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Hannelore
(Königsberg, Lower Franconia, Bavaria, Germany, October 15, 1944)
My dark gray glasses slowly sink down my nose. I stand in the dim yellow light of the bathroom, the rectangular mint green tub to my right. My hands lean on the straight backed, white sink as I study myself. My face slowly grows in the vision of the mirror, my hair thinning, and my eyes dead inside. I see my body slowly getting bigger, my stomach growing, my face getting more round. Suddenly I’m turning into the shadow of how everyone sees me. The palms of my hands shape themselves around the sink, and suddenly my normally stout body won’t stop growing.
Tears build and threaten to break the cage that is my eyes. My body trembles as I let myself break. Visions of a different body, a different world, and a different life, entering my mind faster than a shooting star. Every day I wish that I didn’t have to be Jewish.
The Nazis are out for my dad, and if they're out for him that means everyone he loves will also be tortured.
Mama calls my name. Quickly picking myself up, I splash water onto my face, and pat it dry with a hand towel. My legs carry me down the creaky old brown steps to the first level. Mama stands at the doorway with Papa next to her. Papa works as a lawyer in business, and oftentimes comes home right before Mama finishes supper.
Mama leads the way to the dining room, as Papa asks me a million questions about my day. A knock at the front door interrupts me, and Papa sighs and trudges to the door. Mama's eyes widen as she looks past me at Papa. She pushes me into a room slamming the door shut. All I can hear is shoving, which is followed by a loud bang.
Peaking through the crack in the door, I see SS. Soldiers push past Mama to get to the room that Mama pushed me in. The Soldier kicks the door open and I trip over a chair falling into the cushion. My whole body starts shaking in panic. And as the soldier screams at me to get up, I stay frozen, unable to move.
Through all the noise I can hear Mama crying as she starts frantically running around the house. Papa yells at another soldier at the front door, begging and pleading for them to just take him. My body quivers and suddenly I’m like a puppy, searching for a way to get out of its cage.
Amram
(Berlin, Germany, December 13, 1944)
I hear rustling near my little house in the woods, the rock that covers me slowly dripping from last night's rain water. My head peaks out of the little window I created with sticks and dirt, but it’s just another deer. Survival out here is like trying to find a needle in a hay stack--almost impossible.
I’ve had no food for three days and my stomach has been growling for hours. Every second of this hell I am reminded of what I could have, of the life I could be living.
Mama told me to run, said to hide, and I tried, and I almost got caught. My hands have been slowly turning white, from how cold it is, and survival doesn’t even seem like a possibility. I can’t even tell if I want to die, or if I just like the thrill of hiding from every possible thing that could shred me into pieces. I feel so numb, and I can’t even cry. My body is so exhausted, and drained from living out here. I feel like my muscles are slowly decaying and my bones are eating them. Nothing feels real anymore. The fact that I am even human haunts my memory. All I am is just a heap of bones and falling nerves slowly rotting away.
Hannelore
(Königsberg, lower Franconia, Germany, October 15, 1944)
I was violently hauled to the civilian truck that carried Jews from their homes. The soldier's fingers dug deep into me, his nails piercing my skin as blood started to pool around his fingertips. I bite the inside of my cheek hard to try to redirect the pain from my arm. I’m suddenly shoved into the back of a truck, hitting my head on the truck's wooden bed.
Five other people are in the truck bed. My eyes catch on an older gentleman. Everytime I looked at him I could see the shell of his former self. The other individuals in that truck are existing, not living. The wood that surrounds the truck bed feels like knives against my butt. And as we leave it brings a sudden sense of isolation, where I am now only anchored by my thoughts and nothing else.
Amram
(Mitte Berlin, Germany, August 12 1944)
Mama shouted as she shoved me out the back door of our little house, I repeated the words run. My ears were stinging with a feeling of heat. I fell on my back, and pain ran against my back faster than the speed of lightning. I grunted from the fal, and Mama slammed the door shut.
I sat there frozen-unable to move. I listened to the sound of Mama's tears as Papa pleaded the SS Soldiers to not take them. I tried to move but I couldn’t, nothing in me could make my limbs move no matter how hard and how much I tried. I felt helpless, and something in me wanted to go back inside, wanted to save Mama, and Papa, and get out of this place.
