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Poland Auschwitz Memories 925: Finding Something Good In Everything Ursula Gilbert My father always used to find something good in everything. He'd say: ‘Things are not so bad. We'll get through it.’ Until the very last day... 949: Liberation of Bergen-Belsen Susan Pollack OBE We were not human beings anymore. We were reduced to being animals - maybe more. That’s how it was. We were just – no feelings... 954: Arriving In Auschwitz Judith Steinberg 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... 988: Getting Up From The Dust Ivor Perl BEM I was only 12 when I was taken to Auschwitz. I feel very, very hurt that I haven’t got many memories of my family... Previous Location Next Location

USA Ellis Island Memories 970: Mother's Death At Our Liberation Mirjam Finkelstein By January 1945 there were rumours. People got quite excited. There was a wooden table, we had to walk past the camp doctor... Previous Location Next Location

England Ilfracombe Memories 961: Having My Revenge Willy Field I was a refugee from Nazi oppression. I wanted to have my revenge & I had my revenge. That was a wonderful feeling... Previous Location Next Location

England Liverpool Memories 952: Interned On My 16th Birthday John Goldsmith In 1940, on my 16th birthday, I was writing an English essay & looking through the window & I saw a policeman... Previous Location Next Location

Mala Tribich MBE spent the war in hiding in Poland & then in Ravensbrück & Bergen-Belsen concentration camps. All her family except her brother were murdered. Today she is a powerful Holocaust educator. Talking about my experiences was a very gradual process. One of the first times was a Jewish club. The man who ran it—he was a teenager then—was very enterprising to have asked me. People weren’t even thinking of asking survivors to speak then. It was very early. He just felt there is something to learn and he asked me to speak. People generally started speaking in 1981. There was a reunion of people who'd been in Auschwitz together. There they used to discuss things & plan for after the war. They said if we survive & we're free, we’ll all meet again. So that reunion took place in Israel in 1981. When I came back, a Jewish group I belonged to organised a meeting—we used to have meetings in people’s houses, we weren’t a very big group. But when I got back, they organised this meeting & actually booked a hall. So many people turned up. People were interested. Before no one was talking & no one asked—liked to ask, so it just stayed silent for all those years. The odd talk here & there. So that’s when people really started talking about the Shoah. I said I wouldn't speak, but I did. And a friend spoke as well. It started from there. Sometimes I didn't want people to know that I am a survivor. We didn't call them survivors. I don't know what we called them. It just seemed so horrific & so out of normal life. I didn't ask to speak, ever. But once I was talking about a camp & this woman made this funny face. Like: oh, dear, how awful. But it was a response that made me realise she really hadn’t a clue because people wouldn't respond like that if they knew. It’s much more than 'oh dear', you know. So many aspects of people’s reactions & what people felt & said & how they said it. Now it’s come to a point where it’s an established thing. People know about it, they teach it at schools, it’s something that can be discussed. But at the beginning it was just weird. Sometimes I felt I didn't want people to know that I was in a concentration camp. If people asked me, where do you come from, sometimes I used to say: Sweden, sort of not fully understanding or pretending not to understand that where you come from isn't where you’ve just arrived from, but where you were born. So I said it quite innocently actually. I've sorted it all out [laughs] in time but I had very mixed feelings. I didn't even tell my husband's family, because it wasn’t a subject for discussion. No framework for talking. It was painful, not just for me. People were so horrified. Then books started coming out. People learned that way. The schools came much later & when they came, they didn't use it because it wasn’t compulsory. It was on the curriculum but they weren’t obliged to teach it. So now it is compulsory, so it’s different. But I don't think of myself as a survivor. I don't like to be branded as something. I’m a lot of other things as well. An ordinary human being. Talking about what happened isn't therapeutic for me but it also doesn't damage me or disturb me. It keeps it alive for me. It’s just part of my life. But I'm very motivated. I think it is so important for people to hear the story. It’s not about me. But I think it desperately needs to be told. People need to know & maybe some of them will be affected in a way to actually become active about it & do something about antisemitism. It matters that it comes from me. If you're hearing something secondhand, well, it’s second-hand. Sometimes when I speak I really have tears in my eyes but I