The Girls Of Room 28_ Friendship, Hope, And Survival In Theresienstadt Part 3

Paradoxically, the urgent appeals to the Allies, in particular those coming from Geneva, gave the n.a.z.is greater lat.i.tude for their actions. The information sent by telegram in March 1942 to London and Was.h.i.+ngton was so monstrous that it exceeded the ability of its recipients to comprehend it, and so the credibility of the messages was undermined-which suited the Germans just fine. It was easy for them to publicly brand such reports horror stories invented by their enemies and to turn to an old but effective instrument of their own: counterpropaganda.

What shape such counterpropaganda might take had long been decided, as is clear from a doc.u.ment issued by the Reich Security Main Office. When its head, Ernst Kaltenbrunner, suggested to his superior, Heinrich Himmler, that there be a "dispersal of those in Theresienstadt over sixty years of age," and requested permission to begin transporting five thousand Jews over the age of sixty, Heinrich Himmler had his secretary reply on February 16: "The Reich Fuhrer SS does not wish these Jews to be transported from Theresienstadt, since this action might disrupt the general tendency for Jews to die quietly in the old folks ghetto of Theresienstadt."25 Thursday, April 22, 1943I had a horrible earache and cried all night. I saw the ear doctor this morning-ear infection. I have to stop writing because it hurts too much.Friday, April 23, 1943I'm lying in sick bay. This morning they punctured my eardrum, and it hurt a lot. There are four of us in one room. I have my bed and my peace and quiet. Papa has a bad cold and won't be coming to see me for two or three days.Thursday, April 29, 1943I'm still in sick bay, there's a lot of seepage from the ear, but my fever is no longer so high. I'm reading a book of fairy tales that Auntie borrowed for me. I play with the doll that I borrowed from Trude. But most of the time I sleep. My other ear hurts a little, too.Tuesday, May 4, 1943I'm doing quite well today. They drew some blood from a vein yesterday, and twice from my finger. And again today. Dr. Stern has found something to indicate that I might have typhoid. Results will be back in a week. But I'm told that if I do have typhoid, it's almost over, since my fever has gone down.Papa received a package, but sad to say there was no fruit in it. I have such a craving for lemons and oranges. I haven't eaten an orange for a year, or a lemon in two months. I lie here while it's so beautiful outside. Everything is in bloom. The girls are still on vacation for Pesach, and Frau Prof. Brumlikova has been reading Victor Hugo's orange for a year, or a lemon in two months. I lie here while it's so beautiful outside. Everything is in bloom. The girls are still on vacation for Pesach, and Frau Prof. Brumlikova has been reading Victor Hugo's Les Miserables Les Miserables to them. They're going to draw more blood, and I will scream with pure anger to them. They're going to draw more blood, and I will scream with pure anger.I hope that the war is over in a year. People here come up with rumors that are so optimistic, and they make everybody happy. When they learn the truth, they are crushed. And in Theresienstadt that sort of news spreads like wildfire.

While Helga was in sick bay, several girls in Room 28 were making presents for Mother's Day. Ela carved the emblem of Theresienstadt out of a piece of wood. Judith would lay aside small bits of her scant daily rations, especially from the buns, in order to create a "cake" from them. Others painted a picture or designed Mother's Day cards.

Little Zajiek-Ruth Schachter-stood sadly on the sidelines and watched her friends' activities. She had no one in Theresienstadt except her brother, Alex, who was two years older. Her parents had fled to Palestine, leaving both children behind in the Jewish orphanage in Brno-and her case was not unique. Many Jewish children ended up in orphanages even though their parents were still alive. Often the only choice adults had was to flee abroad illegally, but it was far too dangerous to take children along. And so many parents made the heartrending decision to place their children in the care of a Jewish orphanage and hope that the children would be able to follow them as soon as possible with what was called a "youth certificate." This hope was rarely realized. Zajiek had just turned twelve. She felt very much alone. Like all girls her age, she was at a crucial point in her development, when a mother figure is indispensable.

"Although Tella was very strict," Helga recalls today, "I did everything I could to gain her attention. I had a pa.s.sionate need for a mother's affection. I missed my mother very much." Her longing for her mother comes up again and again throughout her diary. On June 9, 1943, she wrote: For several days now I've been tormented by thoughts that keep circling around Mama and the question of why she divorced Papa. I plucked up my courage this evening and asked Papa. He told me that he would rather not reveal the reason for their divorce just yet. But, as I already knew, they had not separated in anger. He even bought her an apartment after the divorce, and furnished it, and bought her an entire wardrobe when she left Vienna. And they still correspond regularly. He also told me that Mama was very worried about me (but not like Papa-very few people worry the way he does).People who don't know why Mama left for England think she simply left me with Papa. I know it was Mama who wanted me to go to Auntie in Kyjov, and Papa agreed that this was better for me. Back then, Hitler wasn't in Czechoslovakia yet. Mama was to go to England first and get herself established there. Then I was supposed to follow. But war broke out in the meantime.I started sobbing yesterday, without meaning to, and Papa began to cry as well. When we calmed down, he said: After the war you'll join your Mama, and things will get better for you. You'll learn how a young lady behaves.

Utopian dreams give strength, as do memories of enjoyable moments-such as the time when Lenka's mother had bought an old guitar for herself. Perhaps this was the last time that Lenka had seen her mother carefree and cheerful. Why else would she have written, with the help of her friend Handa, the following poem for her mother, which Handa had copied down in her notebook.

Once when times were very good You bought for fun, in music mood, An old guitarAt first the urge to strum was strong And you practiced very long On your old guitarLess and less you played by choice, Weaker got the guitar's voice Sometimes in and sometimes offTime flew past, you did not play, Not even touch it every day.

"I will tomorrow," you did sayAlas, tomorrow never came Abandoned the guitar became You never ever played againTwo years have pa.s.sed, Fast and fleet Since your guitar fell asleepWill you with this gift remember All the beauty of its song All the days when your desire To play it well was very strongTranslated by Eva Gross, nee Weiss Zajiek ("Bunny")-Ruth Schachter Lenka clung to her mother; Handa and Helga leaned on their fathers. Just knowing that they had a parent nearby gave them a vital feeling of security. Girls like Zajiek and Muka lacked that feeling of security; they lived in Theresienstadt without their parents. Eva Landa can still picture Muka-with those thick braids that made her look like an angel-on her thirteenth birthday, on April 30, 1943. A relative came to see her with a bouquet. Muka clasped the bouquet and wept.

Zajiek and Muka looked on wistfully as their friends prepared for Mother's Day. And then Zajiek came to a decision, which she described later that year, in October 1943, in her essay answering the question "What has made the deepest impression on you since you have been living in the Girls' Home?"

