My name is Roslyn Goldofsky, my maiden family name was Szarf. Also, my adopted name was Merenstein. In Poland, my Jewish name was Ruchla. During the war, in Polish, I was known as Rozalia, Rozia. I had a Polish family name too, Borzecka. When I came to the States, I became Roslyn. 

I was born in Piaski Szlacheckie, that was in the Lublin district of Poland, on March 22, 1929. I have two sisters, Bella and Rivka. Bella is my twin, she is eight hours older then me. We had a windmill, we had a general store and land that was cultivated. The war broke out in 1939. By 1941 we were chased out of our home by the German edicts and we had quarters at a neighbor who gave us something a little better then a barn to live in. A Jew could not maintain their own home, and if they wanted to be free, not go into a ghetto, they had to work for a gentile. So mother farmed us out to gentile friends. To stay with them. So that we would not be herded into a ghetto.  

I was fully aware what was happening to the Jews. The Germans used to close off the ghetto and catch the Jews and send them away - or shoot them. My cousins, two or three of them were shot pretty early.

A Jehovah's witness by the name of Jozef Borzecky, he was a poor man on the fringes of society, he took us in for a full month. My mother had a good rapport with him. I also presume because we had that store and many times they came to buy and they never had money. So I guess he was grateful for that. Also, since he believed what the Book says, he wanted to help another human being. Not only that, he helped to arrange false papers for us. My sister from that time had a different name and she was a friend, not a sister. Mother decided to take us to different locations around Warsaw, she was intelligent, bright and courageous. She claimed we were displaced Poles looking for a home and work.

Mother used to tutor us; she used to prepare questions and answers for us. If they ask you this, you say this, if they ask you that, you answer that. She had anticipated questions and answers for us. I learned during the war that if somebody asked me a question to filter first the answer and not readily answer right away. She made us learn Catechism and she instructed us to go to Church to observe how the other people act. It saved our life when we were arrested.

Then the Russians came. It was 1944, in the fall. We were afraid of rape. I did not fear for myself, I did not look my age, but my sister was a full-blown woman, she was two years older than me. We hid her behind a trapdoor in a cellar. Then, after a few weeks, mother decided she should go to Lublin to see who had survived, and she left me with my older sister. She came back and she said: “You know who is alive? Moshe Merenstein. He wants to marry me.” I said: Marry him.” We all said it. But I could not bring myself to call him father. 

After the war, everybody wanted to go to the Americas. Who wanted to stay in Poland? They hated us even after the war. I remember when I was a student and walked with some Polish friends on the main street, boys walking opposite us, they used to point out, you see, she is Jewish. They told me they had to tolerate me because I was an excellent student and I could help them in class. You just felt it.  When I was a Catholic, as a Pole, I was respected and liked. As a Jew, I was hated. We wanted to leave. We could not stay there.

My name is Pinchas Gutter, and I was born in Łódź in 1932. I had a twin sister. We lived a very religious life. For the last 400 years – before the Second World War – my family were all wine makers.  My father and my grandfather together owned the largest winery in Poland. I had a very large extended family.  I knew between 150 and 200 relatives personally, because we used to get together quite a lot.  Our life was very uneventful before the war.

My mother, my sister and I were blonde and blue eyed.  We spoke pure Polish like the Poles and could easily dress up and look like Poles. We went down to the railway and we bought tickets and we went to Warsaw.  My father was dark and couldn’t use the train because Jews were already not allowed to travel by train. So he smuggled himself on foot, several months until he came in Warsaw. The two-room apartment that my father found happened to be in the ghetto.

My father did not believe a word the Germans said. We were kind of semi-hidden right from the beginning. We did not venture out, we did not do anything. This went on until 1943.

We were betrayed. When they marched us through the streets of the Warsaw Ghetto, there was fire burning on both sides. I remember going through rivers of fire. We were walking in the middle and on both sides the buildings were burning. And even then people would break away from the column and try and run away.

