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On Friday night the Polish radio announced that the war had begun. Since this news, we Maków citizens, were frighten and terrorized. And then airplanes showed up and passed over our heads, we were scared that in a moment bombs would be dropped on us. The alarm sounded every fifteen minutes – and so it went on all day long. The streets emptied; everybody searched for a hiding place close by as soon as the alarm was heard. Then the radio announced the bombing of Częstochowa, Lodz, Warsaw. But the speaker soon assuaged the listeners saying that the cities were not ruined and that Polish airplanes chased the enemy away. And so, he went on relating the Germans' advances and then broadcasting news about successful counter-attacks. Among other information he said that thousands of Polish, British and French airplanes raided Berlin and almost destroyed her. And although they declared loudly on the radio that justice will eventually win, the doubts filled the heart and instilled fear that the Germans might win…

After Kabbalat Shabbat came the rumor that the community of Przasnysz headed by their rabbi were approaching Maków – fleeing the enemy that was getting closer to their city. In the morning the town was filled with refugees, men, women and children, some naked and barefoot. They ran away from Mlawa, Chorzele, Przasnysz, Mishnitz and Krasnosielc. They all passed through Maków, wanting to continue to Warsaw. People sitting on top of cars, willing to desecrate the Shabbat in order to survive – but staying in Maków with no other choice. Each one eyeing with envy a friend who managed to escape. The buses were close to toppling with so many passengers, but whoever managed to squeeze in was considered lucky.

When evening came, villagers arrived. They too were escaping barefoot, their clothes torn and in tatters, amid them old people and babies, all crying bitterly. One came riding a horse, another one driving a cow and a third one dragging a reluctant pig.

On Saturday evening Przasnysz was engulfed in flames. Maków's police and the municipality personnel left the city. Great panic reigned and no one knew what to do. When darkness descended, thousands of people began to flee the city. I thought that there was no need to leave the city yet. But when morning came a regiment of the Polish cavalry arrived and they told us that the enemy was approaching. The officers issued an order that every man between the age of 18 to sixty who knew

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how to hold a gun needed to leave the city and get to Pultusk. We left together, my father and I, uncles and cousins trying not to separate from each other. The only people remaining in the city were elderly, women and children. “What would become of them when the Germans enter the city?” we all asked ourselves. “Would they spare them? Would they stand any chance of not being killed, burned?” These thoughts tortured us to death.

When we arrived at Pultusk on Sunday at one o'clock in the afternoon, we went to the offices of PKW - the enlisting offices - to enlist to the army. But they responded that one cannot fight with sticks and we had no guns. “Go back to where you came from,” they said.

In Pultusk they took all the men to dig fortifications. They declared that this is going to be the battlefield. From there the Poles will push the enemy away.

At the house of our relatives in Pultusk everything was packed, ready to leave. While we were talking the enemy airplanes begun turning up in the sky above the village and when night came, full blackout was imposed. The day after, we began our escape from Pultusk. My father and I tried in vain to get a carriage so that we could go back to Maków. The road leading there was declared an “army only” road. We were looking for vehicle to get to Warsaw, in vain. We had no choice but to walk…

We were getting close to Serock. A few kilometers before the town I decided that it was not worth continuing to Warsaw, which would be probably bombed more than any other place and we would not be able to find food there. I convinced my father. We left the road to Warsaw, heading in the direction to Wyszków. We had to cross a bridge on the Bug River, we hardly had time to cross it when airplanes arrived and blew it up.

We spent the night at a Polish farmer's hut in one of the villages and in the early morning we continued on our way to Wyszków. Near the town we were again surprised by German airplanes. They passed right over our heads. The bombs were dropped so frequently that the earth under our feet trembled. We hid under the trees until the bombing stopped. We then met people who were running away from Wyszków. They told us that there were many dead in the city as a result of the bombing.

We entered Wyszków. The streets were empty. Broken electricity and telephone poles filled the streets that were sown with broken glass from shattered windows and everywhere – dead bodies in pools of blood.

“Get into the houses” – a stranger was pulling my sleeve. “They are coming back. Can't you hear the airplanes? Get in quickly.”

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When we left Wyszków and arrived at the edge of the bridge the sky darkened, all of a sudden, filled with airplanes. We prayed that we would be able to safely cross the bridge. And indeed, as soon as we crossed it, we heard terrible explosions in the city, that was now covered in dense smoke. Dozens and hundreds of airplanes were now circling above the smoke and our heads.

Tik-Tik-Tik – all of a sudden machine guns begun firing from the airplanes aiming at multitudes of people – thousands and tens of thousands – the citizens of the many villages who were escaping their homes. Men, women and children fell dead and wounded in front of our eyes, and there was no one to dress their wounds, to give them some water. Screams were heard from all sides: “hide in the forest”.

We entered the forest. But the destroyers found us there too and started to sow death among us. They dropped bombs. They set the forest on fire with firebombs. Where could we escape? We fell flat on the side of the road, on the other side of the forest, under the trees and we prayed for our lives. And all around us blood and fury.

Suddenly a falling bomb was heard. Earth was thrown on my face. The bomb did not detonate. We were saved by a miracle.

We encountered this kind of danger time and again on our way. We often saw death up close. When the airplanes left, we found a wagon. As soon as we climbed on top of the wagon the death angels were again above our heads dropping bombs and showering machinegun fire. We descended quickly from the wagon and found shelter, as much as we could.

When dark came, we continued on a road filled with fleeing people. We were afraid to open our mouths. We looked with terror at the stars shining in the sky. Finally, we arrived in good time - after midnight – to Węgrów.

The village people welcomed us graciously. They fed us and gave us water, but they were worried: who knows what tomorrow will bring. Day after day the airplanes arrived, dropped a few bombs, in Węgrów too, people were killed. Yet it did not suffer like other villages where the death angels poured all their wrath.