It was Mother's Day. The girls were all busy making presents for their mothers. I felt so dreadfully out of place. I thought maybe I should give a present to someone I felt about the way I feel about my mother. And that someone-my subst.i.tute mother-is really two people: Frau Muhlstein and Tella! They've looked after me for a year and a half like a mother. Why shouldn't I thank them for that? I'd like to grow up to be like them.I made little gifts. When I saw Frau Muhlstein sitting at the table, I was filled with emotion. I slowly went over to her, and eventually gave her my present and a big kiss. Then I ran away. I could see how surprised and happy Frau Muhlstein was. But my joy was a hundred times greater than hers.Then I went to Tella. I was shaking all over. I wished her a happy Mother's Day and began to cry. Suddenly I felt very good.-For as long as I live I shall never forget Mother's Day in Theresienstadt.Home 28Ruth Schachter (Zajiek)My parents live in Palestine.Helga's diary continues:Thursday, May 6, 1943It is horrible here in Theresienstadt, a regular Babylon: Germans, Austrians, Czechs, Dutch, a few Danes, French; I even know a Finnish girl. There are baptized Jews and so-called Mischlinge [children of mixed religious heritage]. Mischlinge [children of mixed religious heritage]. A girl named Antonia, who bunked next to me, has had a very tough time. She arrived three weeks ago from Brno. Her father is Aryan, her mother Jewish. She's fourteen and was baptized in 1939, but her baptism is not recognized. She is here all alone and has few belongings. She feels uncomfortable in a Jewish environment. She longs to go home so terribly that she cries almost all day. Her father accompanied her as far as Prague, where they said their heartrending goodbyes. Now she lies in the bunk beside me A girl named Antonia, who bunked next to me, has had a very tough time. She arrived three weeks ago from Brno. Her father is Aryan, her mother Jewish. She's fourteen and was baptized in 1939, but her baptism is not recognized. She is here all alone and has few belongings. She feels uncomfortable in a Jewish environment. She longs to go home so terribly that she cries almost all day. Her father accompanied her as far as Prague, where they said their heartrending goodbyes. Now she lies in the bunk beside me.Monday, May 10, 1943I'm almost well again and have another reason to be happy today, too. Lea is finally healthy!! She has started to walk and she is smiling from ear to ear. She calls Papa Uncle Otto. She still drags one foot, but just one.I weigh ninety pounds. There are only two of us in sick bay. I hope I can see Lea soon. They drew blood from me two more times. Frau Professor Brumlikova came to see me twice, although she has an inflamed foot. She brought me Professor Brumlikova came to see me twice, although she has an inflamed foot. She brought me Les Miserables Les Miserables to read. Such a valuable book is a rarity here in Theresienstadt. In a couple of days our girls will be sent to work in the garden. I'm looking forward to it very much. I hope I'm all better soon to read. Such a valuable book is a rarity here in Theresienstadt. In a couple of days our girls will be sent to work in the garden. I'm looking forward to it very much. I hope I'm all better soon.Thursday, May 27, 1943I've been out of sick bay for a week now, and my ear infection is gone. For five days now I've been working in Josef's garden, but not with our girls. They work only half a day. I'm with another girl from my room. I like it quite a lot, but it's a little too much for me all the same. The nerves in my face hurt.Friday, May 28, 1943Today is my thirteenth birthday. We celebrated at Mimi Sander's. I broke down in tears, I don't know why. They prepared a little table for me with presents. Papa gave me a necklace with a silver pendant- the Theresienstadt coat of arms with a silver lion. Mimi made me a cake and gave me a bouquet of wildflowers. And from Maria I got a lovely package with birthday greetings, and thirteen little packages inside.Sat.u.r.day, May 29, 1943I'm lying in bed again, sick, and don't know what's wrong.

It was May, and spring was in full bloom when the barracks lock-down was finally lifted. For Helga, nothing really changed. She was still sick, as were many others. Judith Schwarzbart, for example, her roommate from Brno, was also on the mend from a serious illness, and was living in her father's shed in the backyard of the Girls' Home.

Before setting up a place to live in this shed, Julius Schwarzbart had slept in a little hut on the ramparts of the fortified walls that encircled the town. In the wide ditches between the ramparts he tended a large vegetable garden for the SS. It was the first garden in which young people were put to work, an arrangement that was the result of Julius Schwarzbart's initiative. In the ghetto, young people under the age of sixteen were not officially required to do their part, but in reality, many children were put to work at age fourteen, sometimes even earlier. Julius Schwarzbart had gone to great lengths to have them employed on farms wherever possible. That way, even though they were strictly supervised and could not lag behind, they could at least get a few hours of the fresh air they so badly needed.

That May of 1943 was not the first time Judith had spent recuperating with her father, who, along with her mother, took care of her and did all he could to restore his daughter to health. Her parents fretted that their previously spirited and healthy child kept falling seriously ill. Judith will never forget how she frightened her mother at one point by saying, "Do you know what I'd really love to eat, Mama? Pumpkin soup." Amazing! As a child Judith had hated this soup, which her mother regarded as a delicacy. Judith recalls her mother's reaction: "And then she fell silent. I still remember it. Today I understand that my desire for pumpkin soup must have shocked my mother. She realized at that moment how undernourished I was, how terribly hungry I must be if I was demanding, of all things, pumpkin soup."

Handa Pollak Handa Pollak was born in Prague on November 4, 1931. She spent her childhood in Olbramovice, a small village about thirty-five miles south of Prague, where her father owned a large farm. Her parents divorced when she was four. Handa's mother, Alice Pollak, was not meant for country life. She loved to travel and preferred life in the city. She enjoyed plays and concerts, especially when her cousin Karel Anerl, a well-known conductor of radio and theater orchestras in Prague, wielded the baton. Handa Pollak was born in Prague on November 4, 1931. She spent her childhood in Olbramovice, a small village about thirty-five miles south of Prague, where her father owned a large farm. Her parents divorced when she was four. Handa's mother, Alice Pollak, was not meant for country life. She loved to travel and preferred life in the city. She enjoyed plays and concerts, especially when her cousin Karel Anerl, a well-known conductor of radio and theater orchestras in Prague, wielded the baton.Handa grew up in the care of her father, a.s.sisted by a Jewish governess named Jitka. Jewish traditions were not observed in her family of a.s.similated Jews, who considered themselves Czech first and foremost. It was not until she started school that Handa learned of her religious affiliation. On her first report card, under "religion," the word "Mosaic" appeared. "I still remember how hard I cried, and I remember asking my father why my report card had something entirely different from the report cards of all the other kids. 'Yes, we are Jews,' he answered. 'But that's not so important. We're Czechs like everyone else. This just means we are of a different religion.' "The events that were building up to a catastrophe in Germany after Hitler took power had little resonance in Olbramovice at this time, apart from rumors, wild stories, and crazy theories, all of which were easy to dismiss.That changed when the Germans occupied the Czech lands on March 15, 1939. A seemingly endless train filled with German soldiers rode through Olbramovice toward Prague. Restrictions of human rights for all Czechs ensued, especially for Jewish Czechs. The entrance gate to the Pollak farm now bore a sign announcing in large letters: IDI VEN-JEWS GET OUT!What followed was an odyssey with a recurrent pattern: Karel Pollak sought refuge with relatives in Prague. Handa lived with her father's sister for a while, then with a brother. In 1940 she stayed with her mother in Prague-Djvice. Eventually Handa returned to her father, who was staying with his sister Hanika in the Smichov section of Prague.In the autumn of 1941 Karel Pollak was a.s.signed to Theresienstadt as part of the "construction commando." This first transport arrived on November 24. It consisted of 342 young men, craftsmen and laborers, whose task was to build up the ghetto. "They told us that the men could return home every weekend," Handa recalls. "But that was a lie. No sooner were they there than the gates were locked behind them. We could write only an occasional special postcard, which was then censored-thirty words in German and in capital letters."Handa was without her father for about six months. "I missed him terribly, and longed to follow him to Theresienstadt. In July of 1942 I finally arrived there, along with my aunt Hanika."

