Day 2 - January 1942

When we were allowed to stop walking, a freight appeared to be waiting for us in the distance. Steam billowed into the night, but there was an unknown destination of where it was headed.

Hours passed as we stood in one line, waiting to board the train. Whether for punishment or thrill, I’m still not sure, but they forced us to stand silently in the cold until sunrise before we were brought inside the train.

Hundreds of Jews, including myself, were ferociously shoved inside the metal freight containers as we smashed into each other or one of the four metal walls. We were left with no space to move or breathe, and I foolishly thought the soldiers would fix the situation once they noticed how many of us were crunched into one metal box, but I quickly realized it was purposeful as laughter grew from outside the train’s walls. Suffocation felt imminent, but the small opening above the closed sliding door offered just enough air to keep us alive. After less than a half hour, I considered the situation to be pure torture, but at that time, I had no idea how bad things could get.

The soldiers never told us where we were going. There was no one to ask, and none of the other people were talking. Everyone must have been as scared as I felt.

The tight constriction that was filled with musty body odors and sweat-covered limbs rubbed against me at every angle. I knew the feeling of strangulation was only in my head, but the sensation was so prominent that I felt like a noose had been tied around my neck. After watching what happened to Mama, part of me wanted to hold my breath until death found me since I knew that would be the only way to avoid the next destination, but I was too scared to end my life right then and there.

As the train jerked us all around, the heavier bodies fell on the smaller ones, and I was shoved into one of the vibrating metal walls—my cheek slammed against the cold, flat surface, but I hardly felt the pain in comparison to the abundance of consuming fear. Unable to move, I clenched my eyes and fists as I continuously relived the look on Mama's face in the moment before the gun went off.

I had never felt alone before then. Even when I would walk through the mustard fields on sunny days to seek the quiet sounds of nature, I didn’t feel as secluded from the world like I did at that moment.

The vibrations from the wall soothed me into a semi-meditative state, and the surrounding bodies pinned me against the wall hard enough that I knew I wouldn't fall, even if my knees were to give out.

The rumble of the train’s metal grinding against the track was the only sound we could hear inside. With as much confusion as I assume we were all feeling, I would have expected people to be talking, questioning our whereabouts, and what might have been happening, but it was as if no one was left with a voice. Even the woman who had been standing behind me earlier when Mama was shot just stood silently with an arch in her back as she cradled her stomach, almost as if she were holding it up. The poor woman must have been very uncomfortable, especially with so many people pressed up against her. I wish I could have helped her over to where I was standing to offer her my spot against the wall, but I couldn’t move a hair. We didn’t have a choice on where we stood once we boarded. In fact, it was almost as if we were purposely separated when I was shoved against my will toward the far side of the tomb-like enclosure.

I tried to block out the terror I felt, but it was impossible to block anything out as the train’s occupants would fall into me every few minutes or so. At one point, the train shifted so hard that the larger woman by my side fell onto me, but she didn't correct her stance afterward. I was stuck with her chest pressed into my back and my long braid caught between us. I reached behind me to free my hair and had to pull firmly to twist it over my shoulder. I didn't know if she was unconscious, or awake and weak, but I couldn't see anything in the dark space, so I didn’t say a word to her.

While running my fingers down the tightness of my braid, a painful sensation drove through me as I recalled Mama's fingertips running across my scalp the morning before she wove the strands together. Even though I was seventeen, Mama still enjoyed trying new things with my hair just like she always had, and I let her play with it in the mornings before we would start our daily chores around the house.

Mama was only eighteen years older than I was, and as I grew older throughout the years, the difference between our ages felt smaller and smaller. We shared secrets, told stories, and helped each other in any way we could. Our house was very much the picture of women against men, but not in a negative way. Papa and Jakob did the “men’s work,” and Mama and I did the “women’s work.” Papa and Jakob were close like Mama and me, but I was Papa's princess, and Jakob idolized the ground Mama walked on. No one’s family was perfect during that time, but I felt like ours came pretty close.

After what felt like hours on the train, a squeal from the brakes screamed through the walls, piercing my ears as everyone toppled onto each other.

Without surprise, it felt like another hour passed before the door finally opened to let us out. We all poured out of the train and into the open air like an overfilled bucket of water. The cold, fresh air was like a slice of heaven, but that feeling was quite brief.

Demands were shouted from every direction, and I didn't know where to look or what to do. Being on the shorter side and having trouble seeing over some of the taller people around me, I thought I might be at a disadvantage, but then again, Mama always told me, “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.” Maybe I was better off not seeing everything at that moment.

I couldn't tell where we were, but I held onto hope that it would be some type of shelter like we were promised. I wanted to scream out for Papa and Jakob, but it was apparent that the only people allowed to speak—or yell, as the case was—were the Nazis. I was frightened to move, let alone speak.

A Nazi made his way through the crowd, pushing us in different directions, but then a pair of hands clamped down on my shoulders and I was shoved into a line. It was immediately obvious that I was segregated into a group with only women and children. The men had been led to a different area, which eliminated all hope of finding Papa and Jakob.