In the week before Rosh Hashana, on a Monday, at nine o'clock in the morning, Węgrów fell into the German's hands. A woman and a girl who took a peek through the cracks of the door paid for their curiosity with their lives.

After spending the days of Rosh Hashana in Wegrow we took the risk and went back home by foot and we arrived safely at our destination.

The fate of the villages in our district was bitter: Wyszków was completely burned. Not one house remained standing, the same was in Różan. All Jews were evicted from Pultusk. They were ordered to leave the village in ten minutes. Immediately afterwards the German begun showering fire into the windows and in the streets. Hundreds of people perished that day. Those who were able to reach the bridge were thrown into the river. The shooting went on and on. The villagers

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were ordered not to give the Jews shelter nor food – to let them die of hunger and cold. Five hundred Jews who were expelled from Pultusk were murdered cruelly, probably in Ostrów-Mazowiecka. Before the Germans moved on to an area ruled by the Russians, they [the Germans] put the Jews alive into the graves that they had dug for themselves and they [the Germans] shot them.

In Goworowo they pushed all the Jews into the synagogue and set it on fire. They also burned all the houses in the city and shot the citizens who were expelled from their houses. Many fell [dead] on their doorsteps.

Some who were locked in the synagogue were lucky: a German general was passing through the city and when he heard their cries, he felt pity and ordered the synagogue be opened and released those who were locked inside. “Do not burn so many people at once and in one place” he said. But their fate after their release was bitter as well. They were expelled from the city naked and barefoot. For three days and nights they wandered the fields eating only uncooked turnips.

In Przasnysz they put the Jews on buses and made them cross the River Narew, which is in Różan. They let them out in the fields across the river. When they crossed Maków on their way, the men, women and children on the buses were begging for a piece of bread…

Murders and sufferings were the fate of Jews in many other places.

The rabbi of Goworowo, who is now in Vilna, describes the slaughter in his city. In a letter to a relative in Tel Aviv he writes:

“…the Germans slaughtered 72 people in front of me, the most prominent of my landlords. Like sheep to slaughter. Women and children were burned alive. The rest of the village Jews, about two thousand people, were pushed into the synagogue which they burned. Everybody would have burned but for a miracle. A German officer passed by and when he heard the screaming coming from the synagogue, he ordered to release the people from the burning house. The survivors crossed the river to the fields where they remained without food for three days. I was hiding at the cemetery but the Germans found me and begun to torture me, I was able to escape and go to Russia…”

[Page 277 - Yiddish] [Page 305 - Hebrew]

Red flowers…when I see you, I break out into a sweat remembering those horrible days.

Red flowers…I don't want to see you again, but you follow me step by step with your red, bleeding appearance. I can't turn my gaze away from you, the bloody sword still hovers over you, that killed the blameless child, in one blow. Young, pure blood poured into you…and your whiteness was transformed into a purple– red dye. Who can reveal so much, like you, red flowers…

This happened in the autumn of 1939, when the murderous Gestapo men took control of the towns and villages of Poland. At the time, I, together with hundreds of Jews from Maków, left my home in the direction of the Russian border– to save our lives. The highways and roads, that led us “to the other side” were flooded with Jews–refugees: with wagons and packs, or by foot without baggage, young and older mothers holding frightened children at their bosoms; everyone's eyes emitting fear and confusion. Everyone escaping from the murderous sword.

The sky began to fill with dark clouds. A hailstorm was brewing.

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First events. How they encircled us and when the shooting stopped, wild, bewildered faces laughed:

–– Raus”[out] to the road

–– “Raus”[out] you accursed Jews!

We went out to the highway, and assembled in rows.

A small group of us remained. Hundreds of people disappeared.

A larger part–shot. And the remainder–ran away into the forest.

The murderers patrolled us from all sides. Some of them went into the forest and resumed the shooting: they returned and then led us further.

Depressed from this great misfortune, we dragged our feet with our last strength. A woman next to me had a child in her arms. She whispered quietly: Dovid, where is my Dovid?…

After a march, which lasted at least an hour, they led us into a fenced yard, in which they were several large beautiful houses. The area along the way was covered with green grass and white flowers.

As I later discovered, this area, in peace–time, was a sanatorium, near the town of Ostrolenka.

Several S.S. officers appeared and with loud voices called out, everyone needs to give up their gold, dollars and other valuables which we are confiscating. Whoever hides it and he who is later found with these valuables, he, together with nine other men, will be shot–as punishment. If we freely give up our valuables, they will bring us to the Russian border.

Everyone of us gave up their life's savings in order to buy their freedom: watches, rings, earrings, golden coins, dollars :we were stripped of our material goods, except for our spiritual being.

After they accumulated their spoils of war, they brought us to a wet cellar, which smelled of rotten potatoes and we were locked in for the night.

In the cellar the whining and silent crying resumed.

One person asks: “where is my father?”: where did my sick mother die?”

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Names of men, children and wives were called out who got lost in the forest. An older Jew with a black– grey beard shook himself like it was “Yom Kippur at the synagogue” and cried laments to the Almighty: “God–enu, why did you rain upon us your anger?” the wife, next to me, still held onto her child in her arms. The small girl was still sucking on her mother's breast, holding the mothers dress with her small hands. No fear, so her Mommy should not lose her. She fell asleep from tiredness. Her cheeks were red. The mother deliberates with heartache her unfortunate child, hot tears falling from her eyes.

We spent the entire night in the cellar. Between fear and hope, between wake and dream, in the early morning a soldier opened the door and ordered us to go out into the yard and to sit in rows, to remain silent and await new orders.