Anna Flach Anna Flach ("Flaka") was born on November 26, 1930, the youngest child of Leo and Elisabeth Flach, nee Kober, in the Polish-Czech border town of Polsky Tein (now Cieszyn). When she was a year old the family moved to esk Tein; shortly thereafter they moved on to Ostrava. Anna Flach ("Flaka") was born on November 26, 1930, the youngest child of Leo and Elisabeth Flach, nee Kober, in the Polish-Czech border town of Polsky Tein (now Cieszyn). When she was a year old the family moved to esk Tein; shortly thereafter they moved on to Ostrava.In February 1937 the family resettled in Brno, on Adler Ga.s.se 13, where Flaka's father opened a wholesale zipper business. Flaka had her first piano lessons in Brno, and along with her sister Alice attended the renowned ballet school of Ivo Vaa-Psota. In 1939 she began her first singing lessons with the great master of voice, Professor Sigmund Auspitzer, who had trained Maria Jeritza, a world-famous opera star from Brno.Shortly after the Germans marched into Brno, Leo Flach's business was placed under the supervision of two "Aryan trustees." "My father worked while the Germans kept watch on him and pocketed a lot of money doing it. We had to put up with them in our house every day. And from that point on the hostility grew worse."In August 1940 Flaka's sister Irena, a.s.sisted by the Youth Aliyah, managed to board a s.h.i.+p illegally transporting Jews to Palestine. "I shall be waiting for you to arrive soon, safe and sound." These were the parting words that Irena wrote in her sister's poetry alb.u.m. "But for now-best wishes. Above all, practice your singing, because your voice is your sole possession."26But Flaka was less and less in the mood to sing. One disheartening event followed another. Once, during the period when she had to wear a yellow star, a woman stopped in front of her, pointed to the new white felt boots that her mother had just gotten for her, and screamed, "You Jewish pig, give me those boots. Somebody like you shouldn't even own boots like that!""It was horrible. I still remember exactly how it felt. After that I was always afraid to wear those boots. But then it turned cold and I didn't have any others." Another time two Germans in uniform walked past her. "What a beautiful girl," she heard one of them say, pointing at her. "Pity she's a Jew." That came as a great shock to Flaka. "What's so bad about being a Jew? I still have the same strong, bitter feeling inside me when I think back to that. Or when I hear anti-Semitic remarks. It hurts me deeply. More than hunger and the other restrictions and prohibitions, it was the hate hurled at us, the unjustified humiliation that we were subjected to. That stays with you your whole life."

Order of Wors.h.i.+p, Rosh Hashanah, September 1941 The Jewish New Year had arrived, but people barely risked going to the synagogue. The admonition to the congregation after wors.h.i.+p to "behave with calm, restraint, and dignity, and not to create a stir" only added to the anxiety and fear during that September of 1941. If the Jewish community had been able to do so, it would have made itself invisible altogether.On November 26, 1941, Flaka's eleventh birthday, came the directive to "join the ranks for transport." "That was my birthday present! I can still see my father bursting into tears. It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry." Three days later the family set out for the a.s.sembly point. From there they were put on the first family transport from Brno, which arrived in Theresienstadt on December 2, 1941. Flaka was among the first children in the ghetto.

Judith Schwarzbart Judith Schwarzbart was born in Brno on March 2, 1930, and was a year old when she moved to Mrtikova 13 in Jundrov, on the outskirts of Brno, with her parents, Julius and Charlotte Schwarzbart, her sister, Ester, and her brother, Gideon. It was a large house with a garden that bordered on the woods. She loved it with all her heart, and even now has fond memories of it: "There were so many trees in our garden, with all sorts of fruit: white, black, yellow, and pink cherries, apricots, and two kinds of plums. There was also a fruit that I've never found anywhere else in the world. My father called it mischpulle mischpulle, which was some sort of medlar. It was a brown, round fruit with one or two pits, not very large. The flesh tasted wonderful-a little like honey. Then there were currants-white, red, black. All kinds of apples. It was a garden of Eden-marvelous!"

This photograph was taken in Israel in 1948.

For Judith's father, the large lot was a dream come true, and also the ideal spot to pursue his interests. He was an inventive man, a pa.s.sionate do-it-yourselfer. One of his inventions, insulated bricks, guaranteed the family a steady income for several years. Judith's parents were Zionists, but they were not religious in any strict sense."'You don't need to go to a synagogue to pray,' my father used to say. 'If G.o.d exists, he is everywhere.' " Still, Jewish holidays were always celebrated, because Julius and Charlotte Schwarzbart believed strongly in making their children familiar with Jewish culture and tradition. Judith's mother, who was born in Vienna, saw to it that a holiday atmosphere prevailed and always served the most delicious foods. "She was a wonderful cook-an artist. Her food was a dream come true!"In those days, a lovely old clock stood in a gla.s.s case in the living room, and engraved on it were these words in Hebrew: "May this hour be a blessed hour in this home." That clock and a beautiful Pesach plate are all that remain of her parents' possessions. Today they symbolize everything Judith had lost-childhood, parents, happiness, and the dreams of the first nine years of her life. Then the expulsion from paradise began. "It started when someone at the Sokol Athletic Club27 said to me, 'You can't come here anymore.' Then my best friend, Teresa, came to me and said, 'My father won't let me play with you anymore. We're not allowed to speak to each other.' She came from a very pious Christian family, and we had often visited each other. Everything changed from one day to the next. I cried all the way home, asking myself, why? Why is this happening all of a sudden?" said to me, 'You can't come here anymore.' Then my best friend, Teresa, came to me and said, 'My father won't let me play with you anymore. We're not allowed to speak to each other.' She came from a very pious Christian family, and we had often visited each other. Everything changed from one day to the next. I cried all the way home, asking myself, why? Why is this happening all of a sudden?"School grew more difficult for Judith with each pa.s.sing day. She was the only Jew in her cla.s.s, and the animosity of her fellow students became increasingly blatant. Before the occupation, she had occasionally attended Catholic religious in struction, since the cla.s.s was held between other cla.s.ses. "One day our religion teacher, a priest, said that Jews kill their firstborn sons to make matzos with. I stood up and said, 'That's not true. We have never killed a boy and we eat matzos every year!' But the other children believed the teacher, not me.

