know where we should run. Naked and confused we ran from one side to the other, treading on legs, pushing with our hands. Around me I saw people spinning with their hands above their heads, beating their chests, pulling their hair from their heads, their genitals. I saw people weeping to their God, telling him, God, hear me, give me a sign, where is the Messiah, Master of the Universe. The was a sound there like a low hummmm, heavy as a snowstorm. Hummm. Hummm.
I called to my brother until my throat was hoarse.
I called, Avrum, Avrum, which door should we run to, Avrum, answer me.
Avrum caught my hand. Avrum sobbed, here, no, there, no, no, Avrum, what do we do, where, where, the first door, no, no, the second, Icho what are you doing, Icho listen to me, wait, liiiiisten. We were inside.
We were inside a huge hall with benches. A huge hall with barbers who shaved hair. Tirelessly, they shaved and shaved. Then they took us to the showers. And then, phishsh. Water. I called, Avrum, it’s water, water, we’re alive, Avrum, we’re still together, Avrum, we’ve been lucky, Avrum. I sobbed during the entire shower.
I am Dov: The State of Israel gave me the name Arieh-Dov, Dov for short.
The Nazis gave me the number A-4092.
The goyim gave me the name Bernard.
My Jewish people gave me the name Leiber.
In Dov’s Living Room
I was sure they were taking us to die.
Father thought they were sending us to work in distant factories. I thought about death. My death had a shiny red color. Red like the blood oozing from the ear of the man standing beside me in the train to Auschwitz. This man had refused to board the train and the blood refused to stop streaming for three days, perhaps because of the crowdedness and the pressure, everyone was pressed against everyone else. We were like fish in a barrel stinking of fresh death, a new smell that came into my life and didn’t leave me for a long time.
The train to Auschwitz stopped.
The car door opened quite suddenly. Torches like projectors exploded in our eyes. The loudspeaker announced, quickly, quickly, schnell, schnell. Leave belongings on the train. We heard irritability in a voice that was sharp and loud, as if there was nothing but a voice there, no human being, just a voice, schnell, schnell.
On the platforms were soldiers with guns and voices like loudspeakers. Get down, quickly, quickly. They yelled as if they had a loudspeaker installed in their throats. To the side stood piles of striped pajamas, a head and arms sticking out of them. I saw nothing else of them. They stood to one side with bowed and shaven heads. They were more frightening than the orderly soldiers. They looked ill and suffering. The soldiers didn’t. The orchestra was also healthy. They played cheerful marches suitable for a victory parade.
Dogs on leashes barked wildly. Dogs with sharp teeth and runny noses, their hackles up like nails. Soldiers pushed an old bearded grandfather who didn’t understand, who said, excuse me, sir, to the commander, what should … Thwack. The old man fell. Soldiers beat up other frail old people. Smashed shoulders, belly, back. They didn’t let them die on the spot, they left them to sob. And they sobbed with pain. Others wept in worry or because of the orchestra. There was a good orchestra at Auschwitz. I could immediately hear it was good. I almost wept for the beauty of it, but the large pile of striped pajamas stayed in my mind, and I didn’t cry.
On the other side, soldiers were kicking a small child about like a ball; he was maybe three years old. The child hadn’t heard, move, quickly, quickly. The little boy had black curls, a short coat and a heavy diaper in his trousers. A diaper full of poop from the journey. The child had lost his mother and father and all he had left was a brown teddy bear that he held under his arm. The teddy bear was first to fall. The child followed. Another kick. Again he didn’t hear move quickly. It was a little hard to hear because of the music. The child’s head opened slightly. Another kick, and that was it. He remained on the platforms beside his teddy bear like a black stain on the road. The place grew very quiet. For a moment nobody spoke, not a word, just cheerful music.
I was dragged forward and the noise increased. It was a great weeping. The greatest weeping I had ever heard. The weeping of a large ocean, a stormy ocean. Weeping like waves breaking against rocks on the shore, whoosh, whoosh.
Soldiers screamed stand in line, quickly.
Soldiers divided, women to the left, men to the right. Men hugged young children. Children sobbed Mama, Mama, Grandma, where’s my Mama. A grandmother with a scarf hid her mouth behind her hand. She had no teeth. Grandmother made strange sounds, like a life-saver at the beach. A life-saver who shouts into a megaphone, not a big one, in the wind. Waaah, waaah, waaah, waaaaaah.
A grandfather with a cane took the hand of a crying child. Held him firmly, saying, sha, sha, sha, don’t cry, boy, and collapsed to the ground. Thwack. The child fell silent. Soldier seized a baby wrapped in a blanket from a mother’s arms. Soldier ripped the woolen hat from the baby’s head and smashed the bald head against the car door. I heard a scream like a calf being slaughtered in the village, before the knife.
Mother and Sarah grew steadily more distant.
Mother threw her hands up in the air. As if she wanted to chase off spirits and devils. Mother pulled the scarf from her head, pulled at her hair, shrieked: children take care of yourselves. Mother shouted more loudly: My children, take care of yourselves. Do you hear me? Mother’s cry made a wound in my heart. As if someone had put a nail on a nerve and hammered it in. To this day I ache when I remember mother’s tears and her last words.
Mother and Sarah were among the first four. They walked and walked until they vanished in the middle of the platforms.
Soldiers yelled to stand four to a line, quickly, and the orchestra played.
The loudspeaker continued to issue orders. The torches hurt less. People were running about like cockroaches in the dark. They forgot there was light. They were looking for relatives with whom to make a foursome. The noise was immense. An order from the loudspeaker momentarily stopped everyone on the platforms, then everyone began to run, call, Tibor, come closer, Solomon, Yaakov, come, come, we’ll make up a foursome. Shimon, who sold meat with them, came up without his glasses, tried to push in. You aren’t with us, Shandor-with-the-limp was alarmed, move back.
Cross-eyed Yaakov from our village said, that’s enough, we’re four, and you’ll stand behind us. Cross-eyed Yaakov began to walk.
Shandor-with-the-limp grabbed his hand, where are you going, stand next to me, here, one, two, three, four, five? No, no, move, no room, Yaakov, wait, what’s wrong with him, he’s throwing down his hat and pulling down his trousers, Shimon, come here, come back quickly, stand here, here, don’t move, no more room, you will all stand in front of us, so what if you’re cousins, nu, start another foursome.
The platforms loudspeaker changed station. Moved to dance music. We stood there, three boys and father, thin and beardless. Father raised his head, Avrum caught father’s arm, Yitzhak took two steps towards SSman.
Avrum forcefully pulled Yitzhak into the line. Whispered, what d’you think you’re doing.
I stood like a heavy stone thrown into an abyss. Spin, spin, spin, thump.
Like a stone that had crashed on a rock.
Father was silent, pressing my arm like hot pliers.
A calm German officer signaled with his finger, right, left, left, left, left, and right again.
The orchestra changed the dance. The officer had eyes like the crack of a window.
He wore white gloves. He had shiny