camps.”
He didn’t make a question out of it. Rather, he made the quiet statement as his eyes moved over the span of musicians in the image, all with instruments in hand.
“I think performing the occasional concert was the least of what was forced upon them.”
“What do you mean?” William leaned in, his eyes fixed on her.
Sera turned away, feeling a connection building between them again. Deflecting, she turned her laptop around so that they could both see it and typed something into her Internet search browser.
“Have you ever heard the term selection in reference to what happened in the camps?”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head as the search results popped up on her screen. “But I think I can guess what it was.”
She turned the laptop toward him once the search resultspopped up. “That was it,” she pointed out. “Selections for who would live and who would die.”
William began clicking through a series of photographs from a Holocaust archival site. Image after image went by, of weary prisoners arriving at the camps, of mothers with little children, some in coats with the large Star of David sewn on the front, others with families huddled in groups as they unknowingly walked the dirt roads to the crematorium.
“The SS guards would have selections when new convoy trains arrived at the camp. In Auschwitz, those deemed able to work were herded to the right. Those who were doomed to the crematorium were often sent straight to the gas chambers, which were in the holding area on the left.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, still clicking forward through the pictures.
“Stop—right there.” Sera brushed her hand over his to stop him. Surprised at her own comfort level, she pulled her hand away and dropped it back into her lap. “That’s the orchestra. It’s debated by some historians, but many believe they were forced to play during the selections. Adele would have been with them.”
“They played, knowing people were being sent to their deaths?”
Sera could hardly believe it herself. But yes, it was true.
She nodded.
“They were forced to play cheerful music—German marches or Hungarian folk music—to keep the prisoners upbeat as they marched out to work and returned to the barracks each day. Can you imagine? Day in and day out, as thousands of people walked past them. Mothers. Unsuspecting families. Children . . .” Sera’s voice trailed off as she tried to envision what it must have felt like to be forced into such a horrific situation. “It was the worst in 1944 through 1945. That’s when the Germans began transporting Hungarian Jews to Auschwitz. Hundreds of thousands of themwent straight to the gas chambers upon arrival. And the orchestra played through it all. It’s said that the musicians had some of the highest suicide rates of any prisoners in the camps. I wonder how they could even go on.”
“Now I understand the depth of the sadness.” William turned and looked at her. “In the painting? Adele’s eyes look as though they go deeper than the back of the canvas. It’s because of what she saw, because of all the people who walked by her and she was powerless to stop it.”
“We can’t know the full extent as to what actually happened. And she was there for almost two years before our record of her goes cold.”
William shook his head. “So she was a Jew? That’s why she was sent there?”
“No. That’s just one layer of the mystery.” Sera sailed into action, feeling the rush of energy that came with the unraveling of the story a piece of art could tell. “Look at this.”
She opened another file folder and dropped it into his hands. His eyebrows arched up the instant she presented him with a picture of the uniformed man.
“Who is he?”
Sera pointed to the name at the bottom of the photo. “Fredrich Von Bron.”
“Her father was a member of the Third Reich?”
“Austrian. A general,” Sera confirmed, nodding. “And because of his
He didn’t make a question out of it. Rather, he made the quiet statement as his eyes moved over the span of musicians in the image, all with instruments in hand.
“I think performing the occasional concert was the least of what was forced upon them.”
“What do you mean?” William leaned in, his eyes fixed on her.
Sera turned away, feeling a connection building between them again. Deflecting, she turned her laptop around so that they could both see it and typed something into her Internet search browser.
“Have you ever heard the term selection in reference to what happened in the camps?”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head as the search results popped up on her screen. “But I think I can guess what it was.”
She turned the laptop toward him once the search resultspopped up. “That was it,” she pointed out. “Selections for who would live and who would die.”
William began clicking through a series of photographs from a Holocaust archival site. Image after image went by, of weary prisoners arriving at the camps, of mothers with little children, some in coats with the large Star of David sewn on the front, others with families huddled in groups as they unknowingly walked the dirt roads to the crematorium.
“The SS guards would have selections when new convoy trains arrived at the camp. In Auschwitz, those deemed able to work were herded to the right. Those who were doomed to the crematorium were often sent straight to the gas chambers, which were in the holding area on the left.”
“Unbelievable,” he said, still clicking forward through the pictures.
“Stop—right there.” Sera brushed her hand over his to stop him. Surprised at her own comfort level, she pulled her hand away and dropped it back into her lap. “That’s the orchestra. It’s debated by some historians, but many believe they were forced to play during the selections. Adele would have been with them.”
“They played, knowing people were being sent to their deaths?”
Sera could hardly believe it herself. But yes, it was true.
She nodded.
“They were forced to play cheerful music—German marches or Hungarian folk music—to keep the prisoners upbeat as they marched out to work and returned to the barracks each day. Can you imagine? Day in and day out, as thousands of people walked past them. Mothers. Unsuspecting families. Children . . .” Sera’s voice trailed off as she tried to envision what it must have felt like to be forced into such a horrific situation. “It was the worst in 1944 through 1945. That’s when the Germans began transporting Hungarian Jews to Auschwitz. Hundreds of thousands of themwent straight to the gas chambers upon arrival. And the orchestra played through it all. It’s said that the musicians had some of the highest suicide rates of any prisoners in the camps. I wonder how they could even go on.”
“Now I understand the depth of the sadness.” William turned and looked at her. “In the painting? Adele’s eyes look as though they go deeper than the back of the canvas. It’s because of what she saw, because of all the people who walked by her and she was powerless to stop it.”
“We can’t know the full extent as to what actually happened. And she was there for almost two years before our record of her goes cold.”
William shook his head. “So she was a Jew? That’s why she was sent there?”
“No. That’s just one layer of the mystery.” Sera sailed into action, feeling the rush of energy that came with the unraveling of the story a piece of art could tell. “Look at this.”
She opened another file folder and dropped it into his hands. His eyebrows arched up the instant she presented him with a picture of the uniformed man.
“Who is he?”
Sera pointed to the name at the bottom of the photo. “Fredrich Von Bron.”
“Her father was a member of the Third Reich?”
“Austrian. A general,” Sera confirmed, nodding. “And because of his
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