When we arrived in Majdanek, we were pushed out of these wagons and separated into men and women, and then, grownups and children. My father told me I must say I’m 18 years old. My mother, somehow lost sight of my sister.  My sister was kind of pushed towards the children. My mother was screaming. And they pushed my mother towards that part where the children were. And a lot of other women went there too. That’s the last time I saw my sister and my mother.

My father was in front of me. He was there one second and then the next second he disappeared. And that was the last time I saw my father.

Internally there were Jewish police. One morning they announced that all the people that are going to be called are going to be going away in railcars, and the others are going to walk. At the beginning, people started forming up and I went out. Suddenly there was a kind of panic - people started realizing that when the Germans start doing something you mustn’t listen. And I remembered what my father did, that he didn’t…So I started running.

The Jewish police started looking for everybody. And this policeman that I looked after his wife pulled me out from under the barrack. He told me there’s no point in me hiding because they’ll pull me out and they’ll kill me. And he said “I’m going to do something which maybe will help you.” And he gave me completely new clothing. Then he did something which, again you know this is something that you remember because you think, “well, that was the last touch that maybe saved my life.” He took a women’s lipstick and rubbed it to my cheeks so I should look healthier. The Wachtmeister started pulling people out. And I stood in the front row. And next to me stood my best friend, also a young boy. The German got to him and he pulled him out and then he passed over me.

And that was another, I mean, I want to call it a milestone but it wasn’t a milestone, it was a milestone in reverse. It was again a kind of horrendous experience. I felt that I was executed. Because I felt guilty. Because I felt relieved I wasn’t taken. My best buddy who we went through the most atrocious things together, was pulled out and I knew he was going to be shot. So that was that.

My present name is Raya Kovensky, my maiden name was Wachotinski. When we came over to the U.S., within five years my father changed it to Watkin. I was born on January 30, 1930, in Danzig, which at that time was a free state between Germany and Poland.

My parents were born in Kiev in imperial Russia, my older sister was born there as well. I believe it was at the time of the Bolshevik revolution when my father felt it was time to get out of there. He laid the groundwork for my mother carrying my baby sister to travel from village to village towards the West, to get toDanzig. At that time Jews were very well in Danzig. My father was in the lumber business.

I would say it started changing, maybe even before, but for me in 1937. I do remember the Nazis in the streets, I do remember the children being taught very, very early on to hate Jews. When I went home from school I would always see if I can seek out an older adult so that I could walk with that person knowing that these children won’t harm me if I am with an older adult. You could't go to the park. You couldn't go to the theater. You couldn't go to public school. We had a lovely synagogue that was, of course, destroyed during the Kristallnacht.

My father had the same foresight that he had with Russia, I mean the Bolshevik revolution there, and he felt the same thing was happening. I think my father realized that whatever plans he started making had to be finished and we had to get out before it was too late. Fortunately for all of us. Otherwise, I couldn't be here talking to you right now.

We did not leave until June of 1939. I think I was very excited because I realized that I was going to America. The Goldene Medina, which means the land of gold. Gold in the streets and all that, which, you know… as a child, I guess you believe anything. I remember the Statue of Liberty being gold in color, which of course, it is not. But coming at the time that the sun was setting and it just turned golden. I remember she was so beautiful to look at it. And it's a wonderful thing to reach American shores and to see this wonderful, wonderful statue. We had my aunt greet us in New York, she came and then we took the train to Chicago.

I don’t think there is a person alive who does not recall what exactly they did onDecember 7, 1941. I remember very vividly saying to myself, “Oh my god, we’re at war. We just left Germany two years prior to escape the madness there. How are we going to be involved? How horrible.” I was devastated that this could happen to us here in America now.

My name is John Adler. I was born September 17, , 1923 in Goldberg, Germany. My mother had a store.They had to give up the store because antisemitism became strong. She was a nice person, loved by the whole family. [My father] was a house painter. They had no problem with the neighbors, but as time evolved, they all became partially Nazis. 