The Schwarzbart family home in Jundrov In 193940, after Jews were excluded from public schools, Judith attended the Jewish high school in Brno-an hour's walk each way. Home did not ease her sadness; her parents' anxieties were inescapable. How were they supposed to live? Julius Schwarzbart had his business license revoked and his car confiscated. Hoping for better times, he tinkered with his inventions and developed a shoe-polis.h.i.+ng machine. But no one showed any interest in it.Judith's happy childhood was turning dismal. Nature, which had once buoyed her youthful exuberance and dreams, became a refuge from her hurt and disappointment, and a place of increasing isolation. The only thing still holding her fragile soul together was her love for her sister and brother and for her parents, especially her father. "I idolized my father. He was a calm, quiet man-he spoke only when he had something to say. When he saw people chatting for hours about silly things, he would say, 'They're just flapping their jaws!' "One day neighbors denounced Julius Schwarzbart to the Germans, claiming that he was making brandy and doing other forbidden things. "Men in uniforms and clanking boots came to our house three times, turning everything upside down-they didn't find a thing. Once my father showed them his medal from the war and the Germans just laughed at him. I can still picture them laughing. It was horrible. Nothing happened at that point. But our fear just kept growing."In May 1942 the Schwarzbarts ended up on a transport. "I still recall it exactly. I was glad to leave. The atmosphere was so charged-like dynamite. We were living on a powder keg. When we received our deportation orders, I told myself that now at least there would be peace and quiet."* What Helga could not possibly have known at the time was that a large portion of the items sold in these stores had been confiscated by the SS from the deported Jews upon their arrival at the Theresienstadt checkpoint, the so-called sluice. Some also came from the possessions of those who had died, or from prisoners who had been sent on to the death camps. What Helga could not possibly have known at the time was that a large portion of the items sold in these stores had been confiscated by the SS from the deported Jews upon their arrival at the Theresienstadt checkpoint, the so-called sluice. Some also came from the possessions of those who had died, or from prisoners who had been sent on to the death camps.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Island in a Raging Sea.

Helga has chosen a lighthouse as her symbol for her Home," Otto Pollak wrote in his calendar diary on July 5, 1943. "She says it represents her life. The lighthouse is meant to light the way amid the stormy waves of life and lead her out of the darkness and into the light. I surprised my girl today with a drawing done by my comrade Bauer, the engineer, at the Home for the Invalids, showing the silhouette of a sail-boat approaching a lighthouse. Helga was overjoyed, hugged me, and told me that I understand her so well. This new emblem will adorn the wall beside her bed."

This expressive drawing of Helga's personal emblem came at the right moment. The "stormy waves of life" had churned up a worldwide typhoon of death and destruction and hurled Europe into darkness. In Warsaw and in Bialystok (Poland), in Kolomyja, Ternopol, and Lvov (Ukraine), in Skopje (Macedonia), in Lemberg (eastern Galicia), in Novogrudok (Belorussia)-wherever their war of conquest brought them, the Germans engaged in horribly b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.sacres. On May 16, 1943, after several weeks of battle, the Warsaw Ghetto uprising was put down. The factories of death were running in high gear- Auschwitz-Birkenau, Chelmno, Belzec, Sobibor, Treblinka.

On the Russian front, near Kursk, the largest tank battle of the war had begun; the British and American armies were about to land in Sicily, while Allied bombardments of German cities began to intensify after May 30, 1942, when the English flew their first thousand-bomb attack on Cologne. Events were coming to a climax, and the tremendous tension that hung in the air was palpable even in Room 28.

Tella chastised her wards at a meeting of Ma'agal on July 9, 1943, for the lack of discipline in their room. "If you don't pull together soon, there will be a catastrophe, and we shall have to introduce more severe punishments. Each of you in Ma'agal has slipped back by several points. You are inconsiderate and uncooperative, and some of you are egotistical as well. Be more tolerant and gentle with each other, but stricter with yourselves!"

Helga had crept back into her sh.e.l.l: "Somehow I've become a bit of a loner here in Theresienstadt," she brooded. "I know that I've become careless, that I must improve. Am I weak? Ela is at her singing lesson now. It's already ten o'clock and she'll be back any minute. I'm going to say to her: I need a friend. Maybe it could be you! Do you want to be? I'll see how that goes."

The very next day brought disappointment. "Ela doesn't want to. I can sense it. She's trying to back away a little. It's probably my fault."

The truth was that Ela simply had other things on her mind. She had a crush on Honza Gelbkopf from Home 9-a state that brought on a whirl of emotions and questions that Helga tended to shrug off. Lenka, Flaka, and Eva Landa showed far more understanding and compa.s.sion for these sorts of issues, since they had boyfriends of their own. Ela was gratified by their response.

And there was something else, too. On July 7, 1943, the last transport of children from the Prague orphanage had arrived in Theresienstadt. With it came Ota Freudenfeld, the legendary head of the orphanage, and his son, Rudolf. The arrival of this transport drew everyone's attention, especially that of the children who had lived in the orphanage on Belgicka Street prior to their own deportation. Decades later, Rudolf Freu denfeld would recall their arrival: As news spread through town that the head of the orphanage had arrived, the streets near the "sluice" were lined with children. My father pa.s.sed through the crowd, happy to be among his children again. And they welcomed him the way you greet someone you hold most dear-with childlike love amidst all that misery.That evening, Rafik [Rafael Schachter] arranged for a concert performance in our honor, in one of the attics, of The Bartered Bride The Bartered Bride, with a piano instead of an orchestra. After the performance, I proudly pulled out the score for Brundibar Brundibar, and we decided then and there that I should begin rehearsing with the children.1 The news spread through the ghetto like wildfire, and it wasn't long before Tella sent her best musical talents to the attic of Boys' Home 417, where Rafael Schachter and Rudolf Freudenfeld were holding tryouts and making their choices among the many candidates for the various roles in the opera.

"There were three of us from our room-Flaka, Maria Muhlstein, and me. And we had to stand in a row and each had to sing up and down the scale, la la la." Ela Stein has vivid memories of the casting of Brundibar Brundibar. "When my turn came I shook with fright at the thought that I wouldn't sing well enough. But then Rudi Freudenfeld said to me, 'You know what? You'll play a cat.'-A cat in a children's opera? That was something extraordinary!"

Gus.h.i.+ng with joy, Ela brought the sensational news to her mother and uncle. " 'A children's opera?' they said in amazement. They couldn't imagine what that might be. But they were so happy that I'd got the role."

Maria Muhlstein had reason to be happy as well. She was chosen for the role of the sparrow; her brother Pit'a got the male lead role of little Pepiek. The female lead, Aninka, Pepiek's sister, went to Greta Hofmeister from the Girls' Home, Room 25; she had already sung in Smetana's Bartered Bride Bartered Bride and Verdi's and Verdi's Requiem Requiem. Zdenk Ohrenstein from Room 1, L 417, was cast as the dog.

The other roles were a.s.signed as well: a baker, a milkman, an icecream vendor, and a policeman.2 There were children who would play the people at the market and others who formed the chorus of schoolchildren. Among these were several girls from Room 28: Flaka, Handa, Zajiek, and Ruth Gutmann. There were children who would play the people at the market and others who formed the chorus of schoolchildren. Among these were several girls from Room 28: Flaka, Handa, Zajiek, and Ruth Gutmann.