Feebleness and fatigue cloaked our entire body. The daughter sat next to her mother and trembled from the cold. Fear and loss mirrored in her cherry–like eyes–she remained silent and threw glances at the strangers and couldn't understand what was happening here…she quietly asked her mother” “where is daddy?”…when is he coming?…”and when her mother, quietly, answered her, “tomorrow” and asked her to remain silent as Germans are coming, she could unfortunately understand this, she understood and promised herself with all her strength not to cry. She trembled like a small fish…

Soon the murderers showed up again and reported to us, they were leading us to a place, nearby, where there were potatoes. There we needed to gather and place them in sacks and bring them to the cellar, where we spent the night. The quicker we carry out this work, the quicker we will be set free.

Finding ourselves in the open, we considered our work a miracle. We worked with all our strength, to end our work as soon as possible and leave this bloody hell. Together with us, the small girl was also busy at work: for one she held the sack and for another–helped gather the potatoes, until her mother asked her to finish and sit to rest. She listened, sat down, watched

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how the birds were chasing one another. Her lips opened in a child–like manner as the birds were fluttering over her head with their spread–out wings, swishing and sitting on a branch covered in white flowers, and cheerfully rocking herself. Seeing the beautiful flowers with the green leaves, the little girl sprang up smiling like a reborn child. She caressed and smothered the little flowers and pressed her nose against them, smelling them, her eyes lit up.

Suddenly there was a pop from a window opposite us. Everyone's eyes flushed with a shiver and we saw how the child fell among the flowers. We ran towards her, but several shots flew through the air. We were warned not to approach the child. We looked from a distance, how the little girl convulsed, curled up in anguish. At the same time, she was clinging to the branch, as if seeking salvation. Among the white flowers we noticed red spots…

The birds returned and began again to fly over the child, this time not in a friendly manner. Suddenly they flew away into the sky. Perhaps they sent a message to the Almighty as a protest against these murderers on behalf of a blameless child.

The unfortunate mother fainted. We tried to revive her, poured water on her, but couldn't revive her. She stared at us with glazed eyes. We thought: she is dead.

“Work and stay quiet!”–an other order came. With frail emotions we completed our work.

It was now night. The gloomy sky fore warned, it is going to be dark. The murderers tell us again to line up in rows. Another person and I were given the task to remove the dead child and clean the spots off the white flowers…

We go to retrieve the body and a horrible picture unfolds, which I will never in my life forget: immersed in the bloody flowers lay the child with a worried face, her teeth fractured, with half open eyes, from which emanated abyssal shock.

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Taking the Victim

We gathered the child, together with the flower she held in her closed hand, wrapped her in a coat and returned to our row. The mother was still unconscious. We held her under her arms, muttering and spraying her with water.

“Forward!” – an order was issued.

We went forward with the little strength left in our bodies. The dead body we carried in our hands. We were wet from our own sweat. It seemed to us as we are going to our own funeral.

–stay still–we are commanded. We are told to continue with the same road without anything? F Another few hundred meters, we soon enter a town. The murderers remained behind us with their guns aiming to fire, warning us. They waited several minutes and then disappeared.

The last of the hundred people passed this moment literally with their last breath. The accumulated pain was like lava erupted and pored over us.

With heartache we came across the first Jew who we met in this town, as if we arrived to our savior. We told him, in short, about the events

A conference of the remnants of the Maków survivors in Germany, 1946

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that we survived. He immediately took us into his home and gave us tea and bread. The unknown Jew with his family showed us deep compassion, in particular to the young, dear sacrifice. They prepared our sleeping arrangements, and their two young daughters took care of the unfortunate mother.

Tired and broken–hearted, we dropped down on our bedding and fell asleep.

Early the next morning, when we entered the room, where the unlucky mother slept, we saw a doctor sitting next to her, helping her with various injections. He forbade us to enter the room and let her rest.

At the Jewish cemetery of Ostrolenka, we dug a small pit and buried the small child– the small flower in her hand that she held so tightly, she didn't want to part with it, even after death. We buried both our little flowers….

The elderly Jew with the black–grey beard said the Kaddish [prayer for the dead]. We all cried.

When we returned from the burial, we didn't find the mother. In the meanwhile, she was sent to the hospital, where she hovered between life and death.

The doctors and nurses did their best to save her, unfortunately–without avail.

Flowers…red flowers…she clung to until the last moment. And with these words on her lips she quietly passed away.

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A few days after the war began the Germans marched into Maków. Immediately after they began to persecute the Jews, robbing Jewish businesses, grabbing people for various types of work as well as cutting off beards. All Jewish businesses were robbed and then finally closed. There were line ups for bread but Jews were thrown out of line. Already in these early days of German rule Jews suffered from lack of bread. A few Maków Jews managed to escape to regions captured by Russia. These were rarely entire families. They were mostly men whose wives and children remained in Maków. A large portion of these men returned when they fell into the hands of the Germans when they captured parts of Russia.

The persecutions in Maków increased and the situation worsened. One of the first mass murders the Germans carried out in our city was of cripples, crazy people and others they captured. They took these people somewhere and killed them. Until today, we do not know where.

In those days, the Germans would grab men and women and send them to work, mostly to the surrounding villages. This work was never payed. This continued until January 1940. After that Jews had to wear yellow patches. This way the Germans and their Polish collaborators could easily identify them. I would like to state that the majority of the Polish population gladly helped the Germans carry out the persecutions against the Jewish population.

In those days, Jews who lived in the gentile quarter where moved to Jewish living quarters. A crowded Jewish neighbourhood was created. At the same time they worked to enclose the ghetto. All the fences that were within the Jewish area were taken and used to enclose the ghetto. All the windows and doors that looked out of the ghetto were boarded up.

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It was strictly guarded and no cracks remained through which one could look out. The streets were enclosed. The ghetto was connected to the outside world with three gates: one gate was near Piasetsky the blacksmith led to the cemetery. The second gate led to the Ozhitz River.

Certificate given by the U.S military to former inmates at Dachau

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because the Gestapo and their Polish collaborators would beat up Jews. However, hunger forced Jews to risk their lives in order to buy or trade for food.

