|
|
|
 |
 | ||||
|
"Everybody had to have somebody and if you, if you didn't then you didn't survive, no matter how strong you were." | |||
|
Agate (Agi) Rubin Born 1930 Czechoslovakia 
|
|
I adopted my girlfriend's mother. They survived together. My girlfriend that we went to kindergarten on, we were friends, up until today, her sister and her mother, I, I don't, we just blended in I, the minute I stayed alone and we found each other at dusk, and we just formed a family. Just by instinct. My, from my own emotional standpoint, I felt lucky that here I had somebody to care for, and never asking whether she will care for me. I wanted to care for somebody else. And I truly am able to tell you that this is the only thing that gave me more strength or gave me the strength, because I had a responsibility. For myself alone, I had no responsibility because I was only I, which meant nothing. To be alone, you are nothing. But here again, I was able to have a responsibility, and that kept me going. | ||
|
Steven Springfield Born 1923 Riga, Latvia 
|
|
The order came, we are moving out because the, Russians were obviously coming closer. That was the winter of 1944-45. It was a very very...the climate was very cold. We were driven on foot, through the German countryside. It was cold. It was snow. My brother could hardly walk. I supported him as much as I could. It got so bad that he pleaded with me to let him go. "Don't," he says. "Let me die. I...I cannot, I...I really cannot handle it anymore. I...I want to die. Leave me here." But it was...it was clear that the minute I let him go, he would be shot on the spot, because anybody who couldn't keep up with the march was shot on the spot. You would walk on the road, you could see corpses all over because it was an actual death march. I just couldn't give in. I just couldn't drop my brother. I carried him. I schlepped him. I kept talking to him. I'd say, "We are not too far away from salvation. You can't give up now. You can't give up now!" Anyway, somehow I was able to schlep him to the next camp, which was a place called Gottendorf in eastern Pomerania. | ||
|
Bart Stern Born 1926 Hungary 
|
|
We were working in a Kommando and three of us stuck together closer. And there was also another person who always said, "That's it," which meant he was going to do something to commit suicide, or getting under something to get killed. We would always encourage him, of course, you know, I was 17 and if somebody who was 30 was already an old man, he was, he was very old. And we always used to tell him, "Don't, things are better." We heard of planes, we heard this, I mean, we always nurtured ourselves on some of these hopes as well. And of course, you know, the, the people were of more religious background, so we had hope God will help, you know, didn't give up so fast. And we said, "Listen, God will help, he will see," and so on and so on. This man just couldn't take it. Nobody could take it, but some had more strength than others. One day, after exhaustive day, a special holiday I think it was, we come back and his ration of bread was stolen or disappeared. He says, "That's it." He wanted to get kind of our approval that...we did not let him die, we did not just feed him with words. The three of us each got a third of our meager little ration--what did it consist of? Of a piece of like bread like a brick, which was, as we know now, was sawdust in it and, and, and, and, and everything--and we gave a third of that, a third of our life for, to this man so he should not give up. A matter of fact, to the best of my knowledge, he survived. | ||
|
Cecilie Klein-Pollack Born 1925 Korosmezo, Czechoslovakia 
|
|
We were called the two good sisters because we could not, we wouldn't, because it came to a point where even sisters would take away each other's food. And with us it was that we would fight only that the next one should take a bite more, or she should have more. She would, she would cry why I didn't eat up my, my bread because I was, I was afraid after we didn't eat like for three days and we had that experience, so I was trying to save up a piece of bread in case we are not going to have the next day. And then if there was, if there was that day a search. So, they were not allowed to find, if they would find the bread, they would take it away and they would still beat me up. So, I would beg my sister to help me eat, help me, they're going to, to beat me up if they find bread, so she would cry why she has to, that she is eating my bread, and I will have that much less and, and, and I may, you know, die sooner or I won't survive or I'll get sick. Yes, we could only--and it was, everybody had to have somebody and if you, if you didn't then you didn't survive, no matter how strong you were. Unless you had some kind of a choice position like Blockaelteste [block elder] or, or, Stubendienst [housekeeping], or Kapo, then you could survive. | ||
|
Blanka Rothschild Born 1922 Lodz, Poland 
|
|
One of my school friend--I went to a private school for girls--one of the girls from my school was in ghetto as well, with her mother. And she became very, very ill, and they wanted to deport her. All of us who were her friends, from our meager portions decided to take a little bit and get it together and bring to her every day. You can't imagine the value of food at those days, to give away. I had a glove, somehow, somewhere, in ghetto, and we were freezing. So the glove was being worn by everybody, and my friend, by my friends. We were sharing the one glove, so one hand for few minutes was getting out of the numbness. I don't know who the glove really belonged to but I was given it, and we shared this glove. And I remember this glove. And when I met one of the girls after the war in England, she said to me, "Blanka, do you remember your glove?" "Yes, I remember the glove." | ||
| Copyright © United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Washington, D.C. | ||||