The t.i.tle role of the evil organ-grinder Brundibar was given to Honza Treichlinger, an orphan from Plze. Rudolf Freudenfeld later recalled the manner in which this casting took place: "He had virtually begged for the role. We became acquainted in the washroom. He came up beside me, pretending to wash his hands, and casually remarked, 'I've heard that you're looking for children for your opera. Can I come, too?' "

Later, when the time came to cast the role of Brundibar, Honza came up to Rudolf Freudenfeld again and asked him in his special way, "Could I give it a try?" From that moment on there was only one Brundibar-Honza Treichlinger.

A second and third cast of understudies were chosen for all the main roles. Stephan Sommer, the son of the Prague pianist Alice Herz-Sommer, enthusiastically practiced the role of the sparrow. Pit'a Muhlstein's brother Eli likewise studied the role of Pepiek, and his sister, Maria, rehea.r.s.ed as first understudy for the role of Aninka. "She had a beautiful velvety voice," Flaka recalls. "She was so natural. A very different type from Greta Hofmeister, who was a little older than we were."

In the days that followed, boys and girls came streaming from all corners to gather in the hot, sultry attic of Boys' Home L 417-Danka, Daa, Raja, Hanka, Sonja, Ruth, Eva, Lilian, Lisa, Hana, Drixi, Renate, Zdenka, Marta, Jii, Frantiek, Hanu, Petr, Pavel, Rudi, Karel, and Zdenk. For some of these children, the world suddenly seemed to revolve around nothing but rehearsals-and around Batik, their nickname for Rudolf Freudenfeld, who often arrived at rehearsals exhausted and bathed in sweat after a hard day's work in a stone quarry in nearby Litomice. Still, nothing could keep him from dedicating his evenings to Brundibar- Brundibar-although it certainly was not all that easy, as Rudolf Laub wrote in the newspaper Vedem: Vedem: Have any of you ever been a director and had to deal with fifty strapping boys and charming girls who are convinced that the more noise and fun during the rehearsals, the better? No, it's not easy, and I take my hat off to Rudi Freudenfeld, because throughout the rehearsals he got angry only a few times, and then calmed down again immediately. I would not have had that patience, and I doubt whether anybody else would have either.But some sort of aura held us together, the feeling that "when it's finished, it'll be super." We made progress, we got a better rehearsal room, and interest grew. Everybody began to look forward to rehearsals, and would tell his acquaintances with a certain pride, "We're rehearsing a children's opera."3 Of course the people who had taken on these young actors were themselves outstanding personalities who lent a special l.u.s.ter to the enterprise. Along with Batik, Rafik, and Gideon Klein, there were the play's set designer and artistic director, Frantiek Zelenka, and Brundibar's Brundibar's composer, Hans Krasa. The two of them kept a close eye on the rehearsals of the children's opera, and while Hans Krasa set to work reorchestrating the music according to the instruments and musicians available in Theresienstadt, Frantiek Zelenka prepared a modest set design and a poster announcing the upcoming premiere. composer, Hans Krasa. The two of them kept a close eye on the rehearsals of the children's opera, and while Hans Krasa set to work reorchestrating the music according to the instruments and musicians available in Theresienstadt, Frantiek Zelenka prepared a modest set design and a poster announcing the upcoming premiere.

Hans Krasa. "His creative process seems effortless, somewhere between check and checkmate, but the result displays uncanny sureness." These were the words Viktor Ullmann chose to praise the composer in 1928.

The rehearsals for Brundibar Brundibar generated considerable excitement-and disappointment as well. "I remember feeling very hurt," Eva Landa says, "because I didn't get the role of the schoolgirl who throws her book in the air. I wanted so much to play it. But another girl, Hana Vohryskova, was chosen." generated considerable excitement-and disappointment as well. "I remember feeling very hurt," Eva Landa says, "because I didn't get the role of the schoolgirl who throws her book in the air. I wanted so much to play it. But another girl, Hana Vohryskova, was chosen."

Eva was not the only girl who was feeling out of sorts in those days. Helga was crushed when out of the blue Rita Bohm, their new counselor, scolded her, saying, "You are one of the first girls that I shall think badly of if you don't settle down at once." All Helga had done was chuckle while Rita was talking about England. In reality she was hardly in the mood for laughter-Rita's descriptions of England had awakened a dreadful longing for her mother.

"Should I tell her?" she asked in her diary. "I've got to explain it somehow. I really do like Rita an awful lot, and that's why this hurts even more." Helga made herself talk it over with Rita. "A quarter to eleven in the evening: Rita is no longer angry at me."

Others were experiencing some of these same feelings, these emotional ups and downs. Friends.h.i.+ps formed, encountered their first snag, broke apart, and were then renewed. Jealousy played no small part in this carousel of friends.h.i.+p. No sooner had a girl shown another more attention than her old friend felt rejected, no longer loved. Misunderstandings, taunts, and defiance followed. Then came attempts at renewing the relations.h.i.+p and reconciliation. Friends.h.i.+p was everything for these girls-life, love, the future. A girl's own visions, dreams, and hopes were reflected in the eyes of her friend. They both drew energy from their relations.h.i.+p, took heart from it.

Flaka and Lenka were quite fond of each other. Flaka found in Lenka a friend whom she admired greatly, with whom she could laugh and discuss many things. They did not always see eye to eye, and sometimes they fell out, for Lenka was the epitome of a critical spirit. But Flaka always brought them back together. She had a definite need for harmony, and worked very hard to be friendly and fair with everyone.

But the two friends eventually had a row. For Flaka this was no great problem, since she was convinced that the quarrel would soon be forgotten. For Lenka, however, it was a minor catastrophe. She withdrew inside herself-what choice did she have? It was impossible for them to stay out of each other's way, to keep the distance that would allow them to move closer together when they were ready to do so. The only retreat possible was an inward one.

And so Lenka wrote a poem.

REACTION TO A QUARREL WITH FLAKAI wanted to be good And have tried very hard, But in just the shortest time The girls have Disappointed me.

They didn't respect my effort, And I have tried To deal with that.And they asked me Why I was not able To get rid of the bad in me.

But I am trying!

And I will keep on trying And will prove to Flaka That I have reached my goal.

I will, I must- In the shortest time.And the next time They accuse me of the same thing again, I will not get angry.

I will quietly move toward my goal.

And come closer to it with each day.Until I can say to Eva I have arrived at my goal And I shall keep going on Until I am in Ma'agal, Alongside Eva, And then higher still.

And Flaka will no longer be able to say That I am not trying.

Just the opposite, She will stand aside and wonder How I could reach the heavens, Because I shall be as high as the sky.

A few days later, Flaka and Lenka renewed their friends.h.i.+p and confirmed it in blood. They p.r.i.c.ked their fingertips and with drops of blood wrote on a piece of paper: "We, Flaka and Lenka, pledge our eternal loyalty and friends.h.i.+p." They buried the paper on the grounds of the ramparts.

