Children of Terror

PROLOGUE During the Holocaust of World War II, eleven million innocent people were killed. Much has been written about the six million Jews, and very little about the five million “others.” Among them were millions of Christian Poles. Bożenna, a practicing Roman Catholic from Poland, and Inge, an observant Jew from Germany, were born in 1934, a few months apart from each other. They met many years later in the United States when they both participated in a high school seminar on the Holocaust. They felt a similarity in their experiences, and have been friends ever since. Inge was recently a houseguest at Bożenna’s home on Long Island, New York. They went for a walk. Two shadows formed on the ground in the dimming sunlight. Inge, being taller than Bożenna, stepped back slightly in order to equalize the height of the shadows. As the shadows became twins, Bożenna said, “Can you tell the difference?” The idea was born that they write a book together, comparing their lives and experiences as children growing up in a time of terror. 1943: DEPORTATION TO GERMANY Bożenna Urbanowicz Gilbride When we arrived on the streets of Tuczyn, we found throngs of people streaming in from all directions. This was the first time that I saw German soldiers. They were pushing and shoving us, herding us toward the unknown. Mothers held babies in their arms. Some pushed baby carriages, others carried bundles. We ourselves had little to carry, since we had lost almost everything in the fire. It was dark when we arrived at the railway station in the city of Rowne. The German soldiers told us that we could sleep at the warehouse near the railroad station. Some people accepted their offer, but my father did not want to be trapped inside a building. The Germans told us, “The UPA [the Ukrainian People’s Army, a nationalist partisan organization which collaborated with the Nazis] will come to finish you off tonight. But we will give you guns to shoot back.” Years later we learned that this was a ploy by the Germans, who wanted the Poles and the UPA to kill each other, thus saving the Germans the trouble and energy of killing us themselves. It was late summer and still warm. There was an embankment near the railroad station, and we slept on the ground, blanketed by the sky. There was a lot of shooting by the UPA that night. Young Polish men who had been given guns shot back at the UPA all through the night. I remember bullets whizzing over my head. My father kept pushing me down. “Bożenna, keep your head down.” Fortunately, no one in my family was hit. The Germans collected the guns in the morning, and made us an offer that was hard to refuse: “You can stay in Poland and be finished off by the UPA, or we will take you to Germany,” they told us. “It will be good in Germany. You will be fed, you will be clothed, adults will have work and children will go to school,” they assured us. Hardly waiting for an answer, we were quickly led toward the waiting cattle cars. I learned my first German word as the soldiers yelled, “Schnell, Schnell,” meaning “be quick.” In the confusion my father was separated from us. Mother poked her head out of the wagon, screaming, “Wiktor, Wiktor, where are you?” My father, still on the railroad platform, heard my mother’s voice and pushed through the crowd. People helped him up into our wagon. Our family was together once again. The cattle car was packed with many people. I had never been on a train before, and had no idea what a train should be like. The car had no windows, only a slit on top, which let in a little air. There was an awful smell because of the poor sanitary conditions. A young Polish mother standing next to me holding an infant in her arms begged for some space to nurse her baby. But there was little space to be had. We traveled for about three days. The doors were never opened, although the train stopped often. We were never given an explanation for the pauses. We had very little food with us, and no new provisions were distributed. Some older people sat crowded together on the floor, others remained standing huddled together in groups, trying all the while to squeeze in and find some space to sit on the floor. Finally the doors of the cattle cars were opened. We had arrived in Germany. Once again the command, “Schnell, Schnell,” was screamed, and hundreds of people spilled out of the wagons onto the train platform, trying to get their cramped and swollen legs to obey the orders. We were quickly divided into groups of about thirty people each. Our group was selected to go to Freiberg. Thankfully our family was still together. DEPORTATION Inge Auerbacher Deportation to “the East” became more frequent during the following months. None of us knew that “the East” meant a death sentence. But we had fears and doubts about the designation. We knew that it meant something bad for the Jews. Our turn came on August 22, 1942, when we received our orders for transport. I was now number “XIII-1-408” — the youngest in our transport of about 1200 people. I was now only seven years old, a person without any citizenship. There was no longer any way to avoid being sent away. The directive contained many instructions, which had to be faithfully followed. All our money was taken from us, and we were told what belongings we could take along: no knives or other sharp implements were allowed, but metal dishes and spoons were permissible. The police came to our apartment and Mama was ordered to place the house keys on the dining room table. The official then said in a demeaning tone of voice, “Now you can go!” We were forced to enter a school gymnasium in Goeppingen, where we were searched, along with all our belongings. I was terribly afraid that my doll, Marlene, would be taken from me. Since Grandma’s deportation, Marlene was the only token of remembrance I had of her, and I was intent on holding onto her for dear life. To my dismay and horror, an official tore Marlene violently from my arms. He did not listen to my cry of desperation, but pulled at the rubber bands holding her head and appendages. He looked inside her hollow body to see if any valuables were hidden. I watched him in horror, tears streaming down my face. Would he destroy my beloved Marlene? After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied with his search and gave back my precious doll. I made a vow never to let Marlene be mistreated by anyone else again. But my luck ran out when the same official took a liking to the wooden Dutch boy pin I was wearing. He tore it off my dress, saying, “You won’t need this where you are going!” He probably had another little girl to give it to — a daughter, niece or cousin.