The Germans forced the Jews to do hard labour which included: highways, cutting stones, digging peat among other things. There was no salary. Very often people would return from work dejected and bloodied. There were some stores in the ghetto that only Jews were permitted to buy from. At first there was one bakery (Lumanietz). The bread baked in that bakery was by far not enough for the population. So they opened a second bakery in the new House of Study at the spot where the Holy Ark once stood with a fenced in oven. When the Germans entered Maków they ripped up the floors of the synagogue and turned it into a riding school. On the spot where the holy words were inscribed: “this is the gate to God, all the righteous will arrive through it”, they hung a large sign, in red, with a Swastika and the following inscription: “Everything for Germany”. The Maków painter “Leybl Kider” was forced to paint that sign. By the end of 1940 the synagogue was torn down and the stones taken away. The lecterns, benches and everything else were stolen by the Poles for heating. The place where the magnificent Maków synagogue once stood remained empty, levelled, vacant.

The living conditions in the ghetto were very difficult. People lived in horrible crowdedness. The situation worsened day by day. The Germans continued to bring more Jews from the region into the Maków ghetto. People were placed in warehouses, stalls and attics. There was nothing to heat with. People suffered from the cold. Garbage was not removed from the ghetto but thrown into dug out pits. The bad living conditions, cold, hunger, terrible sanitary conditions led to epidemics, first and foremost, typhus. Practically no one was spared. Tens of people died. They created a hospital, but due to lack of space a patient could only remain 2–3 days.

At that time there was no doctor in Maków. The only medical help was provided by the medic Brodavsky. There was also a huge shortage of medication. With the permission from the Germans, a doctor was brought from Warsaw. He was a religious Jew and a devoted person.

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He worked day and night to ease the lives of the population.

The ghetto commissar ordered an empty lot in the ghetto to be plowed. This sowing of the area helped ease the lives of the Jews in the ghetto since it provided a bit of green space. I was chosen as the ghetto gardener. I had to wear a white band with the words: “Ghetto Gardener”. This provided me the opportunity to move freely, often outside the ghetto when I was sent to work in the gardens of the Gestapo. This also gave me the privilege not to be sent to do other forms of forced labour. On the lot where the synagogue once stood I was ordered to plant tobacco. I would like to mention that all the commands from the Germans and the Judenrat were brought to the people by a drummer. The ghetto drummer was Rafael Rozenberg, the writer's son.

I remember one day, very early, the ghetto drummer came to me with an order to remove the tobacco from the synagogue lot because they were going erect gallows for 20 Jews. I immediately carried out the command. They actually built the gallows on that spot and hanged Jews. This act was carried out by the ghetto commissar Shteinmetz.

After the Germans murdered the only Jewish doctor in the ghetto they brought an older doctor from Germany. However, on the day we learned the Germans were going to liquidate the ghetto, the doctor and his wife committed suicide.

In November, they gathered all the Jews working in the region and brought them to the ghetto. The ghetto, which until then was guarded by Jewish police, was now surrounded by S.S. men. Leaving the ghetto was now impossible. In the middle of November the assistant rabbi (Langfus) gave a speech through the window of the rabbi's former house, and shared with the population the news that the ghetto was to be liquidated and we will be sent to work. We were advised that we had to gather very early at the gate which leads to the cemetery. Each person can take one bundle, their house must be swept, the beds made and the doors were to be left unlocked.

Tens of horses and wagons awaited the people. S.S. men stood on the outside of the ghetto gate beating and hastening the Jews.

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People began to run. Families got lost because everyone, wanting to avoid beatings, ran quickly to the wagons.

We rode all day and at night we arrived at Mlave. Maków was now cleansed of Jews. A Jewish community which had existed for hundreds of years was eradicated.

In Mlave we found a few hundred more Jews. Most of the houses were empty and they placed us there.

A few days later they gathered all the women who had lost their husbands in previous operations and took them away with their children. Not one person from that transport survived.

On the 6^th of December, half of the Jews were transported to Auschwitz and the following day, the second half. The departure looked like this: from Mlave to the train, a distance of 2 kilometres, we were led by foot. From there, threatened by frightening beatings we were packed into cattle cars. It was so crowded, people were lying on top of one another. There was no air to breathe. When we arrived at Auschwitz on the 10^th of December, many in the train cars were dead.

We arrived at Auschwitz at night. They lined us up and took us for selection. From the thousands in this transport, 525 men were sent to Birkenau, accompanied by S.S men who beat up the unfortunate. The rest of the Jews who arrived in that same transport were immediately burned in the “ovens”, there were as yet, no crematoria. Not one Jewish woman from Maków who was brought in the above mentioned transports survived. The two Maków women that did survive Auschwitz arrived there from Warsaw and Lodz, not Maków.

When we arrived in Birkenau we were stripped naked and everything was taken from us. Then they shaved our heads, sent us to bathe, tattooed numbers on our arms and gave us camp clothes. Many Jews from Maków fell victim that same day. Dead bodies lay on the roads. At that time, we were, from both transports, more than 1000 men, the strongest, including 70 from Maków,

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were chosen by the Germans for the “Sonderkomando”, work units. Many of us were sent to Buna, a camp 7 kilometres from Birkenau. We were there for two weeks. Due to epidemics almost all of us were sent back to Birkenau.

The amount of people from Maków was decreasing. There were new victims falling every day. Some committed suicide by jumping on the electrical wires (including my brother Yekhiel). Many were killed by gunshots and beatings. Some froze to death and others died of hunger. In the two winter months, December 1942 and January 1943 90% of the Jews from Maków died. I was sent with a group of others from Maków to Auschwitz to the so called “Bricklayer's School”. Four months later I was sent back to Birkenau where only a few Maków Jews remained. Some Maków Jews were still in the “Sonderkomando”. We were forbidden to go near them but they bribed the KAPO and thanks to that, from time to time we were able to go them. They helped us with food and to get better work assignments. And more: during a selection we would hide among them. I remember the Maków Jews who were in the “Sonderkomando”: the assistant rabbi Langfus, Berko and Yidl Tofer, Meir Piekartchik, and Vevl Fuks.