Meanwhile, Helga was taking a good hard look at herself. Was she also uncooperative, egoistic, intolerant, as Tella was constantly upbraiding others for being? She confided her crisis of confidence to her diary: "I have to speak with Tella again. What happened was: I was just starting to get used to life in the Home when Ela disappointed me. I didn't want to begin another friends.h.i.+p all over again for fear of further disappointment. But I forgot one thing, and Tella is truly right about this: Be strict with yourself, but more tolerant and gentle with others. I need to follow that rule."

These were tense times, and everyone was on edge. The temperature had been high for days. Life was barely endurable under the roof of the Girls' Home. No wonder their Sabbath service just wouldn't go right. "Frau Muhlstein prayed and lit the candles. Normally we play games afterward. This time someone read aloud, but many girls were already on their bunks, some had even fallen asleep. Of twenty-seven girls there were seven at the table. What an impossible Sabbath. Ruth, who had made the arrangements for the evening, was so disappointed that she cried."

Even Ma'agal was not as successful as it had been earlier. During this period not one new member was chosen for the "circle of perfection." But those who were already in Ma'agal decided to divide it into three cla.s.ses. No one made it into the first cla.s.s; in the second were Handa and Muka, with Irena, Pavla, Eva Landa, and Eva h.e.l.ler in the third.

Helga was a bit hurt that she had been excluded from this select circle. "I will try hard to be the way the girls would like me to be. I would like to be better than I have been until now. I want to reach a higher level. I have to get into Ma'agal," she wrote in her diary while standing at the window, shortly before midnight. Then she spent a long time gazing out into the night. "What a lovely sight! Everyone asleep. The whole town wrapped in darkness, and oppressive heat brooding over the entire region. There is a deep serenity, with only a bird chirping here or there. Some lights are on in the factory, where you can hear the regular thumping of the hammer. It reminds me of something, though I don't know what."

The counselors joined forces to try to relieve the tension in Room 28. On July 16 they celebrated the birthday of Karel Pollak, Handa's father, whom everyone called Strejda (Uncle). The girls put on a little play ent.i.tled Twenty-five Years Later Twenty-five Years Later, which focused on Fika and her problems, with Eva Stern as an absentminded doctor carrying a scalpel in her shoes, storing a hypodermic in a wastebasket, and the like. Then the counselors presented the surprise the girls had been antic.i.p.ating for days. "It was very amusing. They had written a funny rhyme to sing about each of us. They were unrecognizable in their costumes. Tella had braids done up in red nets, a very short dirndl skirt, with underwear that reached below her knees. Instead of stockings she had painted red stripes on her legs. And her cheeks were red, too. Laura was wearing a man's formal coat, a top hat, and a genuine mustache made of curls. Eva Weiss wore a long skirt like those worn in the nineteenth century, a black hat with feathers, and a velvet cape that was cut to look like a fur. Her eyebrows were painted red. No one would have recognized her."

Eva Weiss gave each girl a sketch with an appropriate verse. Helga's picture showed a girl just leaving sick bay, with the words: "A girl named Helga / was a long time ill / she's back again now / thanks to G.o.d's good will." After each stanza was the refrain: "Yes, yes, yes / it's as clear as day / Yes, yes, yes / it's true in its way."

On July 25 the Youth Welfare Office put on a program in one of the barracks to honor the memory of Theodor Herzl. There was a speech by Gonda Redlich, a performance by Tella's girls' choir from L 410, a poem recited by an actress, and a ballet that depicted the story of the slaves in ancient Egypt. "I forgot to join in the singing, because I was dreaming," Helga jotted in her diary that evening. "I was standing at a window in the attic, gazing out on a picture come to life-a tree-lined road near Litomice. I could even see as far as the clock and, at some distance, little villages in the valley and on the hill, surrounded by splendid golden fields framed with woods and mountains."

Was liberation near? Helga's "picture come to life" was followed three days later by news that spread like the wind and set every heart in Theresienstadt aflutter. "And now for something very new," Helga wrote on July 28. "Mussolini abdicated yesterday, and I've been almost crazy ever since. I have this strange feeling, like the one I had when Papa moved to Kyjov to join us for good. Three days ago I said, the war is coming to an end. But I didn't feel anything. It seemed so unreal, faraway, but now I sense it is very close. I would like to dance, if I only could, and sing. I'm going to go crazy."

At the end of July, Theresienstadt was still baking under a merciless dome of heat. The temperature had reached ninety-five degrees in the shade. Days went by without a drop of rain. Unwelcome denizens of the town crept out of their hideaways and began to multiply out of control: bedbugs, lice, fleas. Above all, bedbugs. Suddenly the little black beasts could be seen, smelled, and heard tap, tap, tapping everywhere-on mattresses, beams, floors, and walls, in suitcases and shoes.

"Bedbugs. Bedbugs. The dreadful word sent a wave of horror throughout Theresienstadt," Hana Lissau wrote when she described the plague in an essay she composed six weeks later. "One day one of the girls in Room 28 found this horrible animal boring its way into her wooden bunk. She went into hysterics. When she had regained control of herself, she joined several other girls in banging against the wood of various planks, and then came the real horror-bedbugs, bedbugs everywhere, a sea of bedbugs! Bedbugs wherever you looked, nothing but bedbugs. We murdered whole families of bedbugs that day. They died wherever their enemy, human beings, appeared. It was simply impossible to stay in bed. We slept on the floor and in the hall, and the girls who remained in their bunks were covered all over with little red spots. Only gas can destroy these vermin-that was the word on everyone's lips, because gas was the only, the ultimate salvation. People kept coming into the room to inspect the bizarre situation."

"I can still recall," Judith Schwarzbart says, "how we dragged our mattresses and bedclothes outside, cleaned and beat and aired them in the garden-they were full of bedbugs. It was a terrible plague."

"It was worst between the wooden planks," Eva Weiss adds. "The cracks were black, black with bedbugs. Battalions of bedbugs! They had to spray the rooms. And at the entrance there was a sign, black print on yellow: GAS. BEWARE. MAY BE LETHAL GAS. BEWARE. MAY BE LETHAL. With a skull at the top."

"We slept in the hall a second night because of the bedbugs. Seven girls slept outside. We are all covered with bites," Helga reported on July 31. "We have permission to sleep in the garden, because you can't really sleep in the hall, since many Homes get up at five and raise a ruckus. Spraying didn't help at all. I caught six fleas and three bedbugs last night. Now wasn't that a successful hunt! And I didn't even need a gun. Something fell into my shoe. Walter, one of our Home's elders, killed whatever it was. Now I'm going to join Ela and Jiinka to make a 'tent' for tonight."

It was not until the night of August 4 that the first real thunderstorm arrived. Some girls went to the window to watch the jagged lightning bolts cut across the nighttime sky. Others climbed onto their neighbors' bunks for a better look at the spectacle. The storm was directly overhead for a good while. Each bolt was instantly followed by a clap of thunder-loud and eerie. Gradually the tension ebbed, as the girls fell into a deep sleep.