It felt as if we were being herded like cattle. It was so demeaning and humiliating. I couldn’t imagine who gave those people the right to treat us like animals.

We were then led beneath an archway and into a dirt pit surrounded by what looked like cement prison cells. There must have been several hundreds of us on the train, but by that point, it looked like the number could have been in the thousands. I had never seen so many people in one place at a time.

Before we stepped on the next train, the Nazis patted down each one of us and took all our belongings. I didn't know what they were searching for, but it felt like they were just stripping us of everything we had and all that we were.

Though I was impatient, upset, and feeling ill, I was relieved that the progression of whatever was happening to the people in front of me, was fast paced since my only objective was to find Papa and Jakob.

As I got closer to the front of the line, I saw several Nazis inspecting each person’s body from head to toe. It appeared that whenever they found something of value, they tossed it into a wooden crate before shoving the person ahead, where they were led in one direction or another.

When it was my turn, I stepped up to the Nazi and closed my eyes—it was something I found myself repeatedly doing to block out the reality of my situation. The darkness, however, could only cover up the visual reality. Nothing could stop the sensation of hands roaming freely over every inch of my body and fingers digging deep into my thin pockets, only to come up empty-handed. I had nothing of value, and they didn't seem to appreciate that. The Nazi that searched my body sneered and shoved me harder than he had shoved the woman in front of me.

I was passed to another Nazi, one who was gentler as he tightened his hand around my arm and walked me along the outside of the courtyard until we reached one of the prison-like buildings.

The Nazi brought me inside, where there was a long, dimly lit hallway with a dirt floor, and doors on both sides for as far as I could see.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked with a cautious inflection.

At first, he looked at me as if I were pretentious to be speaking out, but as he stared at me for another short moment, it seemed that a piece of bitterness chipped away from his scowl. “To your assigned block,” he answered.

As we continued walking, I took the opportunity to examine the expression of his profile, noting there was something different about him versus the others. His eyes appeared softer, more innocent, and he looked younger than the other Nazis, almost boyish in fact. I assumed he was around my age. “What is going to happen to us here?” I asked him, knowing the risk I was taking, once again.

He straightened his shoulders and inhaled sharply, making it clear I should have stopped talking after my last inquiry. “Why would you ask such a stupid question?” he responded, though his words sounded rehearsed and unnatural.

“Why are we here?” I asked again. Maybe I was feeding off of an assumed weakness he had, but curiosity had me acting fearless, as well.

The man cleared his throat and gripped my arm a little firmer. “To offer you shelter, of course. Just as you were told.”

“One of you killed my mother yesterday,” I snapped without thought. Jews were being executed daily for reasons that were unknown. They killed Mama for trying to protect us. They didn’t even know who she was other than that she was a Jew. How could I believe those Jew haters were doing something to help us?

“I’m not one of them,” he said quietly. Then, a sudden jerk of his arm stopped me in my place as he pushed me into the wall. “We are all different, just like every one of you.”

“You're a Nazi, so you are no different from the rest of them,” I replied, speaking in a way I should never have been speaking to one of those soldiers. I could have been killed for saying what I said, but unfortunately, defiance grew from my anger—I had lost control of my emotions, and at that moment, I didn’t care what the consequences were.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” he said, sharply, through a tightened jaw.

After staring me down like a park bully, he regained his tight grip around my arm and continued pulling me down the hall until we reached a door that he threw open.

“This is where you will be staying,” he said, pushing me inside.

I was faced with a tiny foul-smelling room surrounded by nothing more than cement walls and columns of bunk beds with a walkway just wide enough for a body to squeeze through. Most of the “beds” had already been claimed by others, but there were a few empty spaces I could share with others.

“This is where I'll be living?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered.

The door slammed behind me, and I walked ahead slowly, scanning the people on the thin mattresses—all of them were women. Some appeared emaciated. Others looked worse; almost skeletal.

The floors were uneven and covered by dirt, there were insects everywhere, and the torn fabric on the mattresses were filthy with stains.

During each of the first few moments I spent in that horrible place, I gained more clarity. None of our people from Prague wanted to leave their homes, but we were given no other choice. I was sure we were becoming prisoners for crimes never committed.

I chose a mattress closest to the ground and dropped into it, feeling the weight of my body collapse from under me after standing for so long. With only a moment’s rest, the sound of people moaning and the scent of ammonia trickled in, alerting my senses of the true reality. The peeling paint on the walls and the sealed, darkened windows made me homesick for my beautiful home. Instead, all I could feel in that dismal building was utter sadness and a feeling of hopelessness that was accompanied by the smell of death. In that room filled with strangers, I was all alone.

My mattress was full of sharp, defined coils pressing up against the thin layer of foam and cotton. I was sure it would be some time before I’d be able to will myself asleep with the amount of sheer discomfort I felt.

I prayed for sleep, though.

I was mourning Mama, but the pain was too much to bear alone, and I wanted to turn off my mind for a while.