never cry with tears, no matter how tragic or terrible. My eyes fill with tears but they don't come down my face. 935: Starting To Speak Mala Tribich MBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 935: Starting To Speak ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Mala Tribich MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Mala Tribich MBE Bergen-Belsen Close Family Murdered Concentration Camp Ravensbrück Recovery Telling The Story Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Mala Tribich MBE spent the war in hiding in Poland & then in Ravensbrück & Bergen-Belsen concentration camps. All her family except her brother were murdered. Today she is a powerful Holocaust educator. Talking about my experiences was a very gradual process. One of the first times was a Jewish club. The man who ran it—he was a teenager then—was very enterprising to have asked me. People weren’t even thinking of asking survivors to speak then. It was very early. He just felt there is something to learn and he asked me to speak. People generally started speaking in 1981. There was a reunion of people who'd been in Auschwitz together. There they used to discuss things & plan for after the war. They said if we survive & we're free, we’ll all meet again. So that reunion took place in Israel in 1981. When I came back, a Jewish group I belonged to organised a meeting—we used to have meetings in people’s houses, we weren’t a very big group. But when I got back, they organised this meeting & actually booked a hall. So many people turned up. People were interested. Before no one was talking & no one asked—liked to ask, so it just stayed silent for all those years. The odd talk here & there. So that’s when people really started talking about the Shoah. I said I wouldn't speak, but I did. And a friend spoke as well. It started from there. Sometimes I didn't want people to know that I am a survivor. We didn't call them survivors. I don't know what we called them. It just seemed so horrific & so out of normal life. I didn't ask to speak, ever. But once I was talking about a camp & this woman made this funny face. Like: oh, dear, how awful. But it was a response that made me realise she really hadn’t a clue because people wouldn't respond like that if they knew. It’s much more than 'oh dear', you know. So many aspects of people’s reactions & what people felt & said & how they said it. Now it’s come to a point where it’s an established thing. People know about it, they teach it at schools, it’s something that can be discussed. But at the beginning it was just weird. Sometimes I felt I didn't want people to know that I was in a concentration camp. If people asked me, where do you come from, sometimes I used to say: Sweden, sort of not fully understanding or pretending not to understand that where you come from isn't where you’ve just arrived from, but where you were born. So I said it quite innocently actually. I've sorted it all out [laughs] in time but I had very mixed feelings. I didn't even tell my husband's family, because it wasn’t a subject for discussion. No framework for talking. It was painful, not just for me. People were so horrified. Then books started coming out. People learned that way. The schools came much later & when they came, they didn't use it because it wasn’t compulsory. It was on the curriculum but they weren’t obliged to teach it. So now it is compulsory, so it’s different. But I don't think of myself as a survivor. I don't like to be branded as something. I’m a lot of other things as well. An ordinary human being. Talking about what happened isn't therapeutic for me but it also doesn't damage me or disturb me. It keeps it alive for me. It’s just part of my life. But I'm very motivated. I think it is so important for people to hear the story. It’s not about me. But I think it desperately needs to be told. People need to know & maybe some of them will be affected in a way to actually become active about it & do something about antisemitism. It matters that it comes from me. If you're hearing something secondhand, well, it’s second-hand. Sometimes when I speak I really have tears in my eyes but I never cry with tears, no matter how tragic or terrible. My eyes fill with tears but they don't come down my face. 935: Starting To Speak Mala Tribich MBE Adapted from Mala Tribich MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, September 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Algeria Mostaganem Memories 933: Interned In Algeria Erna Klein One Arabic sentence helped a lot. It meant: ‘Are you drunk or whatever is the matter with you?’ That helped me out of a few difficult situations... Previous Location Next Location

Germany Essen Memories 946: Being Stateless Is An Advantage Benno Stern My father, by a great stroke of fortune, was made stateless by Poland because he’d fled the country. It worked to our advantage... Previous Location Next Location