But there was still something in the air, an unidentifiable sense of unease that the thunderstorm had not swept away. "I'd like to know what the Germans have up their sleeves. They've emptied out the Sudeten Barracks and the armory," Helga jotted in her diary on July 31. "The entire Sudeten Barracks has to be completely evacuated within forty-eight hours. I saw a whole crowd of people moving their things. It's how I picture a retreat during war. And Papa told me that I was right about that."

Otto Pollak observed: "July 31, 1943. Evacuation of the Sudeten Barracks. Forty-five hundred people to be resettled. A whole city breaking camp. People packing, moving what little they have, all in a great commotion. Two-wheeled carts, hea.r.s.e wagons-those are the modes of transportation. Waves of people, unlike any I've seen. The square in front of the barracks is like some lively, colorful harbor scene."4 More disturbing changes were carefully noted. "The Germans are having even more Homes vacated. Every street has been given a name. Some are called lanes, some streets." Otto listed them in his diary: "New street names: L1 = See Stra.s.se. L 1A = Kurze Stra.s.se, L 2 = Bahnhof Stra.s.se. L 3 = Lange Stra.s.se. L 4 = Haupt Stra.s.se. L 5 = Park Stra.s.se, L 6 = Wall Stra.s.se, the road to Bohuovice = Sud Stra.s.se and what was Kopitzer Stra.s.se = West Stra.s.se ..."

SS Obersturmfuhrer Obersturmfuhrer Anton Burger had begun his work. He was the new camp commandant, having taken over from Siegfried Seidl on July 5, 1943. Because he was already privy to "Secret Reich Matters," Section IV B in Berlin considered him the ideal candidate for the post, especially since he had worked in close cooperation with Eichmann in the Central Office for Jewish Emigration in Vienna, Prague, and Brno, where his fanatical hatred of all things Czech and Jewish had already been put to the test. Above all it was his scheming in Brno, where he headed the Evacuation Fund for Bohemia and Moravia until his transfer to Berlin, that had established his reputation as one of the most brutal and unscrupulous n.a.z.is. Anton Burger had begun his work. He was the new camp commandant, having taken over from Siegfried Seidl on July 5, 1943. Because he was already privy to "Secret Reich Matters," Section IV B in Berlin considered him the ideal candidate for the post, especially since he had worked in close cooperation with Eichmann in the Central Office for Jewish Emigration in Vienna, Prague, and Brno, where his fanatical hatred of all things Czech and Jewish had already been put to the test. Above all it was his scheming in Brno, where he headed the Evacuation Fund for Bohemia and Moravia until his transfer to Berlin, that had established his reputation as one of the most brutal and unscrupulous n.a.z.is.

Anton Burger's arrival as the new camp commandant of Theresienstadt was a bad omen. Of course, no one could know precisely what he and his henchmen actually had in mind. When interrogated after the war, he claimed that he had taken on the work as Seidl's successor in order to achieve a smooth implementation of the imminent deportations ordered by Eichmann, but especially in order to make the ghetto "a jewel box, ready for representatives of the press and the Red Cross."5 Vermin continued to have the run of Theresienstadt. There was stench and filth everywhere, and there were forty-six thousand sleep-deprived, edgy, badly bitten human beings in close quarters. The hospitals and sick bays were overflowing. On August 11 the girls had to vacate their room, pack their few belongings, and sleep in the garden again. More radical measures had to be employed to deal with the bedbug plague. Helga did not find it easy to leave her diary behind. "I'll say goodbye to you, my dear friend. No one is to be allowed into the building until Sat.u.r.day. It is being ga.s.sed."

On one of those sweltering summer evenings, Giuseppe Verdi's Requiem Requiem was given its first public performance, under the direction of Rafael Schachter, in a room in the old town hall on the main square. "It was a brilliant premiere. The mixed choir was up on the podium- a hundred and fifty strong. The soloists stood in front of the choir: Marion Podolier, Heda Aronson-Lindt, David Grunfeld, and myself," Karel Berman wrote in his memoirs. was given its first public performance, under the direction of Rafael Schachter, in a room in the old town hall on the main square. "It was a brilliant premiere. The mixed choir was up on the podium- a hundred and fifty strong. The soloists stood in front of the choir: Marion Podolier, Heda Aronson-Lindt, David Grunfeld, and myself," Karel Berman wrote in his memoirs.6 For the first time, the Latin ma.s.s for the dead unleashed its immense power in the ghetto. The effect on the audience was overwhelming. The girls listened from the evening stillness of their garden as the singing, like a gentle earthquake, rolled toward them. For the first time, the Latin ma.s.s for the dead unleashed its immense power in the ghetto. The effect on the audience was overwhelming. The girls listened from the evening stillness of their garden as the singing, like a gentle earthquake, rolled toward them.

"At last the day came when the gas had taken care of the vermin," Hana Lissau described the end of the plague in her essay. "Three days later, we returned to Room 28. And what did we see? Dead bedbugs everywhere. We heaved a sigh of relief. And then our life went on as before. Thank G.o.d, without bedbugs."

"The news, or rather, bonkes bonkes, is moving through Theresienstadt, that a transport of 5,000 people is being put together," Ruth Gutmann wrote in her essay. "A tense atmosphere has descended over the streets, barracks, and Homes. Here and there people are saying 'I'm telling you, if a transport is leaving, I'll be on it.' 'Don't say that, you are protected here. And I'm only a simple worker.' Sad to say-this time it's not just bonkes bonkes. Now it is the sad truth. Last night 5,000 people were ordered to be on the transport."

Thursday, August 26, 1943Things are terrible here. There's an awful tension among the adults and in the girls' Homes. Transports are being prepared, off to a new ghetto, into the unknown. The first transport is to be made up of people who were convicted by the ghetto court, usually for minor offenses, plus sixty people from the AK transport. It looks like Pavla will be on it, too, since her father was in jail for three months. One of Papa's neighbors will be on it as well ghetto, into the unknown. The first transport is to be made up of people who were convicted by the ghetto court, usually for minor offenses, plus sixty people from the AK transport. It looks like Pavla will be on it, too, since her father was in jail for three months. One of Papa's neighbors will be on it as well.And something else: 1,500 children are to arrive tonight. Word is that they're from Poland. We're making toys and little sewing bags for them. They will be in quarantine for a month, so that they don't bring in any disease with them.-I have infectious diarrhea. Of twenty-seven girls, sixteen are already confined to bed, and three more are also sick.

The next day there was a barracks lockdown-it was forbidden to leave any building without permission. That evening Eva Winkler watched from the window in the hallway on the third floor as a procession of little children marched down the street. "I can still see it before me. There were maybe fifty, sixty little children. It left a horrible im pression on me."

Other girls cautiously crowded around the closed window. It was forbidden to open windows, and the girls didn't dare let the Germans see them gazing with curiosity at the street below where the children were straggling past. They were dressed in rags, many of them in shoes far too big for them, some in wooden clogs, some barefoot, the larger children holding tight to the hands of the smaller ones.