I remember on Kristallnacht [in November 1938] the synagogue was burned. Burned to the ground. I was standing at the window, watching the flames. Oh, my. I was very angry. Very, very angry - they’re burning MY synagogue. The fire brigades came and were told to let it burn. They were standing around. There was one family living across from the synagogue and they just disappeared. That prompted allJews to realize that you cannot live in Germany, because there were some that had thought “It can’t last. Hitler can’t last; it’s going to blow over.” But it didn’t blow over, obviously.

We learned my uncle Jacob was put in jail. He was interrogated and beaten every day. Three weeks later, his wife got a call from the Gestapo that her husband had hung himself.

After this, all of my cousins and my parents went to travel office to buy tickets for Shanghai, the only country at that time who did not request a visa. In the meantime, I had joined a Jewish club, Bar Kochba.We had meetings, and we were talking about Israel, and I’d made up my mind. That is where I'm going to go if I have to leave Germany, because they’re Jewish. And my parents, of course, said: “No, you're going with us.” So one Saturday night, when my parents were visiting with someone in the house, I wrote a note, put it on the kitchen table, broke my piggy bank, and left. I bought a one-way ticket toBerlin to get a visa for Palestine. It took a lot of begging and they finally said ok.

I went to a preparation camp for life in a kibbutz in a village between Breslau and Berlin. I opened up like a butterfly. I left Germany with this group on August 30, 1939, one day before the invasion of Poland.My mother had sent my passport to Berlin. One day before we were to leave, my passport was missing.It was a tragedy. In the morning, the director called Berlin and asked for permission to hire a car that he and I can drive to Breslau so I can plead with them to give me an exit visa. I had no travel permit. We boarded an Italian ship.

When I arrived in Palestine in Haifa, there were school children and flags and they sang the Hatikvah, and I was happy. Shortly after I turned 18, I joined the army. We were transferred to Egypt. The army was not fun. Three years in the desert, the Sahara, was no fun.

About halfway through [WW2] I was called to the commandant’s office and he had a telegram for me. It told me that my parents are alive and well in Shanghai. They had received an affidavit to come to theUnited States. And frankly, I had promised them to go wherever you can and I'll follow. I came on a former Liberty Boat - and when the ship came into New York through the Statue of Liberty, we cried and we laughed.

My name is Joshua Kaufman. They used to call me Sheibe in Yiddish, my Hebrew name was Yehoshua. I was born February 20, 1928 in a city named Debrecen, Hungary. My father was areligious fanatic. Basically all our family life was Talmud, Torah study. One day the rabbi gave a speech to our parents, “Watch out for your children, there exists a Jewish organization called Hashomer Hacair and they raise children, teenagers to be anti religious, not to eat kosher, boys and girls are together, horrible!”

I went to the city and I said I have to find this organization. They told me they teach self-protection.When the fascists beat you up, you do not run, you do not cry for help, you stand up and you beat them back. I said this is a very beautiful education. I told them, “Write down my name, I am now a member of your organization.”

That was easy to say, but to tell your parents, it was a tragedy for them. No more old Joshua. I was embarrassed to tell my parents. I went to the barber, I cut down my payes, I threw away the hat. I said to my mother: “Ima, I do not pray anymore, I will behave different.” And I said to my brother,“From now on, I am not asking for shelter to save me. They beat me up, I beat them back. The more they beat me, the more wild I get and the more stronger I get.”

You never knew what is the next step, what is waiting for you. Authorities told you to take what you can into your hand and stand in front of where you live. And I was standing there like a horse, nobody talks to you. After two days, they marched us, they said to a ghetto. I was happy, I wanted to move from that street in front of our home, I did not know what a ghetto is. Ghetto had a gate and it was closed. When we went to the rail station, I was very happy. I said: “We are improving!” I looked forward only for happiness.

When we arrived to Auschwitz, Mengele was standing there with a stick, pointing you go there and you go here. I did not know what was here, what was there. But I knew one thing - they said my brother and my mother to go there. And for me they said go here. I wanted to go with them.Wherever they go, I go. And the [Nazis] beat me up two or three times, but I always went back.Then they brought a dog, the dog jumped on me, threw me to the ground, and I said: “Joshua, don’t be smart, you cannot fight them.” They said go here and I went here, I did not go with [my mother and brother]. If I did go with them, I would go out the chimney as smoke the same day, like they did. I was tall, athletic. They wanted me to work, and decided this guy is not for the crematorium. I did not decide.

