Judith Steinberg was deported from Paks, Hungary, to Auschwitz in June 1944:

We were put in a big school hall, we were all sitting on the floor with a rucksack. They said we are going to go to work.

We looked at each other, ‘Where are we going to work? What is going to happen to us?’ Nobody knew. We were just sent there. 

3 days, 3 nights. The wagon wasn’t an ordinary train, it was to transport animals. There were German guards outside the school, nobody can escape. They said, ‘If one of you escapes, we shoot 10, straight away!’ We were like sardines. Over 2000 people in the hall. They said, ‘Just take your things, you are going to work.’ 

We collected some photographs, bits of valuable, watch, my father’s pocket watch & bits & pieces. But there was hardly any food. We were all starving but we didn’t know where we were going. We were still in our normal clothes. When we went through the city main street, some people were crying, some were looking out of curiosity, wondering where they were taking the Jews.

The Germans just said, ‘Get on, move on!’ ‘Schnell, schnell!’ or ‘Tempo!’, that was their favourite expression. So we were pushed in these wagons. 3 days & 3 nights. 

When we arrived in Auschwitz, two babies were dead, in my wagon. I was with my mother and four brothers. I believe that my father & oldest brother died in Mauthausen. I lost the voice in the wagon, I was very thirsty. One elderly man & two babies died & we lost our voice. 

We could hardly speak when we opened, it was hot, no air, no food. We wanted water. The thirst. We had to sleep standing, leaning over the one next to you. There was no room to move.

They opened the door & we just looked at each other. ‘God, where is it?’ We looked at those bonfires & the people behind. Like an asylum, not a normal place. What are they doing here? 

They said, ‘Just get out!’ We cried for water. The German soldier said, ‘No water, you'll get some later on. You go over there’. There was a barrack & in front there was Dr Mengele, he was in charge for selection. They called him the ‘Lagerdoktor’, the doctor of the camp.

We were hanging on to my mother, my four little brothers & my sister. When he saw us, he said, ‘Just leave your mother, you go that way, leave your mother, see her later.’ To my sister, he said, ‘You two go the other side, you'll see your mother later. Let them come with me, the children, your younger brothers.’ He spoke German, my mother spoke German, I speak German. I understood what he was talking about. So, that was, that was the last time I saw my mother.

We were sent into a barrack, our clothes were ripped off, our hair was shaved off. A German woman called an ‘Aufseherin’ said: ‘You come to this B1 Lager, B2 Lager.’ ‘Lager’ are camp, they called it ‘Lager’, ‘And you go to C ‘Lager’. I was taken away with my sister, we couldn’t recognise each other because we had no hair. 

We stood naked for two hours. They threw some old rubbishy clothes at us. We were bewildered, we just don’t know, what’s this all about? We look at each other. What’s next? When will we see our mother, when we meet later? 

When the light came we could look through the window. This terrible smell of burning. The sky was red from all this smoke. A horrible smell. We didn’t know what it was. 

A woman said, ‘Don’t ask questions!’ 

I said, ‘When can we see my mother?’ 

She said, ‘I can’t guarantee you are going to see her.’ That was the answer. And I wouldn’t believe her.