn’t know either. But
these men hadn’t made it, and the price would be severe.
The SS officer of the watch sneered at us. “There is
no escape from Birkenau!” he cried. “No escape! Perhaps some of you are thinking about running. There
is no one waiting to help you on the outside. There is
nowhere for you to hide. You will be caught! And here
is what we do to those who try to escape!”
They lined the men up against a wall in the assembly yard. Rat-tat-tat-tat! The watch officer gunned
them
would go in and beat you with a club until you were
finished and left. There was to be no dawdling at
Birkenau.
The joke was on the Germans this time though. By
leaving the same prisoners stationed at the latrine, the
one place we all had to go throughout the day, they
gave us secret postmen. The Nazis never wanted us to
talk to one another, but if ever you had a message for
someone else, you could whisper it to the prisoner on
watch at the latrine door as you went in. He would
remember it, and quietly whisper it to the recipient when he came to take care of his business later
that day.
One day as I went into the latrine with another prisoner, I heard the watchman whisper, “Tonight.” I
didn’t know what the message meant, but it wasn’t for
me anyway.
That night I was fast asleep on my shelf, slotted in
with all the other prisoners in my barrack when shouts
startled me out of my sleep. Kapo s and SS guards were
in the barracks, yelling at us to get up and smacking at
prisoners with their clubs. I blinked, disoriented and
scared, but I managed to tumble off of my shelf. This
was something new for Birkenau, where usually they
let us at least sleep through the night.
We quickly assembled in the yard, standing in rows,
and I could tell immediately that something was
wrong. The floodlights in the towers weren’t sliding
lazily over the grounds like usual. They were turned
outside, where they swept the woods quickly, back
and forth. Guard dogs barked beyond the barbed-wire
fence surrounding the camp, and cars and tanks rolled
by outside.
“Prison break,” a man next to me whispered.
A prison break! Who? How? My heart thumped in
my chest. I wished I was with them, whoever they were,
running for the forest, the hills — anywhere but here.
Get out , I prayed for them. Get away. Fly. A Nazi came around, checking our numbers against
a clipboard. There were always prisoners who couldn’t
get out of bed again, who had become Muselmanners.
That’s what the Nazis wanted, anyway, to kill us with
work and starvation. But which of the missing prisoners were dying back in the barracks, and which of
them were running free in the woods?
The Nazi grabbed my hand and read the number on
my arm, then moved off to the next prisoner. My wrist
still hurt where he’d grabbed me, his grip was so tight.
The Nazis were mad. Prisoners weren’t supposed to
stand up for themselves. Prisoners weren’t supposed
to escape.
Will they make it out? Where will they go if they do?
Could I escape from Birkenau too? I wondered. Could
I live in the woods eating berries and nuts, sleeping
out in the cold? It couldn’t be worse than the camps,
and maybe not every Pole was like the awful boys
throwing snowballs at the train station. Maybe some
sympathetic Pole would take me in, hide me in
their barn.
We stood for hours, late into the night. They even
went through the roll call again, as though some of us
might have slipped off in between, which didn’t seem
possible. Then, almost at dawn, there were shouts of
excitement from the Nazis beyond the fence. The gates
were opened, and a ragged bunch of prisoners were
marched back inside, all beaten and bloodied. I immediately felt sick to my stomach and swayed on my feet.
The escaped prisoners hadn’t made it. They’d been
caught. How, I didn’t know, and how many had run
and how many they’d caught I didn’t know either. But
these men hadn’t made it, and the price would be severe.
The SS officer of the watch sneered at us. “There is
no escape from Birkenau!” he cried. “No escape! Perhaps some of you are thinking about running. There
is no one waiting to help you on the outside. There is
nowhere for you to hide. You will be caught! And here
is what we do to those who try to escape!”
They lined the men up against a wall in the assembly yard. Rat-tat-tat-tat! The watch officer gunned
them
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