I always was curious what will be the next step. And the next step was: I know that I have to survive. This was in my mind. They used to ask for volunteers. And I was the first all the time in the barrack to say: “I am volunteering.” For everything. This was a very dangerous volunteering. One day, with all my volunteering, I volunteered for the gas chamber. What my job was, you have to separate the people who died from the gas. I became an animal. You fight for your life.

I was in a death march from Birkenau to Dachau, 1,000 kilometers. I volunteered, of course. They offered three days food in advance. We were liberated by American soldiers. And then I promised myself, that one day, if I am alive, I will go to America, whenever I see an American soldier, I always will kiss his feet. But I never did it. Can you imagine, here in Los Angeles? I never did it.

My name is Elsa Ross. My maiden name was Szpidbaum. I was born on November 2, 1936, inWarsaw, Poland. I have been told that my grandfather on my father’s side was a rabbi, but he later became a businessman. He had a candy and chocolate factory. Unfortunately, I myself cannot remember, but I have been told we used to all get together at their house on Fridays. My father manufactured candy wrappers for my grandfather’s factory. I remember playing with the candy wrappers.

I think I must have been happy. The street where I lived, Panska, was not in the ghetto, but I am not sure about that. I think we later moved into the ghetto. I do have memories, and these are my own memories, of hiding under furs, in my grandfather’s factory or somewhere near there. Hidingunder furs, playing under furs, it is a very vague memory. It is not a frightening memory at all. But that’s all I remember.

In the ghetto, I remember the quarters were very cramped. I remember being told not to sneeze or make too much noise because someone might hear me. I also have a memory of my mother sitting by a sewing machine crying. I remember voices telling me to run. To run out of the ghetto. It was a street scene, I remember, at night, to run toward a truck that was waiting for me. And to jump into it. At the time I was separated from my parents I was told never to tell anyone that I was Jewish.

I went into an apartment. These were people who taught me some Catholic prayers. In order to learn the prayers, I might have stayed for more than one day. Then I went to an orphanage, outside of Warsaw. I remember a large room where a lot of us slept, all together. I might have been four years old. I remember being ill-at-ease. I remember running out of the orphanage when there was an air raid, toward a shelter, and I was not running fast enough because they were telling me to run faster. And I remember an explosion very close by.

A friend of a friend of my mother used to come visit me every Sunday, at the orphanage. Her name was Halina Liszecka. I looked forward to her visits very much. I never asked about my parents. I just remember the highlight of the day was standing in line to get a square piece of bread dipped in cod liver oil. It tasted wonderful, a delicacy for us. I think I remember saying prayers, but I do not remember when we said them. I felt very Catholic. My new, Polish, Catholic name was Elzunia Zalewska. I think this Catholicism that was instilled in me at the time has had a tremendous impact on my whole life. I still like Catholic churches, the ritual of the Catholic mass.

I can’t remember anyone saying “Wow the war is over, let us celebrate,” nothing like that. But I do remember my aunt coming to get me. I thought she was my mother. She reminded me of my mother. And then when she told me she wasn’t my mother, I was terribly upset. I must have longed for my parents. She told me my mother was no longer alive. I was terribly disappointed. I cried.

She took me to Krakow, I had to share the room with her son. I can’t remember being that much happier, but I definitely remember a great difference. The difference was freedom. Being able to go out in the street and talk to people. I can't remember when exactly my other aunt came to take me away from aunt Irene, her name was Anna, my father’s twin sister. She had lost her child in a concentration camp. And she said to aunt Irene: “Your son survived, my son didn’t, so I'm going to take her.” We left Poland.

I seem to be one of those people who doesn’t ask enough questions, I might have always been like that. And maybe it started early on. This business of not asking questions. And it has continued.