I stare through a little crack in my fence, the soldier takes Papa out the front door, the door slamming into the interior wall of the house. I lurch myself upright, my legs shaking in utter fear. I grabbed cover under the little stairs that I fell from, when Mama shoved me out the little white door.
I squeezed my eyelids shut, as I bit the inside of my cheek to stifle the tears building in me, and my mouth filled with the taste of blood. The only sounds I could hear were the barks from the SS soldier and Mama’s blood curdling screams that felt so loud to the point I had a feeling my eardrums would burst.
Tears escaped my eyes faster than I could catch them. My legs somehow managed to carry me a mile from my home. And it suddenly occurred to me, I am now on the long journey of trying to find cover. And who knows where I’ll go, who knows how long I’ll survive. All I know is that I feel isolated. Without any food or shelter, and with Nazis roaming every two centimeters of Berlin, I’ll probably die in a week.
Hannelore
(Strausberg Märkisch, Germany, October 16, 1944)
I’ve been dragged through hell, every twist and turn of this train cart has me smashing into nearly lifeless bodies. I don’t even know where I am, and I can’t even get out. I feel like I’m putting myself at risk by just breathing. Not to mention my head has been banging for hours, and the train cart reeks with the smell of vomit. The wood that's holding us hostage, holds its stench like its life depends on it.
I’ve been cramped in this tiny cart for what seems like months. I’ve lost track of the time, and I’m unsure on whether or not it is day or night. The only indicator I have is the little hole just to the right of me that's smaller than a newborn baby's head.
A woman and her two kids, who look to be about twelve, are blocking that opening, while I’m stuck in front of an elderly man who argues with the old woman every day. They bicker on how the whole train needs the opening to let fresh air in, and do their business-whether that's going to the bathroom or vomiting.
I lean my head against that rotting wood holding my knees to my chest, my brown hair falling over my face. My eyes threaten to close, but I keep them wide open. Sleeping here seems nearly impossible, I’ve got at best one hour these past few nights. I shiver as I hold my legs closer to my chest, and despite my efforts to keep them open my eyes close, drifting to a far off place deep in my brain.
Amram
(Berlin, Germany, December 15, 1944)
My back aches with excruciating pain, and my mind is in its own world. I’ve been thinking about going to a different land, somewhere far, far away from wherever I am. The sound of gunfire plays in my ears-distant, yet loud enough for me to flinch. The screams of the ones being tortured don’t frighten me anymore. Their cries blend into the quiet white noise that surrounds the air I breathe.
Inside the hut I make myself smaller. My skin is barely clinging to my bones. From a distance my hut looks like nothing more than rocks and sticks. My body blends right into the rocks. My skin is covered in the dirt that surrounds this forest, so I’m pretty much just another mud pile. My eyes drift to the rock that sits like a roof over my hut, as I hear distant sounds of boots crunching against the hardened leaves. The rhythm of deliberate footsteps echoes closer to my ears, and I try to make myself impossibly smaller.
Through thin tiny cracks of the sticks I see a shifting shadow. Then suddenly it occurs to me, as I slowly shift my gaze to the shadow, and my heart rate begins to quicken in my chest, I’m not alone and this isn’t another nightmare.
Hannelore
(Fürstenberg, Berlin Germany, October 23, 1944)
The train jolts to a sudden stop, and voices echo through the train. The elderly man pushes past the two kids to get a better glimpse at where we are. Something about a land with green grass and orange leaves falling from trees. As soon as those words leave the gentleman's mouth, my train cart fills with loud cheers.
The cheers continued for about three minutes until they were quickly interrupted by sounds of gunfire. A young Nazi tore the door open to our train cart, hard enough to make the cart rattle.
The sun peered down on the Nazi as a cool breeze pushed his blonde hair to the right. His mustard green uniform shifts as he aims his rifle at all of us as he starts yelling. He yelled in German, a language people in my cart seemed to have little to no knowledge of. Behind him other soldiers were throwing deceased bodies into piles, and people were sobbing trying to plead for their loved one to not be put onto a pile of bodies.