On a summer day I received the news that 4 Jews tried to escape Birkenau and were caught. Among these four were Henekh and Shloime Gromb. From this experience I learned this was punishable with immediate death. At the investigation Henekh Gromb took the full blame upon himself. The others were sent to the S.K punishment commando. A few days later he was hanged. He gave his life to save the lives of the three others. I know that two of them are alive (Shloime Gromb in Australia).

At that time my job was to clean the sewers. This allowed me to go to all the places like: the crematoria and the women's camp. I saw with my own eyes the devilish murder of Jews and other nationalities as well. I saw gas chambers with the opening for gas, the iron wagons they used to bring the people to the ovens as well as the iron sieves to sift the bones. One day I came to the gate of the “Sonderkomando” with my sewer cleaning wagon. Langfus,

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the assistant rabbi from Maków came running toward me and shouted: “Litman's son, God sent you”. Then he continued: “You cannot enter the area of the crematoria, we're blowing it up”.

He continued: “We received news that some of us have to be killed. We decided this time to resist the German murderers and blow up the crematoria. We really have nothing to lose”.

He also told me he wrote down all the transports, where they came from, how many people were in them and buried these lists in tin boxes. Until today I don't know if these lists were ever found.

I said goodbye to the assistant rabbi. On my way back to the camp from the crematoria I heard an explosion followed by shooting. People started to run (in the camp there were four crematoria, one was blown up). Dozens of S.S. men surrounded us and pushed us into the camp. All those that were found in the crematorium were shot. As far as I know, the heroes who destroyed the crematorium succeeded before the explosion to throw the German KAPO, alive, into the oven.

The resisters eased up life in the camp with their heroic act. The selections were stopped. They stopped sending the new arrivals straight to be burned. You could now see middle aged people in the camp. Children's blocks were created (before this there were no children in the camp as they were taken straight from the transport to their death).

I remained in Birkenau until January 18^th 1945. I saw how the Germans wanted to wipe away all vestiges of their murders by destroying the crematoria. We were then sent by the Germans on a march to Glayvitz. I was liberated by the Americans in May 1945 in Dachau.

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1944. The war in Poland is still raging. The cruel beasts, the Germans, their name should be erased forever, were mobilized on all fronts-in the east and in the west. The Russians are at the gates of Warsaw. This we learn from our secret sources who enter the ghetto and by various other means.

I was still in the Lodz Ghetto-Litzmannstadt- as the German occupiers called it.

Suddenly rumors spread that the Lodz Ghetto is going to be liquidated-we will be evacuated to work camps. From these rumors, reality soon set in. All the workshops were closed, machinery, working tools, tables, benches were taken away. These were prepared for transport, where to, no one knew. This was to masquerade their true intentions. There was great confusion in the ghetto.

The leader of the Lodz Ghetto at that time, (Hans) Biebow, his name should be blotted out forever, arranged mass rallies in several sections of the Jewish neighbourhood to appease the population, saying-we are being transported to other work camps and nothing bad will happen to us. Actually, he is doing us a favor. The murderer emphasises: “the Russians are nearby and are attacking Warsaw. In a short while they will advance to Lodz. They will murder you all-the entire Jewish population. You obviously had good jobs here and were productive for the German Army [war effort].”

With this speech he motivated the evacuees to depart quietly, to go like sheep, wherever they lead us.

Without sarcasm about our fate: first, we were the “dirty, lice-infested Jews, swine, dogs”. Now these people spoke to us politely, as if we are normal people. At the last minute the murderers didn't want to arouse a panic, fearing the population would seek reprisal.

Nevertheless, people sensed something was wrong. If one could, they hid themselves, not going of their own free will.

I, together with my husband, Yechiel Beer, of blessed memory, hid. We couldn't hide for a long time because our food supply was limited, barely for a few days- barely enough to sustain the soul.

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In Closed Horse-Wagons

One time, at night (we were afraid to go out in the daytime), in complete deprivation, we left our hiding place to find something to eat nearby, in the already abandoned Jewish houses. We were successful in hiding for some time, but in the end the Germans found us and dragged us out of our hideouts. They transported us to the train station “Morishin” where we met thousands of Jews. They shoved us into closed horse-wagons, about 120 Jews to a wagon, without windows. There was no air to breathe. All our bodily functions had to be relieved in the wagon. The stench was unbearable. This is how we rode for 2 days. We went frontwards and backwards, and when the train stopped, we had several dead among us in the wagon.

My husband, Yechiel managed to peek through a crack and recognized the area we were passing through, Upper Silesia, the region of Katowice.

Hearing this, I remembered the postcard I saved in the Lodz ghetto, [received from my never forgotten parents, Rochel and Pinchas Kac, of blessed memory], was still with me. It was a farewell letter written in Mlawa, dated November 1942.

In this postcard, my mother wrote “thank God, we are able to work, even the children (their grandchildren) and now the Germans are sending us to a work camp in Upper Silesia”. I held the card tightly, like a Holy souvenir from my parents. At this moment, I couldn't imagine the cruel acts the Germans, the Nazi murderers, carried out against my parents and children in those horrific gas-chambers (crematoriums).

After a 2 day journey from hell, the train stopped at a station, this was Birkenau-Auschwitz, in Upper Silesia.

With great feelings of despair the doors were finally opened. The S.S. men were screaming with angry voices: “Fast, heraus, get out you swine-animals, leave everything behind”.

Trembling with fear we jumped from the wagon, leaving everything behind, even our last piece of bread.