My name is Eva Geiringer Schloss. I was born 11 May,1929, in Vienna, Austria. I had a brother Heinz, we got on extremely well. We had a big house with a big garden. We were a real very happy family. 

In 1939, the war started. In February 1940, we went to Amsterdam. My father hired a furnished flat. One of the families who moved in there were the Frank family. Anne was exactly my age. (After the war, OttoFrank became a very good friend and married my mother).

My brother was very much afraid of dying. We went to my father and said, “We are very frightened of dying.” And my father said, “Well you will never die because whatever you do in your life, every movement, everything you say, it will stay. And everything you say will go into your children, and so you are just part of a chain.” He hoped the chain would not be broken. So we had hope. As long as there is life, there is hope.

The Germans invaded Holland in May 1940. My father made all the arrangements for us to go into hiding.My father was so clever, I thought it was amazing how he thought about everything. My father said,“Forget who you really are, you have to learn now, you are this and this, date of birth, and your name, and your mother this and this name. You are just this.”

My 15th birthday, there was a loud knock on the door. There were the SS with Dutch and German police.We went to the Gestapo headquarters and we were petrified. We knew this is our end, really.

May ‘44 we went to Westerbork. After a few days, they told us we were going to Auschwitz. The first orders were men and women to separate. That was the last time I saw Heinz. He helps me down the train and then we cuddled and hugged. And my father embraced me too. And he said, “God will protect you.”

We had to leave everything we carried there. It was May, it was warm, a friend had sent a long coat and ahat. And this was one thing which saved my life, because I looked older.

One day, the SS came, and said to me, Kanada, a work kommando where you worked to sort out the clothes, the food, and whatever the transports brought. In Kanada, we could eat the whole day. Bits of chocolate, bit of cheese, pieces of bread. Whatever we found, we ate. After about six weeks they didn’t need so many people and we were dismissed. And then we had to do terrible work.

Food was very important to us. My mother was quite clever. There was a kitchen where they cooked the soup. And the Poles got more food than us, and they threw away their bad cabbage and the tops of carrots and so on. We took that. And we went back to the barracks and said “We have parsley to sell.”And so we swapped that for a bit of bread, a bit of soap and things like that.

One morning we woke up and there were no Germans. I saw a huge figure standing, all covered in snow and fur. I thought it was a bear and then I went a bit closer and I saw the first Russian soldier who had entered the camp.

We went to where the Russian [liberators] had just left. We saw there a dead horse lying on the frozen ground. And a Polish woman said, “I can make a wonderful horse stew out of that.” I went and got this big knife. We cut out a funny round thing and when we cut it, saw that it was a womb and it was a little horse in it. And the Russians had choked it because it was pregnant and they couldn’t take it along. So we still cut a bit of it and made a stew and ate it. When I think about that, that I did this, I just think that can’t be true.

After having gone through this nightmare, I think I can cope with life. I think I came out stronger than I was before.

My name is Hanna Pankowsky.  My maiden name is Davidson. I was born in Łódź, Poland on September,22, 1928. My mother's name was Sofia Davidson. My father’s Jewish name was Zellman. But during our years in Russia, they changed it to Simon Davidson. I have one brother; his name was Kazik. I have very loving parents. It was a very happy childhood. Very happy memories of that time.

We knew that it's inevitable the Nazis were coming. I remember like today, I was ready to go to school, it was September 1 st 1939, and the radio said “Germany invaded Poland.” My father and my brother grab the backpack they have ready and they say, “We're leaving, we have to leave right now.” I can see them, my father and brother, disappear around the corner and I start crying and wanted to run behind them. Our housekeeper said “Don’t cry, Germans don’t like crying girls.” From then on, it was agony and fear.

I remember it was almost winter already. We saw the beautiful synagogue across the street burning. To our horror, we saw a bunch of Jews throwing buckets of gasoline and behind them was SS soldiers with machine guns. We heard the screaming of the people locked inside. We were children, we were petrified that this would happen to us. There was fear, panic, terror. No way to describe this nightmare. My mother did such a beautiful, strong painting of this, it’s the cover of my book.