March 1945: Susan Pollack OBE, age 15, is on a death march from Guben slave labour camp to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp: I never exchanged a word with anyone. I was on my own, withdrawn within myself. If you'd been found talking to someone, you'd have been shot. No place to escape. I didn’t know anyone. Where would I go? Who'd help me? I was very obedient & did what I was told. That was their way, making sure that you follow. I don’t know how we survived, how anybody survived. Conditions were so dreadful. A long, long, long walk. I wasn’t there very long, the barrack in Belsen. Conditions were… bodies all over, dead, rotted. I woke up to find my neighbour dead. I heard shouting when the liberation came. But it didn’t mean anything to me any more. It didn’t matter. Bergen-Belsen was a place of death. Look, I’m grateful I’m alive. I’m grateful that I could survive with an enormous amount of pain. The Swedes were helpful actually, in creating—that’s what music does to one’s life. Music, that was my recovery, help. We walked away, there was no revenge. We walked away, we didn’t commit any crimes or hate or anything like that. I’m glad we did not. We just walked away & hoped perhaps we can somehow build a life, just a little life. I became a Samaritan, that was very helpful to me. I used to take my children at Christmas time to hospitals & relieve the staff from serving tea. We would do it. That I found, for me, is very helpful. I had befriended a number of British soldiers who had liberated Bergen-Belsen. They are my real heroes, who liberated after such a long battle & yet retained kindness, helpfulness. That stayed with me. Goodness, kindness & helpfulness are the driving forces for life. After liberation Susan was sent to Sweden to convalesce. I began to understand that there is a goodness in the world. I don’t have much recollection about getting there. I was in a daze. I thought it must be a dream, a fantasy that people cared about me. I feared that the picture will disappear. I didn’t completely understand liberation myself yet. It had to come gradually. Listening to music every night. This wonderful, youngish man had a very big collection of music he played to us. Lights off, we sat in the dark. And I learned I had an inner life. That inner life was strengthened by listening to the music, because Beethoven understood me. Somehow the beautiful, lyrical music was there. And the darkness opened up like a flower. 928: Goodness Kindness & Helpfulness Susan Pollack OBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 928: Goodness Kindness & Helpfulness ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Susan Pollack OBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Susan Pollack OBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Susan Pollack OBE Bergen-Belsen British Army Concentration Camp Guben Liberation Recovery Slave Labourer Swedish Recuperation Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Germany See Locations Full Text March 1945: Susan Pollack OBE, age 15, is on a death march from Guben slave labour camp to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp: I never exchanged a word with anyone. I was on my own, withdrawn within myself. If you'd been found talking to someone, you'd have been shot. No place to escape. I didn’t know anyone. Where would I go? Who'd help me? I was very obedient & did what I was told. That was their way, making sure that you follow. I don’t know how we survived, how anybody survived. Conditions were so dreadful. A long, long, long walk. I wasn’t there very long, the barrack in Belsen. Conditions were… bodies all over, dead, rotted. I woke up to find my neighbour dead. I heard shouting when the liberation came. But it didn’t mean anything to me any more. It didn’t matter. Bergen-Belsen was a place of death. Look, I’m grateful I’m alive. I’m grateful that I could survive with an enormous amount of pain. The Swedes were helpful actually, in creating—that’s what music does to one’s life. Music, that was my recovery, help. We walked away, there was no revenge. We walked away, we didn’t commit any crimes or hate or anything like that. I’m glad we did not. We just walked away & hoped perhaps we can somehow build a life, just a little life. I became a Samaritan, that was very helpful to me. I used to take my children at Christmas time to hospitals & relieve the staff from serving tea. We would do it. That I found, for me, is very helpful. I had befriended a number of British soldiers who had liberated Bergen-Belsen. They are my real heroes, who liberated after such a long battle & yet retained kindness, helpfulness. That stayed with me. Goodness, kindness & helpfulness are the driving forces for life. After liberation Susan was sent to Sweden to convalesce. I began to understand that there is a goodness in the world. I don’t have much recollection about getting there. I was in a daze. I thought it must be a dream, a fantasy that people cared about me. I feared that the picture will disappear. I didn’t completely understand liberation myself yet. It had to come gradually. Listening to music every night. This wonderful, youngish man had a very big collection of music he played to us. Lights off, we sat in the dark. And I learned I had an inner life. That inner life was strengthened by listening to the music, because Beethoven understood me. Somehow the beautiful, lyrical music was there. And the darkness opened up like a flower. 928: Goodness Kindness & Helpfulness Susan Pollack OBE Edited from Susan Pollack OBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, October 2023 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Poland Lviv Memories 951: Passover in Lviv Lili Pohlmann MBE My mother and us two children went every Passover to Lviv to my grandparents, her parents, which was lovely... Previous Location Next Location