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The selection started on the platform. Young inmates dressed in striped clothing, like prisoners, their faces and their eyes were filled with both compassion and fear. I recognized them as being Jews. I remember the postcard from my parents of 1942. Of the first inmate in front of me, a young fellow, I asked him about the fate of the Jews of Maków Mazowiecki, my parents and my family- I say, “they must be here”.

He turns his head away, not looking at me, as not to draw the attention of the S.S. men (he wasn't allowed to speak to the newly arrived prisoners), and asks me who I was?

Simultaneously, he asks me: “do I have bread?”. I answer “no”. He enters a wagon, brings 2 pieces of bread for my husband and myself, and says to us: “eat this bread before you reach the place where the Germans are standing, pinch your cheeks, bite your lips so they appear red and when then ask your age, say in your 20s”. It is redundant to mention those people who were brought from the Lodz Ghetto looked like skeletons. The fellow [the one I questioned] was one of “ours” from Maków, who had been in Auschwitz-Birkenau since 1942.

His name was Leibel Fuks, son of Velvel (the butcher). His mother's name I can't remember. Leibel looked after my husband and I, until we arrived at the selection where the S.S. men sent us to the “Right”. “Left” meant straight to the crematoria. When we went to the right, we were sent for “delousing”, then to the “bathhouse”, where the women were separated from the men.

There, in the bathhouse, we were told to undress (totally naked) in front of strange men. They didn't spare us any humiliation, they studied our bodies looking for lice, shaved our heads, took away our clothes (undergarments, clothes and shoes)-those things which were among our last possessions.

After bathing, they threw one dress at us, which was to serve as undergarment and overgarment-and a pair of “Holland clogs” (wooden shoes).

After this, they placed us in rows of 5 and led us to the lager [camp], this was the famous “Lager C” in Birkenau-Auschwitz.

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Here we met thousands of women who had arrived on earlier transports from all over Europe. At this camp no one was sent to work, also no one was tattooed. Our camp had to present itself several times a day (roll call) for selections. This was directed by Dr. Mengele, his name shall be erased forever, with his helpers. This camp was overflowing, so each day a selection took place with new victims, in order to make room for future transports. Part of us were sent to the various camps, the others, the largest part, were sent to the gas chambers.

They sectioned us into blocks. I had the good fortune to be placed in a block which had 2-story wooden bunks. On each one, 8 women slept, 4 at the head, 4 at the foot. In other blocks, there were no bunks and the women slept on the lime floor.

As we realized later on, Leibel Fuks, when he came back from his work told-on the same evening-the young people from Maków (who were also in this camp) that I, Ida Kac-Beer, from Maków, had just arrived in a transport from Lodz to Birkenau and I am now in “Lager C”.

The word spread among the Makówers. Each and every one of them looked in on me. They all knew when the children from the Maków transports arrived and were sent straight to the gas-chambers. They took it upon themselves- the task to save the Makówer women who arrived from other ghettos. This was their main objective, to help. It wasn't an easy thing to do.

Actually, the next morning after my arrival at Birkenau, in Lager “C”, the first one to look for me was Yitzhak Granievitch, the son of Shlomo and Etel, may their memory be blessed. He was able to come into the Womens' Camp because he worked as an electrician. We didn't recognize one another. He, my former student, dressed in grey-blue overalls, like a prisoner, I, skin and bones like a skeleton with a shaved head. I was embarrassed to leave my barrack, because my dress, which was also my night-clothing, tore while I was lying on the hard bed.

Holding my torn dress at the back, in order not to expose my naked body, I left my bed. First I asked about my family.

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But again no answer. He begged me, with tears in his eyes, however difficult the road ahead will be, to keep myself strong-physically and mentally. I had already prepared myself for the worst, I was now indifferent to all things to come-my husband, my children, my family were gone. He himself, the Makówer, will do everything in his power to help me stay alive.

Most important, he spoke to the block leader (I noticed he gave her something) to pay extra attention to me, to let me disappear during a selection and give me more to “eat”. The whole daily meal consisted of: the morning meal -some black water they called “Kave”, for lunch-soup with some pieces of potatoes swimming in the so-called soup, sometimes some cabbage or beets and when we received a bread-soup, it was a “celebration”, at night, a portion of bread, hard like clay.

After Yitzhak Granievitch found me, other young folk from Maków came to me with help and to give me courage.

The second one was Mordechai Ciecanower, the son of Meir-Hirsh and Rochel.

Seeing my torn dress, my shaven head, he brought me a new dress, I don't know from where, a kerchief to cover my head and especially- a bowl of food-sweet noodles. Such a “luxury” I had not seen or eaten in quite some time [it seemed a lifetime].

Several days later Josef Ludvinovitch, the son of Mates and Perel, of the Pianke family, entered the Womens' Lager “C” to see me. He didn't hesitate to seek me out, even if the punishment was severe. He worked in the “Gendarmerie” (police). He didn't have permission to enter our lager, this could even be punishable by death.

When I met them both I began to cry. We reminisced about our days as neighbours, our families were very close. I asked again: Josef, where are my parents, my sisters, my brother-in-law and my children? He answered: “Now we must keep you alive”. From this answer I understood that my nearest and dearest, my 2 children (I also understood) Bracha and Sara-Feige all met the same fate. The Nazi-murderers tore them away from me

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during the deportation of the Pabianicer Jews in 1942.

The young people of Maków in Auschwitz took upon themselves with great devotion the responsibility to look after the welfare of their fellow Jews (landsleit), especially those women who were still alive.

Tuvia Segal, the son of Fishel and Liba, provided me with warm clothing, an overcoat and a new pair of mens' shoes. Very much in demand. This protected me from the cold while standing for long hours during the “Apel” [roll call] in rain and snow.

Procuring this clothing wasn't easy. Words cannot express my gratitude for all these kind deeds.