The rumor started the ghetto was going to be formed. And my mother said “I'm going to escape.” I don’t know how she arranged it, but she came one day and said, “Put two dresses on, and a coat and two pairs of socks. We're leaving.” And she wouldn't tell me where we're leaving. And I ask if I can take my doll with me and she said. “No, you cannot take anything. Run very fast to your grandmother, say goodbye to her.” I did. Then I say, “Don't worry gram, I will be back soon.” And she said, “No, I never see you again.”  And I didn't.

My mom obtained Polish papers that we are this man, wife, and daughter and we're going to visitfamily. It was dark. There was a checkpoint when driving. They stop the car and search the car and tookthe man and my mother and me to separate room. I knew that if I show fear and if I cry, this Germanwoman who was searching me will find something that's not right and this will be the end of us. So Iknew not to cry, to smile, be polite...and she let me go.

My mother and I were left in the forest and we had to cross the river. The Germans knew the sound oftrying to escape. They wanted to kill everybody. So they had searching dogs and we heard the dogsapproaching and my mother threw me in the snow and covered me with the snow and herselftoo...Somehow, the dogs lost the scent of us.

When we reached the destination, a woman opened the door. She just stood there and couldn't believeit. She said, “Do I have a surprise for you!” And we come inside and here comes my brother. Andneedless to say, that was a miracle, my brother survived.

I have to say, leaving Poland was a lifesaving decision because when we came back, the doorman of our apartment house told my mother that half an hour after we left, the Gestapo came to arrest her because she was an artist. At that time, Germans tried eliminate all the scholars, scientists, and Jewish writers and artists. If we had stayed 30 minute more, I wouldn’t be here.After the war when we arrived in Dallas we indeed could get in touch with my father. There is just no word you can describe when you think that some dear to you is dead and here he's alive and healthy. So that's an unbelievable joy.

Born in 1925, Krakow, Poland

Oil on Panel

Exhibited

My name is Edward Mosberg. I was born January 6, 1926 in Krakow, Poland. I had two sisters,  older, one younger. My parents had a department store. We had a happy family.

When the war started, I went with my father towards the east. Away from the Germans. We went to Lwów first; there were a lot of people running away. We were hiding in the haystacks in the field near Stanislawów. Then my mother sent somebody to pick me up and bring me back to Krakow.

In 1941, they formed a ghetto. I was happy that I was with my family, my aunt, my grandparents, my sisters, my mother. All in one apartment. And then everything broke. I remember to remain in the ghetto, you needed to get a stamp, so I went to find one. The Gestapo look at me and give mea stamp. I took my mother’s ID, the Gestapo again looked at me and gave me the stamp. Then Igot my aunt’s ID. The Gestapo head grabbed me by my neck and pushed me against the wall. Atone point the Jewish police came in and took me to the jail. I knew some of them, the Jewish police. They helped me and in the end I ran away. The next day, whoever did not have an ID was taken to Belzec, to be murdered there.

At the end of 1942, I went to work in Wieliczka. On March 13, 1943 they told us that we had to take whatever we had and bring it to the street. At that time I recognized Amon Goeth; that was the first time I saw him. Running around like maniac, with a gun, shooting, beating people. I was working in the office at Plaszow at that time, but I used to go back to the ghetto after work.

Now we all got to Plaszow. I saw Amon Goeth every day. I saw him do horrible things. I saw him after the war too. I went to the trial. And I went to jail to see him. I was still afraid of him.

In May 1944, they took my mother from Plaszow to Auschwitz. I remember I went into the barrack,I lay down and I cried the whole night. But I had to go to work. So I went to work. Then in August, they rounded up people in the assembly place and there was a long row of people. Six thousand women. My sister was there. I could not get to them. If I interfered, maybe they could have survived. I feel guilty for so many years because of my failure to save them. The next day, or two days later, I went to Mauthausen.