Ruth Barnett, 3rd foster home, East Harting Farm, West Sussex, 1949: I was 14 & still there & planned to leave school—you could leave at 14—& stay on the farm & raise animals & be a farmer. I'd have been so happy doing that. Then my mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told. I think the Hoskings wanted to keep me. I think they had plans to adopt me & they took the view that four years after the war how could my parents want me if they'd left it four years. They didn't understand that Europe was absolute chaos. I mean, England was pretty chaotic, because it was so badly bombed, but all the structures were still in place in England. It was not the sort of chaos in Europe where waves of displaced people were on the move. It was a long time before I understood the chaos preventing my parents making contact earlier. But another 4 years in England postwar made it impossible for me. At 10 I'd probably have settled down after a while. But at 14 there was absolutely no way I could go back to Germany. Ruth & her brother Martin had last seen their parents in 1939 before their Kindertransport. Martin & I had to meet her at the station. I remember not knowing what to do & Martin telling me she was our mother & we should be happy to see her. Then he couldn't face her either. He looked away & was ill at ease once she arrived off the train. It was an impossible situation. She didn't speak any English & I didn't know any German. Very, very painful for everyone. Furious arguments with Mrs. Hosking. And my mother went back to Germany without me. Which must have been terrible for her, particularly as she didn’t know any English. As soon as she got back to Germany, my father served a court order on my foster parents. And my foster mother, who'd said I was one of the family, had to take me to Germany & leave me there. The final betrayal. The one person I thought was really there for me had to leave me. In my head I knew that she had to. At 14 I knew what a court order was. But in my guts, it was the final betrayal. I decided trying to be good & please people had never worked. I turned very nasty. I gave my parents a hell of a time, which I'm not proud of. They tried to make me go to school. They fixed up art lessons for me. They fixed up a horse for me to ride. I mean, they did everything they possibly could, but it had no chance of working. My mother never talked about her war experience. I think she was the most severely traumatised of the four of us. I never, ever saw my parents completely relaxed & happy after the war, together. They weren't capable of it. They'd experienced just so much tension & fear. There’s an alertness when you’re in danger. I don’t think that alertness ever left them. I was being such a nasty beast. I refused to do anything I was asked to. If they mentioned the word ‘school’ I was out the door & didn't come back till the early hours of the morning. My parents realised that it was impossible & a big mistake very quickly. They said I could go back to England if I promised to stay at school & come for holidays. I was desperate to get back to England so of course I promised. But it took a year to get the necessary documents. I went back to the family & my school. But I felt betrayed that they'd taken me to Germany. I couldn't trust anyone. But I could trust the animals. I got the emotional support & the comforting from animals that I couldn't accept from people. They’d let me down too many times. 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett MBE Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 931: Let Down Too Many Times ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Ruth Barnett MBE Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Ruth Barnett MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Ruth Barnett MBE Betrayed Foster Family Kindertransport Reunited Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts England See Locations Full Text Ruth Barnett, 3rd foster home, East Harting Farm, West Sussex, 1949: I was 14 & still there & planned to leave school—you could leave at 14—& stay on the farm & raise animals & be a farmer. I'd have been so happy doing that. Then my mother appeared out of nowhere. Which was how I experienced it: the grown-ups made arrangements & then I was told. I think the Hoskings wanted to keep me. I think they had plans to adopt me & they took the view that four years after the war how