the Soviet Red Army had reached the prewar Polish border. That meant the Soviet army was nearing Narewka or was already there. Perhaps there soon would be news of Hershel and our other family members.
When we found out German businessmen were packing their bags, leaving their factories, and fleeing Kraków with as much money and as many valuables as they could carry, we knew Germany was truly losing the war.
One might think we would have celebrated the news, but, in fact, we were apprehensive about what it could mean for us. Would the Germans decide to murder all of us before they left? This was not an unwarranted fear. Rumors reached us that Płaszów and all its sub-camps were to be liquidated and the inhabitants sent to Auschwitz, a huge Nazi concentration and death camp. The odds of leaving Auschwitz alive were almost zero.
Then the news became much more troubling. Schindler’s factory would be closing, and he would start reducing his workforce. A list circulated with the names of those who were to be sent back to Płaszów. My name was on it. So were my father’s and David’s. That’s it, I thought. The end. I knew I couldn’t survive Płaszów again even if I was there with my father and brother. My mother was to stay at Emalia to help close the factory, but that was little comfortto her. How could she think of her good fortune when her husband and two of her sons were being sent to almost certain death? She broke into tears when my father told her we had been ordered to leave.
My father tried to keep our spirits up. “Schindler has a plan,” he told us. “He’s going to relocate the factory to a town in Czechoslovakia and take us with him.” I just couldn’t believe any of it. I didn’t see any way Schindler could dismantle, move, and rebuild the entire plant. Why would he go through the complexities of transferring us when he could easily get other Jewish workers for free in his new location? Even if he wanted to take us with him, how could he possibly persuade the Nazi administrators, especially Amon Goeth, who had absolute final say over us, to go along with such a crazy scheme? I was convinced there was no way that Schindler could save us once we were back in Płaszów and under Goeth’s control.
On the day we were to leave, there were about a hundred of us lined up in front of the guards who would oversee our return to Płaszów. I hid in the back of thegroup, as I often did, trying to be inconspicuous, particularly since I had been pretending to be years older than I actually was. Schindler showed up to see us off. Any other Nazi never would have bothered. As Schindler strolled past us in conversation with a German officer, I suddenly felt that I must do something, anything, to prevent our being sent back. I began to elbow my way forward to the front of the line, but I was too late. Schindler had already moved on. Impulsively I stepped in front of the line, within two steps of a German guard. I really had no idea what I was doing. Was I trying to get myself killed? The guard growled at me to get back in line. To be sure I did, he hit me with the butt of his rifle. Rather than hitting flesh, he knocked out of my hand the glass thermos bottle that my friend Mr. Luftig had given me as a parting gift.
The thermos crashed to the cement with a loud, explosive clang. It drew Schindler’s attention immediately, and he turned around. That was my moment. “We are being sent away,” I cried. “My father and my brother and I!”Schindler immediately motioned for the guards to pull the three of us out of the line. We were ordered to return to Emalia.
Schindler not only saved our lives, he did something more. After he left us, Schindler went to find my mother in the factory. He told her that there had been a mix-up and that we were staying. My mother later told me that at first she hadn’t believed him. She didn’t think he even knew who she was, but it turned out he did. When I think of all his many
When we found out German businessmen were packing their bags, leaving their factories, and fleeing Kraków with as much money and as many valuables as they could carry, we knew Germany was truly losing the war.
One might think we would have celebrated the news, but, in fact, we were apprehensive about what it could mean for us. Would the Germans decide to murder all of us before they left? This was not an unwarranted fear. Rumors reached us that Płaszów and all its sub-camps were to be liquidated and the inhabitants sent to Auschwitz, a huge Nazi concentration and death camp. The odds of leaving Auschwitz alive were almost zero.
Then the news became much more troubling. Schindler’s factory would be closing, and he would start reducing his workforce. A list circulated with the names of those who were to be sent back to Płaszów. My name was on it. So were my father’s and David’s. That’s it, I thought. The end. I knew I couldn’t survive Płaszów again even if I was there with my father and brother. My mother was to stay at Emalia to help close the factory, but that was little comfortto her. How could she think of her good fortune when her husband and two of her sons were being sent to almost certain death? She broke into tears when my father told her we had been ordered to leave.
My father tried to keep our spirits up. “Schindler has a plan,” he told us. “He’s going to relocate the factory to a town in Czechoslovakia and take us with him.” I just couldn’t believe any of it. I didn’t see any way Schindler could dismantle, move, and rebuild the entire plant. Why would he go through the complexities of transferring us when he could easily get other Jewish workers for free in his new location? Even if he wanted to take us with him, how could he possibly persuade the Nazi administrators, especially Amon Goeth, who had absolute final say over us, to go along with such a crazy scheme? I was convinced there was no way that Schindler could save us once we were back in Płaszów and under Goeth’s control.
On the day we were to leave, there were about a hundred of us lined up in front of the guards who would oversee our return to Płaszów. I hid in the back of thegroup, as I often did, trying to be inconspicuous, particularly since I had been pretending to be years older than I actually was. Schindler showed up to see us off. Any other Nazi never would have bothered. As Schindler strolled past us in conversation with a German officer, I suddenly felt that I must do something, anything, to prevent our being sent back. I began to elbow my way forward to the front of the line, but I was too late. Schindler had already moved on. Impulsively I stepped in front of the line, within two steps of a German guard. I really had no idea what I was doing. Was I trying to get myself killed? The guard growled at me to get back in line. To be sure I did, he hit me with the butt of his rifle. Rather than hitting flesh, he knocked out of my hand the glass thermos bottle that my friend Mr. Luftig had given me as a parting gift.
The thermos crashed to the cement with a loud, explosive clang. It drew Schindler’s attention immediately, and he turned around. That was my moment. “We are being sent away,” I cried. “My father and my brother and I!”Schindler immediately motioned for the guards to pull the three of us out of the line. We were ordered to return to Emalia.
Schindler not only saved our lives, he did something more. After he left us, Schindler went to find my mother in the factory. He told her that there had been a mix-up and that we were staying. My mother later told me that at first she hadn’t believed him. She didn’t think he even knew who she was, but it turned out he did. When I think of all his many
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