Before I started school I started learning German as my second language aside from Russian. With the little I had spoken to the people in the cart I had spoken Russian, so when the Nazi soldier had started shouting things like “Schnell!” or “Schmutzige” it was clear why they were so lost. The Nazi noticed the way I watched him, how I listened closely to the words he yelled. I was ordered to relay every word he spoke. And from that moment on I became the translator for the people in the cart. Just like that everybody's eyes were on the girl who quivered in the corner of the cart.
Amram
(Berlin, Germany, December 15, 1944)
Dust shifts onto my face, and a blow to the outer wall leaves me uncovered, as what is now left of my hut shudders. I hold my breath as I press my body into the cold solid earth, and I’m hoping that my prayers reach God in time.
The Nazi soldier spits out “Dreckjude!” onto my face, as his rough dry hand grips my skinny wrist. The soldier's expression hardens deeper as I am fully yanked out of the ground. And he changes his grip on me so I am now being hauled around the forest by my collar.
I am being practically dragged like a feather in a tornado. The forest is no longer a cover for my life, it now feels more like a trap I can’t get out of. As I am dragged by the Nazi Soldier, the forest floor is lined with preserved bodies, the freezing weather delaying their decay. And as I am brought to a road a sudden warm tear drops down my right eye, and I take a deep breath of the lung piercing air.
Hannelore
(Fürstenberg, Berlin Germany, October 23, 1944)
Gunfire thundered in the distance as we were separated by gender to the showers. Rows of rotting wooden train cars stretched for a mile in the middle of nowhere. Green, almost brown grass covered the hills for as far as the eye could see, and people were dropping like dominos because they couldn’t stand, and soldiers pointed their guns at those who were weakest.
I got ushered into a line with about fifty other women waiting for the showers. Two minutes, we only have two minutes to wipe all of this grime off of ourselves. This dirt I have been sitting in for what has felt like an eternity isn’t going to get off with just two minutes of scrubbing.
Men were placed in a different area than the women were, but soldiers were lined up everywhere waiting for someone to do one “wrong” move. And as we waited for the soldiers to finish gathering the women, they instructed us to start taking off our clothes, so we could prepare ourselves for the shower. The showers were in an open area so that way the soldiers could pay attention to us-so that way they could watch us. Lined up against the walls were about six shower heads, and they were a dirty almost brown color, compared to the sterile white colored walls.
I looked around at the other women that were closest to me, no one budged and no one made a move to take off their clothes in front of the soldiers. A soldier who was to the far right, raised his gun and aimed it at a sobbing little girl who was no older than eight. A woman to what seemed to be her mother pleaded with the soldier, but the soldier didn’t care and fired anyway. The mother bursted into hysterical tears, as she watched a soldier take the little girl away and throw her lifeless body onto a pile of dead bodies.
That same soldier that had murdered that little girl started yelling at us in Russian. My mind was running with different thoughts, and my thoughts were louder than the soldiers' words. Before I knew it, women in the line were stripping their clothes, taking them off slowly. I followed the other women's moves in fear that something were to happen to me if I didn't oblige.
Soldiers gave us looks and smirked when we were to take off an article of clothing that were to reveal more of our body. They watched us as if we were livestock on a farm. Pausing in front of each woman, one soldier went down the line slowly "inspecting” each one of us. He lifted chins, touched arms, and seemingly made girls more uncomfortable for the fun of it. As he drew closer to me I tried to redirect my gaze. His rough calloused fingers touched my chin, and as he moved his hands up my arms, and closer to my chest, I tried to shrink. He studied my eyes, the fear brought him enjoyment, and his hand continued to touch me. He lowered his head towards my chest, I could feel his breath on my breast. It was warm and made me want to cry with the building fear. My breath hitched, and he fixed his posture and moved along the line.
I wanted to cry, wanted to burst into uncontrollable tears and only be comforted by Mama’s gentle hushes and hugs and Papa’s funny jokes. But I couldn’t and this fear that I was feeling had to be locked away, I couldn’t show any of it or I would be the next new shiny toy to the soldiers.