could my parents want me if they'd left it four years. They didn't understand that Europe was absolute chaos. I mean, England was pretty chaotic, because it was so badly bombed, but all the structures were still in place in England. It was not the sort of chaos in Europe where waves of displaced people were on the move. It was a long time before I understood the chaos preventing my parents making contact earlier. But another 4 years in England postwar made it impossible for me. At 10 I'd probably have settled down after a while. But at 14 there was absolutely no way I could go back to Germany. Ruth & her brother Martin had last seen their parents in 1939 before their Kindertransport. Martin & I had to meet her at the station. I remember not knowing what to do & Martin telling me she was our mother & we should be happy to see her. Then he couldn't face her either. He looked away & was ill at ease once she arrived off the train. It was an impossible situation. She didn't speak any English & I didn't know any German. Very, very painful for everyone. Furious arguments with Mrs. Hosking. And my mother went back to Germany without me. Which must have been terrible for her, particularly as she didn’t know any English. As soon as she got back to Germany, my father served a court order on my foster parents. And my foster mother, who'd said I was one of the family, had to take me to Germany & leave me there. The final betrayal. The one person I thought was really there for me had to leave me. In my head I knew that she had to. At 14 I knew what a court order was. But in my guts, it was the final betrayal. I decided trying to be good & please people had never worked. I turned very nasty. I gave my parents a hell of a time, which I'm not proud of. They tried to make me go to school. They fixed up art lessons for me. They fixed up a horse for me to ride. I mean, they did everything they possibly could, but it had no chance of working. My mother never talked about her war experience. I think she was the most severely traumatised of the four of us. I never, ever saw my parents completely relaxed & happy after the war, together. They weren't capable of it. They'd experienced just so much tension & fear. There’s an alertness when you’re in danger. I don’t think that alertness ever left them. I was being such a nasty beast. I refused to do anything I was asked to. If they mentioned the word ‘school’ I was out the door & didn't come back till the early hours of the morning. My parents realised that it was impossible & a big mistake very quickly. They said I could go back to England if I promised to stay at school & come for holidays. I was desperate to get back to England so of course I promised. But it took a year to get the necessary documents. I went back to the family & my school. But I felt betrayed that they'd taken me to Germany. I couldn't trust anyone. But I could trust the animals. I got the emotional support & the comforting from animals that I couldn't accept from people. They’d let me down too many times. 931: Let Down Too Many Times Ruth Barnett MBE Edited from Ruth Barnett MBE's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, November 2016 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

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. 954: Arriving In Auschwitz Judith Steinberg Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 954: Arriving In Auschwitz ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Judith Steinberg Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Edited from Judith Steinberg's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2005 • Learn More → Judith Steinberg Auschwitz Close Family Murdered Concentration Camp Encounter With Nazi Officials Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Poland See Locations Full Text 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. 954: Arriving In Auschwitz Judith Steinberg Edited from Judith Steinberg's interview with Dr Rosalyn Livshin for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, August 2005 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts

Miriam Freedman, Nitra, Slovakia, wartime: It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing all the time. They caught them in the street. They just disappeared but we did not know why. Then we had to put some shutters on our little place because hooligans used to come around & throw bottles. There were rumours that things were better in Hungary, so they sent my brother & sister, hoping they'd be okay. Neighbours wouldn't play with you anymore. Quite dangerous to go in the street. There was an alleyway behind our building in Nitra near the synagogue. Sometimes people were beaten up. I was about 8, they send me out to buy bread & milk, because they didn't harm children. My father came home from synagogue & said we had to wear the yellow star. I was always a bit of a rebel, so I didn't stitch on & took it off when I left the house. Very dangerous but I didn't know. I didn't like it because it was so big. But every time I went to the grocery they'd say: 