Yehuda-Leib Glanover, the son of Chaim-Yitzhak and Raske, almost every day after his work, [who pushed a cart of bread (provisions) for the S.S. men], passed by the lager where I lived. Whenever he passed by he threw a bread through the barbed wire, there were times he wasn't able to do it because those cruel S.S. men followed him around; to throw a piece of bread meant endangering himself. When Glanover wasn't able to provide me with the bread, news spread in the block among the Makówers, and early the next morning, leaving for work under S.S. guard, one of them managed to throw over a package of cigarettes (which could be traded for bread). I became very familiar with their schedule when they left for work, and I returned to stand by the barbed wire fence. This is how the young Makówers learned what to do.

I remember one time, Israel Zion, the son of Nahum and Rochel, threw a paper purse with a few carrots and cucumbers to me. Because he had to throw it up high to be able to pass through the wires, the paper purse tore and the “precious treasure” of carrots and cucumbers scattered far from me. The inmates, like wild animals threw themselves upon the scattered treasure, one on top of the other- I couldn't move from my spot, I cried. This picture awakened in me feelings of despair because I lost such a precious cargo. I didn't ask them to return it. One of them brought me several pieces of carrots and cucumbers. I saw her destitution in her empty eyes, so I shared the small portion with her, this coveted food. I was one of them, the hungry ones. Thanks to the dedicated souls of my Makówer friends, my situation was slightly better than the others.

I remind myself: once a Ciechanower friend, Noah Zabludovitch, looked for me in my lager and gave me a package of food, courtesy of the Makówer

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friends, which consisted of cigarettes, margarine, marmalade and a piece of salami. The margarine, marmalade and salami I ate, but the cigarettes I hid like a precious cargo. Later, during my March, they were my salvation.

Thanks also to my Makówer friends who worked in “Kanada” [a warehouse for goods confiscated from the inmates of Auschwitz], where Zundel Beer, the nephew of Yechiel my husband, worked. He was informed of my whereabouts in Lager “C”. He was assigned to work in this warehouse and managed to smuggle food and clothing from the newly arrived transports. In 1944, transports were still arriving from Holland, some of the last to arrive. They brought with them many containers of canned goods, which they had to leave behind in the wagons, just like on the earlier transports. Zundel volunteered to “steal” these containers, which he shared with me and others from Pabianice.

His sisters' friend, I often shared soup with her.

Now I have to mention another friend from Maków called Riback, it is a great honor to write about him, he symbolizes brotherhood, the task of performing Holy deeds (mitzvot) that all the youth of Maków performed in the death-camp of Auschwitz, to keep alive each and every one of us with whatever means available to him, hoping that perhaps one of us will remain alive.

He explained to me, he was a simple young man, he comes from a poor family called “yokpers” [orphans], an apostate family who lived behind the town. He brought me a bowl of soup and told me to eat it right away, which I did. Hunger always tormented me. Then he brought me another bowl, advising me to hide it for later. At the same time he told me he didn't have any bread.

After liberation, when I was reunited with the Maków survivors from the concentration camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau and told them the story about Riback's help, they wouldn't believe it. How was it possible, he didn't have enough food for himself, he went hungry very often.

And here I have to mention another source of help which I received from the Makówer youth in Auschwitz. Thanks to this help for me and the other Makówer women we were able to survive.

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The warm clothes and especially the heavy-soled boots, which I received from Tuvia Segal, protected me in those terrible winters of 1944/5 with their deep frost and snowstorms.

The warm clothing protected me from getting sick. And the thick boots from slipping, which happened very often going on the March. Whoever broke a foot or incurred another setback couldn't continue on the March, so he got shot along the way and we had to bury the body in the snow.

Again I remind myself: a few days later, after my arrival in Auschwitz-Birkenau, my cousin Roize Shremer, on a transport from the Lodz ghetto, arrived here. She was the daughter of Yeshaya Dovid and Itke, my father's sister. I told Yitzhak Granievitch about her. He immediately took interest in her and introduced her to the block elder, a Czech girl. She helped her as well not to go hungry. I have to mention, although she was born in Maków, the Makówer youth didn't know her because she left the city at a young age. But they helped her anyways. Now Roize-Shoshana Goldberg lives in Ber-Sheva. She arrived in the Land in 1948, got married and has 2 talented children.

In October 1944, after the uprising and the attempt to destroy the gas-chambers, in which many Makówers participated, I didn't hear from them very often. The Russians were approaching Silesia. The German murderers started to evacuate Auschwitz-Birkenau and various other concentration camps, and drove us deeper into Germany. At this time together with 3000 women, the last of Lager “C”, we were transported and divided into 3 groups. My group consisted of 1000 women. We arrived at a camp, on an area of felled forest and erected buildings of boards which became overcrowded. At night, when it snowed, we were covered in snow as we slept. The forest belonged to the village Birnbaumel, near Trachenberg, not far from Breslau. We belonged to the horrible concentration camp Gross-Rosen. Every day, in our wrapped schmates (rags), they took us to work about 4 kilometers away, in open fields, covered in snow. We had to dig ditches in the frozen ground, even in snowstorms.

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When the snowstorms were impossible, even when the S.S. and other guards could no longer endure the cold, even with their warm clothing-long, leather coats and high boots-they sent us back to the camp. This was the greatest pleasure for us. Nevertheless, in these buildings we were somewhat protected from the snowstorm, even under a roof of branches. Not once did the winds blow away the roof, and we remained under the open sky.

After 3 months in this “Gan-Eden”, our camp was again evacuated. Of the 1000 women, only about 900 left. They others died from hunger and cold.

We marched for 13 days, surrounded by heavily guarded S.S. men with their strong reflectors. However, at night, they drove us into horse-stalls, or pig stalls, fearing that we would escape into the nearby forests. The murderers didn't tolerate any panic, they did everything orderly and quietly with silk gloves, not to arouse suspicion from the wider population.