Amram
(Fürstenberg, Berlin, Germany, December 19, 1944)
I’ve been in the camp for what has seemed like forever but in reality has only been a few days. I’ve barely eaten anything and all I have gotten is one piece of bread, and I’ve snuck some potato peels here and there.
I’m laying on my wooden bed, the ground cold against my body, as I watch the cloud of oxygen I breathe out disintegrate into the air. I haven’t been able to sleep at all these past few days, and the person I am sharing my small barrack with snores, like a baby being separated from its mother.
***
We stood outside our barracks, the snow falling faster by each inching minute. I stand hugging my body to try and get more warmth. Despite my efforts the cold bit through my thin layer of clothing. No one spoke, no one moved, and no one dared to make eye contact.
An SS. Soldier moved down the line of people, a crate of tiny pieces of bread wedged in his left arm. My eyes drifted downward to my feet, and suddenly every snowflake that fell around me was more interesting than whatever was going on. The soldier inched closer but I kept my eyes down, I wanted to be more invisible than I already was. Out here being invisible meant less punishments, but being too invisible meant being a guinea pig.
People were like pigs when they got their piece of bread, and as the person to my left got their piece I finally looked up from the snow. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but my eyes locked with a girl with hazel green eyes. She was around my age, her brown hair was messy from not being brushed, but she was gorgeous. The way her hair fell over her shoulders, and her button nose were the first things I noticed about her. But I could sense the pain that laid just beneath her; however, she managed a weak smile, and I swear I was transferred to a different world. For a second I had a sense of hope, but love out here couldn’t work, it was seemingly forbidden.
Hannelore
(Fürstenberg, Berlin Germany, December 19, 1944)
I’ve been at the camp for almost two months. I’m too tired to care about how I look. Any sort of emotion takes up too much energy, and quite frankly I’d rather not think, or feel anything.
It’s before dawn, and the sun isn’t even close to coming up, when we have to stand outside our barracks and wait to get a tiny piece of bread no bigger than a kiwi. I share my barrack with an older woman who sits in the corner most of the time but makes my stay here a little more bearable. She tells me stories about her husband and her kids, and about her adventures when she was a young girl like me. We step out together into the snow and wait for our food.
The cold makes me feel more numb than I already am. My hands have turned white and purple and as I stand waiting for the soldier with the crate, my eyes lock on someone I haven’t seen before. His hair is grown out and falls over his eyes and he looks more alive than the rest of us here. He stands with his toes touching and the heels of his feet facing outward.
I redirect my gaze to the Soldier, as he slowly went down the line of people, counting each prisoner. His eyes would linger on a younger woman every now and then. He would pause and linger longer before handing them their piece of bread. His fingertips would graze theirs, and if a girl was “lucky” enough she would get a wink or a smirk.
The boy that I looked at before, shifted his weight on his feet, making the snow crunch beneath him. When he made that small movement he looked up, and his eyes met mine. This almost electric energy radiated off of him. And for the first time in months I felt a glimpse of hope.
Amram
(Fürstenberg, Berlin, Germany, March 17, 1945)
We never really spoke to each other- just breathed in the same chilling air. Guards were quick with their suspicions and kindness was seen as a form of disobedience. Whatever we had wasn’t like the books, or the stories that are passed down from your family. She would save me a piece of bread if I got punished, and when I stood near her during roll call I would stand an inch in front of her to keep away from the guard's wandering eyes. There were no stolen kisses under the stars, and no sneaking into places just to see each other.
I didn’t want to feel emotion, but every morning I couldn’t help but make sure she was there, every time I would pass by her barrack I would glance in to see her, and if she wasn’t there it made me sad. Emotion was something I didn’t want to feel, because it was better to feel nothing than to feel something.
Despite this, in a place where gray was the only color you saw and memories were the only thing holding you up, I felt something. I didn’t know what that something was, but it was warm, and I yearned for more.
Hannelore
(Fürstenberg, Berlin, Germany, March 29, 1945)
It was a regular night in the barracks, the air was finally getting warmer, and sleeping was easier. You taught yourself how to survive out here, taught yourself how to just barely live. It was as if someone were to throw a baby in the middle of the woods and say “Hey figure out how to live your entire life. But with a twist you can’t get caught trying to survive.”
