The Holocaust
Buchenwald
At the end
of our journey, the train entered a camp on a sidetrack, which was built for
one purpose: unloading new inmates. The name of the camp was unknown to us;
only later we learned it:
Buchenwald. As we were introduced into a large, well-lit hall, we were
pleasantly surprised, because the conditions there seemed to be much better
than on the train. Even the tone of voice and the attitude to us gave the
impression of a different pattern. When, despite our plea, all our clothes
were taken away, we were told not to worry. After a while, we really got
another set of wear.
The next
step was registration. We thought that our personal data have been transmitted
from Birkenau to the
Buchenwald authorities, but that was not the case. Each one of us got a
new number, clothes in a reasonable condition, and a cap. As each category of
inmates had a specific marking by certain colors, we too were marked. Our mark
was a black-red star, which meant “Political” and “Jewish”.
We were
taken into a huge barrack, full of inmates who came to Buchenwald before us,
people of all ages and all countries. We were placed on the top floor of the
bunks, namely the fourth floor. The barrack was dark and gloomy, filled with
an atmosphere of hopelessness. Our physical condition was already poor. I was
very weak and sick. Shmuel’s toes froze. There was almost no food, and the
thefts among the inmates were unbearable.
Three weeks
later, new selection for deportations had begun. Nobody knew of their
destination. Then came the day, at which we were separated from each other.
Until then, we always did our best to stay together, but on that day we were
helpless. In the course of the day we learned that there are two other
brothers in the same barrack who faced a similar problem. The older of the two
suggested to Shmuel that they exchange their names and identities, so that
each one of them would stay with his brother. We accepted their proposal, and
allowed them to decide whether they wish to stay in the camp or leave it by
the next transport. Following a long wavering, they decided to leave the camp.
That decision determined their fate to death, and ours to life. Towards
evening they were taken to the railway station in the town, and loaded onto
the wagons. Later in the evening, the Allies bombed the train station, and all
men on the wagons were killed. We also heard that some of those who were not
killed by the bombs tried to escape, but the Germans shot them to death.
Shmuel: From
that moment on I had a new name. It began with a “Sh” and sounded like Stern
or Strauss, but I cannot remember it now..
Buchenwald
was a detention camp for political inmates. There were no children in the
camp. The underground was an integral part of the camp. It had a special
status, and as such it negotiated with the Germans. It is not to say that the
latter got any dictates, but they understood that everything was a matter of
“give and take”, and the underground could not be ignored – certainly not at
the end of January 1945. At that time, following pressure exerted by the
underground, a separate and secluded barrack for children was established.
Duro was
transferred to the children’s barrack, Block 66. As I was registered under the
name of the other guy who upgraded his age to seventeen, I was sent to Block
49, instead of the children’s block. To my great sorrow, we were set apart.
People around tried to console me, but I was unable to calm down. I always
tried to locate Ďuro, while – as I later learned – he was looking for me.
One day,
people called: “Where is Peter Fürst?
He must report immediately!” Upon hearing my name, I dug myself deep into the
cell, but they kept calling “It’s okay, you can come.” I was afraid that my
deceit, i.e. changing my identity, has been discovered, and did not dare to
come out. When I did not follow suit, they gave up their search and left. Two
days later, people were again looking for me. Upon encountering some other
boys, they portrayed my looks and said that they would take me to my brother.
After a long faltering I reported to them. A Polish man came over and began
caressing my head and comforting me. He said: “I understand that at my
previous visit you did not report. Your younger brother is waiting for you.
Come with us.” Later I learned that the man was appointed by the underground
to take care of the children, and he became their “dad”. I reported to the
person in charge of the block. He promised to settle the matter of the
exchanged names. I left Block 49 and moved to Block 66, the children’s
barrack.
There I met
Ďuro.
We were happy to be together again. Over 900 children lived in that block.
Though it was overcrowded, the conditions were better than in the rest of the
camp. The food they got was the same, but there was more fairness and
preciseness in its distribution. In terms of personal hygiene, such as
washing, haircut, etc., care was taken of the boys. In the evening, the
barrack was heated. At some evenings the children were assembled; information
was given to them on current events in the world and the ongoing war. Those
events were arranged by a well-organized institution, which also encouraged
the boys to keep their morale high. They even introduced community singing.
The barrack
was divided into two parts: one half consisted of Polish boys, while the other
half comprised children for other countries. We were together with Hungarian
children. They had a terrible habit: all day long they loudly fantasized about
food, each one telling what kind of meals his mother used to cook and bake:
cakes with whipped cream or poppy seeds, and much more.
The daily
Appell took place inside the barrack, and the boys were protected from
standing in the outside mud, exposed to freezing winds. That was a great
achievement.
At that
time, Ďuro’s
health has gradually worsened. He got pneumonia, coughed incessantly and
suffered from high fever. I was disparate and frustrated because I could not
help him. The men in charge of the block decided to transfer
Ďuro
to the local hospital.
Only once
was I allowed to visit him there. I was glad to have seen him in full
consciousness, because at the time he was taken to the hospital I thought that
he would not survive his illness, and I would never see him again. He even
gave me a loaf of bread.
After that
visit, our routes took different courses. We met only after the war, in
Slovakia.
|
Buchenwald. Naftali Furst is marked with a
yellow circle |