At night, on the 14^th day of the March, we arrived at Gross-Rosen. Here, we all thought, we will meet our end. Dragged, with frozen hands and feet, after the long March in deep snow, no one had any hope to remain alive. The Germans actually believed we would die. But to our good fortune, the Russians were already waiting at the gates of Breslau, and time didn't allow the murderers to carry out their final plan: to continue the March. This time we resisted, praying: shoot us here on the spot, we can't go any further. The Obersturmfurher of Gross-Rosen showed “pity on us” (the bullets were more dear to him) and he told us, a group of about 3000 women, to continue on a train. He actually kept his word. He didn't want a standoff, it was already January 1945. The Nazi-murderers already saw, they lost the war on all fronts, though they didn't give up on their devilish plans, to annihilate us, us Jews. They didn't leave us alone until the very last minute.

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On the Road Again

They again loaded us into horse wagons, this time open ones. At the train station, they gave us half a kilo of bread, some margarine and 100 grams of salami. These were our “provisions” for 4 days.

Along with our train, another train carrying male-victims, drove us deeper into Germany, in the region between Hanover and Celle, we were bombarded by American airplanes. From above they didn't see that these trains were carrying extinguished prisoners. The bombs didn't fall far from our wagon, falling closer to the train with the men. Many of the prisoners were hit by shrapnel.

After driving around for 4 days, we finally arrived at Bergen-Belsen. There were many dead in the wagons from the bombings along the road, many frozen and suffocated from the lack of space and air. Some were taking their last breaths. All of them were left at the train station, and the living were marched into a death camp (almost 4 kilometers away)- Bergen-Belsen.

Bergen-Belsen-the death camp, full of typhus and diphtheria, piles of dead, scattered bodies without burial. A shiver runs through my body, when I remind myself about this, my nerves are weakened, not knowing if I'm able to survive this. I had to focus on two things: access a water-pump and find bread.

10 days before liberation, the devils already saw the forthcoming defeat. They didn't reveal their plan for freedom “one minute before 12” (like they said) they still wanted to kill the few remaining Jews. Finally they closed the water pumps in the camp, (only one pump worked for the entire camp when tens of thousands of people were). The needy portion of bread was stopped. The only food was watery soup, with some hard pieces of potatoes swimming around. With this we had to maintain our soul.

The administration of the camp was handed over to Hungarian hooligan soldiers who beat us at every opportunity. The Germans went into hiding, knowing their end was close.

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The American and British Airforce bombed the region day and night. For us this was the most beautiful “concert” of our lives.

Not far from the Bergen-Belsen camp, there was a camp for political prisoners. One of them, a German doctor, revealed their secret; he was also in Bergen-Belsen (besides Jews, there were prisoners of different nationalities). They prepared poisoned bread, at the last minute, to be distributed to the “half-humans”. The German murderers didn't manage to carry out their plan.

After our liberation, the leftover bread was given to the dogs, and it was seen, that the bread was mixed with poison.

End of March. Shorty after liberation, I became sick with tuberculosis. I didn't receive any medicinal help. Somewhere I managed to find a piece of sugar among my things, which I had exchanged for a cigarette. The cigarette I had received from the Makówers, who threw it over the barbed wire with “luck”. I only licked this small piece of sugar from time to time. This was the recipe for my survival. I couldn't swallow the turnip soup. With warm water I,

A memorial service for the martyrs of Maków, Germany, 1945

moistened my burning lips. My dream then was-to receive a glass of tea with a piece of bread.

April 15, 1945, we were liberated by the English and Canadian Army, but I couldn't greet the liberators. My feet were swollen and my body was exhausted. I was 28 kilos. Several days later in the camp, some S.S. men were discovered in a hideout, many of them had come from Auschwitz. With Dr. Klein and Irma Grese, “the blonde beast”, [also “the beautiful beast”, the Hyena of Auschwitz], this is how we called her in Birkenau. She was the overseer of “C”. The English brought them in a army truck to work nearby the block where I was. Everyone went out “to look them in the face”, these murderers. I also wanted to see them, to throw a filthy rag at their tyrannical faces, but I didn't. My feet couldn't move. A Russian girl, Maria, helped get up. She helped me see the former proud assassins- and now-the downtrodden and harassed, like previously we were their helpless victims. I now watched the former S.S. men gathering the dead bodies, the victims of their shameful atrocities. Thousands of dead bodies littered the lager. Later a group of 18 S.S. men appeared before a court in Lubeck. They received an honest deserving verdict: death by hanging.

It took a long time before I became “human” again. I was physically and mentally broken. A little time later, when I felt somewhat stronger, I began to look for my family. I thought: Maybe someone is still alive. We were 5 sisters. All with families. Only one, Miriam, remained alive, thanks to her emigration in 1935 to Eretz-Israel.

End of 1946, I left Bergen-Belsen and went to Firstenfeldbruck, near Munich, where some Makówer survivors were located. We lived like one family. Actually here we organized the first memorial for the Makówer victims.

I wed for the second time, Avraham Garfinkel, the son of R'Moshe Yosef and Mirl. End of 1949 we left the soaked German land for America, where my husband had a brother, Israel-Yitzhak. Arriving in Brooklyn, we received a very warm welcome from the first

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The last memorial assembly in Germany…In 1947

Makówer landsleit, especially I want to remember one family-my mothers' cousins, Batia, from the house of Frankel, and her husband Meir Ostri, of blessed memory, and also their children, They welcomed us like parents receiving their own children, and their daughters and son-in-laws, like sisters and brothers. They integrated us into their family, provided us with courage to carry on a normal life and to rebuild our home. At that time this was the greatest moral help.

May these few lines serve as a memorial for the perished friends of the Makówer youth, who died at the hands of the Nazi murderers in Auschwitz.

Honor Their Memory!

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