Guards shouted at people despite the dark sky, and I’d wandered off to get some potato skins; and, if I were to be caught I’d be sent to death.
I walked through the slimy, muddy grounds. With each step mud seeped into my shoe, getting into each crevice of my feet. I saw a shadow as I neared the potato skins, but my hunger was too loud and my courage was too strong. I worried that it might be a guard or something worse, but I brushed those worries aside, and decided not to care.
I slowed my steps, and almost shrieked upon seeing him there.
“I thought you wouldn’t come back.” I spoke just above a whisper, and I was unsure if I was even audible. That afternoon a soldier had struck him several times for “going too slow” in the yard, and I stood there not allowing my face to change, I was just frozen in time watching it happen.
He answered back, like he couldn’t tell if I was worth answering. “I thought so too.”
He stared at me as I reached in to grab a potato skin, his hand brushing against mine as he picked one up as well. His fingers graced my hand ever so slightly, and they were cold against mine. His hands were shaking slightly but that didn’t stop his middle finger, ring finger, and pinky finger, from touching the back of my palm.
The wind blew his hair to the left, and our eyes met. He searched for my hand, and he intertwined his rough fingers with mine.
With hesitation he lifted his right hand to my face. I almost pulled away- not because I didn’t want this but because wanting something like this, in a place so dead felt wrong.
In a blink his lips were on mine, and surprisingly, they were soft. My body relaxed, and for the first time in months I felt safe, and a sudden warmth surrounded me. His hand moved from my cheek and traced down my curves and stopped at my hip.
His touch lingered as if making sure I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. The world around us seemed quiet, and all I could hear was our uneven breathing. Without thinking, my fingers curled around his white and gray shirt. As he deepened the kiss his thumb brushed slightly against my hip, and that movement alone sent shivers down my spine. His other hand met the small of my back, and he pulled me closer to him. Impossibly, he deepened the kiss even more, not rushing it, but just enough so that way my heart skipped a few beats. And when our lips parted he looked genuinely happy, and for the first time in forever I was too.
“Sorry-” His voice was hushed, and before I could even answer he pulled me into the kitchen that was right outside where the potato peels were. He covered my mouth, paranoid I’d make a sound, and before I could even get a squirm out I saw the bright light of a guard's flash light. I squeezed my eyelids shut, and held my breath.
We didn’t breathe, didn't say a word. My back rested against his chest, his calloused fingers dug deeper around my mouth. I felt like I was suffocating, the air in my lungs was filling with carbon dioxide, and every inch of me wanted to move.
The guard drew closer to the kitchen, the light to his gun shined through the doors window, and I tried to make myself smaller. Fear encapsulated our bodies and we were shaking as if we were in an earthquake. I could feel his heart rate growing by every passing moment, and I gripped onto his right leg with my right hand. I dug so deep that his skin engulfed my hands, but he didn’t itch away in pain, he stayed there taking in the moment waiting for something to happen.
As the guard drew closer, a loud bang shattered the glass on the door. Shards of glass pierced our skin, and he (Amram) threw me to the side of him. My back banged into a wooden island that was in the middle of the kitchen. The almost rotting wood fell apart as my body crashed against it. My ears rang with a sound so ear piercing I thought my ear drums were going to burst.
I could see the shadow of the guard in the door frame. His boots were either green or black and the light of the moon casted a shadow of his tall frame over the kitchen. He raised his gun, and aimed it at the only person who cared. I held my breath, and closed my eyes so tight I almost popped a blood vessel.
Another bang rang through. My eyes shot open at the sound, and as if everything was in slow motion I saw a bullet hit his chest. I laid frozen, I couldn’t make a muscle in my body move. He didn’t even know my name and I didn’t know his. For some reason I cared so much about this person. I would never grow as a person with him, and he would never get to see the light outside of this prison ever again, his body would just be dumped in a hole and forgotten for decades.
I can’t help myself from just staring. I stare at the way his hair sits on his forehead, the arch of his lips, and the little dimple on the right side of his mouth, that always seemed to show; even when he wasn’t smiling. As I stare, the air around me became even more bone chilling, and suddenly I was a nobody sitting in a pool of blood, the only person that gave me hope.