I ended up in a concentration camp at Linz. One day I got caught by four men, and they were beating me. I will never forget it, I feel it till this day how they are beating me. At that point somebody passed by, a prisoner policeman. He was a Polish guy. He opened the door just as they wanted to drown me in a barrel of water. And he pulled me out from there. There was blood allover me. Back in the barrack I heard one of the guys say: “He is dying.” And the next day I had togo to work.

I survived. I had tuberculosis of bones and lungs. I didn’t have a bar mitzvah because the war started. But I had it here in the United States in 1993. My grandson, Barry, was born on my birthday, so we had it together, the bar mitzvah.

Now I like to go [to Kracow] because whenever I walk, I remember. Here I was going with my father, here was I with my mother, playing here with my sisters. It’s painful, but I remember.

Born in 1925, Signet, Hungry

Oil on Panel

Exhibited

As anti-Semitism in German-occupied countries grew, Lazar was pressed into forced labor. Working from early morning to late night, he helped build bunkers. Heavy hauling jobs that would normally be performed with horses were consigned entirely to humans. The one silver lining was that, unlike the prisoners in extermination camps, these workers weren’t systematically killed. “They weren’t nice to us,” says Lazar, “but there was no gas chambers.”

Louise was about 20 when she was deported to Auschwitz: “A woman that was in power at the time liked my shoes,” says Louise, “and she took them and I had no shoes. I was barefoot. It was cold, northern climate there: it’s cold in the fall. We struggled.”

My name is Sam Goldofsky. I was born in Bedzin, Poland, on March 1, 1928. They call me at birth Shlomo. We were a family of five. My sister, my brother and myself. We went to synagogue. We had an active, vibrant community. It was a beautiful life. I believe that character is being built until a certain age. My character was built – I had a wonderful family.

When the Germans came in September 1939, we tried to run away. The Germans were with tanks coming right in front of us so we came back to our town. Then all the trouble started.

Eventually we were taken away from the house and sent to a ghetto called Kamionka. I think it was the end of 1942. We were pushed into one room. In summer 1943, the ghetto was liquidated.

We arrived in a place. We didn’t know it was Auschwitz. There were dogs, Germans with machine guns, and prisoners in striped uniforms. When we came in, we saw a sign arbeit macht frei. We saw a gate, yelling, screaming, and commotion. We were sent into Birkenau.

I was made a runner in Auschwitz-Birkenau. I would run from camp to camp with information. For this Ireceived more bread. With whatever I had, I would share with my brother, Isaac.

We were transferred to Auschwitz III, my brother and myself. It was January-February 1944. A French-Jew kapo,

Zeppel, took me and my brother and said: “You go in the kitchen to peel potatoes.” I had it alittle better, at least I could eat raw carrots and I can bring out food hidden in my pants. I would shove in potatoes, carrots, spinach and bring out to the prisoners. One time, I was caught by the Lagerführer. Heasked me to whom I carry this food. I said for myself. I knew I’m going to be dead already, what’s the difference? Why should I take with me some other people? I was stripped, hit 30 times and I passed out.I found myself on a bed somehow, then I was called into Alois Frey’s personal quarters and made into his butler. I still don’t know why he did it, maybe there’s some respect. Who knows? He gave

me a name, Otto. That name remained with me all the time. Even now when I meet somebody from there, hecalls me Otto.

One day, we were called out in the morning. We saw a hanging platform and it had four ropes hangingdown. At the same time, there was four boys. They put them in the gallows. We had to come close tothe gallows. And they announced in a threatening voice that because they were trying to run away fromhere, they are being sentenced to death by hanging. One of the [boys], nice guy, he told us: “Don’tforget us. Take Nekamah- take revenge against them.” And he spit on the face of one of the guards. Thatwas a terrible thing to see. Can’t explain the emotions at that time.

They started marching us out of Auschwitz III. We marched through Poland. There was one brutalcriminal, a kapo. He caught a boy from France and cut his throat in front of everybody. I’m supposed tobe next. But I saved myself. I had some privileges. As he came to cut my throat, I had a big fight with himand he couldn’t cut my throat. I really beat him up.I don’t like to be showed off [as a survivor].

I always cover my number – I don’t want people to be sorryfor me.