The children from Bialystok; drawing by Helga Weiss, Room 24 Otto Pollak watched the same spectacle from a different perspective that evening. "At 5:30, I was crossing the deserted Q3, Badhaus Ga.s.se, and saw a sad procession of children, maybe twenty-five in all, coming from the bathhouse where they had been 'disinsectified' [disinfected]. Led by a few female counselors, they moved slowly in the direction of Bohuovice/Sud Stra.s.se."

There they were a.s.signed to quarters in the West Barracks, outside the city walls-some twelve hundred children from the Polish ghetto in Bialystok. Any contact with them was forbidden. "But we did learn a few things about them all the same," Helga Weiss wrote in her diary. "None of the children can speak Czech, we don't even know whether they are Polish or Jewish children. From the ramparts we can catch glimpses of them. This morning they were marched to the Receiving Office. They look awful. You can't even guess at their ages. They all have old faces and very thin little bodies. They aren't wearing stockings, and only a few of them even have shoes. They came out of the Receiving Office with shaved heads, which means they have lice. Their eyes are full of fear."7 To take care of these children, fifty-three doctors and counselors were specially selected-among them Franz Kafka's youngest sister, Ottla David-Kafka, who worked in the ghetto as a children's counselor. They were housed in the West Barracks and were not allowed back into the ghetto. The adults were sworn to complete silence about anything they heard or saw there. And everyone else was forbidden under threat of punishment to have any contact with the children.

People in Theresienstadt were puzzled by something very unusual about these children. Why had they held back and screamed so loudly when they were sent to the showers, they asked themselves? Why had they acted so strangely? It was incomprehensible to the residents of Theresienstadt, for whom a shower in the bathhouse was the ultimate luxury. The whole affair was veiled in secrecy. Rumor, bonkes bonkes, had it that they were to be sent to Palestine or Switzerland; some sort of exchange, some deal was being planned. But no one knew anything specific about it.8 Uneasiness and anxiety had held sway over the ghetto since the an nouncement of the imminent transports, especially after August 24, when all residents of the Hamburg Barracks between the ages of sixty and eighty had to register.

The first and second transports, Dl and Dm, were to be made up of twenty-five hundred persons each, plus eight hundred others on a reserve list-all of them primarily from the Protectorate. Who would receive the dreaded slip of paper this time? Fear was growing throughout the ghetto.

Ruth Gutmann wrote in her essay: A few girls in our Home knew they would be on the transport. Among them was Pavla, my best friend. My first thought was that I could not live without her.There was no order to a.s.semble for transport that night, or the next morning either. We were so agitated that we couldn't remain inside the Home. There was still no news at noon.That afternoon our Kue (Zdenka Lowy) received her summons. We thought she would cry. But Kue was brave. That evening the summons came for Pavla and Olile. Olile's parents didn't want to tell her. We decided we would all stay awake. But we all fell asleep after a while, as if someone had dropped us into deep water.The next morning the reserve list was posted, and Poppi's and Helena's names were on it. Now began a great flurry of packing. They were supposed to report at three that afternoon. It's hard to fathom how much fright one morning can contain! Zdenka's father came and wanted to help her pack. She offered him three tomatoes. But he refused them and said, "Keep them, Zdenka. I'm so hungry I could eat all three at once." And then he began to cry, and it became clear to us that he hadn't eaten anything and that the whole family didn't have even a piece of bread. When we heard that, we all began to cry too, and each of us looked for something to eat. That day was the third time I had ever seen a grown man cry.Zdenka gave us all a kiss, happy that her suitcase was being stuffed fuller and fuller. We told her, "Don't forget, we are in this together, we all help each other. It's the most natural thing in the world." Olile didn't have anything to wear either. We gave her what we could. Then at three o'clock they left.Helga's diary continues:Sat.u.r.day, September 4, 1943People are to board the transport tomorrow morning. For the time being, Zdenka is the only one of us on it. But the summons will come in several batches. Zdenka is being brave. Everything's in a terrible commotion here. Lilly's parents and her sister are leaving, which is why she volunteered to join them. It will be a total of 5,000 people, only Czech Jews. Frau Stein is leaving with her husband, Uncle Max, and Aunt Paula. They are supposed to stay at the building where they live, and get together with their families only at their a.s.sembly point. There are so many a.s.sembly points. Zdenka is going to the Hamburg Barracks, where she will stay in quarantine with 500 other people.From Otto Pollak's diary:Sunday, September 5, 1943A dark day despite the suns.h.i.+ne. The 5,000 to be transported are quartered in barracks, awaiting transport. Twenty-nine people from our Home have been summoned for transport. a.s.sembly at nine o'clock at Hamburg Barracks. Four people from my room are among them.It's a beautiful day, so people can do their packing outside. Both courtyards look like an oriental bazaar. Everywhere tables are piled high with things. I'm working hard in the main office.Helga is all churned up inside, since six of her best friends are leaving. She has a little goodbye gift for each one. Helga doesn't want to spend time with me in the garden tonight because it reminds her too much of her comrades, who had to line up to be counted there-about seventy in all. It is an awful evening. Saying our goodbyes, perhaps forever, is cutting us to the quick.Helga's diary continues:Sunday, September 5, 1943What a day! But it's all over now. They are all in the "sluice." Pavla, Helena, Zdenka, Olile, and Poppinka are the ones from our group to be going. Poppinka and Helena are in the reserves, and there is a possibility that they will be left out. Each of us gave Zdenka something. She is so poor. I gave her a half ration of bread, a tin of liverwurst, some linden blossom tea, and sugar. Her father came to help her pack, and Zdenka gave him bread, sugar, and tomatoes. He didn't want any of it for himself. We girls forced him to take it and promised to give Zdenka more things. He began to cry and thanked us children and the counselors for taking such good care of his daughter. We were so touched that by now we were all crying. Strejda gave him a whole loaf of bread. We managed to furnish them with a little bag of food in a very short time is a possibility that they will be left out. Each of us gave Zdenka something. She is so poor. I gave her a half ration of bread, a tin of liverwurst, some linden blossom tea, and sugar. Her father came to help her pack, and Zdenka gave him bread, sugar, and tomatoes. He didn't want any of it for himself. We girls forced him to take it and promised to give Zdenka more things. He began to cry and thanked us children and the counselors for taking such good care of his daughter. We were so touched that by now we were all crying. Strejda gave him a whole loaf of bread. We managed to furnish them with a little bag of food in a very short time.At six o'clock in the evening they reported for a.s.sembly, each to a different place. The goodbyes were hard, but we were all very brave, except for Helena, whom I saw really breaking down in tears for the first time today. At eight o'clock I went looking for Zdenka. She was with her entire family, all sitting on their luggage, and she was so happy to see me that she wept and laughed at the same time. Although I did sleep last night, I had terrible dreams, and when I woke up I had black circles under my eyes.Monday, September 6, 1943I got up at six o'clock to see Zdenka one last time. When I got to the Hamburg Barracks, people were just coming out the back gate on their way to board the transport. Everything was blocked by woode