'Why do the grown-ups always send children shopping?' They didn't harm children yet, but called us names, dirty Jew. But I didn't have a yellow star, so I said, how do you know? [Laughs] I was such a cheeky girl. How do you know I’m Jewish? I could be a gypsy. One incident I cannot forget: a man came once to see my late father. There's a kiosk not far, he asked me: "Could you go & get me some cigarettes? If you do, next time I'm here I'll bring you a doll." I didn't have any toys. He gave me the money & I went to buy him cigarettes. I went to the kiosk. The man said: why doesn't he want come buy himself the cigarettes? Is he afraid he's going to be hit, bashed around? Why does he send a little girl? So they realised I’m Jewish but somehow they didn't want to harm me. So this I remember. And I came back. I gave him the cigarettes & he promised me a doll. Of course I never saw him again, & that was the end of him. We don't know what happened. Then the bank confiscated my father's money. So he had to do any labour work to keep the family alive. Then he was taken away. At some point my parents put me alone with a man while they were looking for a place to hide. I was so afraid of this man, screaming for my parents. I found some scissors & cut my leg. He opened the door & saw, my parents came eventually. That was a horrible experience. Then an order came one day that all the Jews must be segregated in some place. We were taken to the railway station. But we were saved by my aunt's boyfriend who was a Hlinka Guard. He said to pretend my sister had typhus. We had the doctor, & she was carried in a blanket. So we were taken off & came back to our flat. But they put a black heart outside the flat, nobody should come near this building because there is typhus. My family brought us food. That’s the first rescue. We were very lucky with rescues. But every time it got worse & worse. Eventually Miriam, her mother & sister went into hiding with other family members in a small flat. Eight of us in one bedsitter. We couldn't contact my father or my other sister, so we lost them. The caretaker of the building was a communist & he helped us there. We'd been there a few days when we saw my father in the road. My uncle didn't call him. I can never forget that ’cos he must have tried to hide as well. Of course he was caught & taken to concentration camp. I never forget looking out the window, seeing him the last time. I wanted him so much. My mother wanted to put her shoes on. But my uncle said, if you go out, I’m not sure you can come back. 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat Miriam Freedman Credits & tags Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Previous Memory Next Memory ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Previous Memory Next Memory 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat ← Previous Memory All Memories Next Memory → Miriam Freedman Read Full Text Previous Memory Home Memories People Places Experiences About Contact Menu Close Next Memory ← Previous Memory Credits & tags Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Miriam Freedman Attempted Humiliation Helped By Non-Jews In Hiding Yellow Star Read AJR biography Next Memory → See Instagram & Facebook posts Czechoslovakia See Locations Full Text Miriam Freedman, Nitra, Slovakia, wartime: It's difficult. Children feel very protected. Everything goes well. Then all of a sudden you see terrible things, like people disappearing all the time. They caught them in the street. They just disappeared but we did not know why. Then we had to put some shutters on our little place because hooligans used to come around & throw bottles. There were rumours that things were better in Hungary, so they sent my brother & sister, hoping they'd be okay. Neighbours wouldn't play with you anymore. Quite dangerous to go in the street. There was an alleyway behind our building in Nitra near the synagogue. Sometimes people were beaten up. I was about 8, they send me out to buy bread & milk, because they didn't harm children. My father came home from synagogue & said we had to wear the yellow star. I was always a bit of a rebel, so I didn't stitch on & took it off when I left the house. Very dangerous but I didn't know. I didn't like it because it was so big. But every time I went to the grocery they'd say: 'Why do the grown-ups always send children shopping?' They didn't harm children yet, but called us names, dirty Jew. But I didn't have a yellow star, so I said, how do you know? [Laughs] I was such a cheeky girl. How do you know I’m Jewish? I could be a gypsy. One incident I cannot forget: a man came once to see my late father. There's a kiosk not far, he asked me: "Could you go & get me some cigarettes? If you do, next time I'm here I'll bring you a doll." I didn't have any toys. He gave me the money & I went to buy him cigarettes. I went to the kiosk. The man said: why doesn't he want come buy himself the cigarettes? Is he afraid he's going to be hit, bashed around? Why does he send a little girl? So they realised I’m Jewish but somehow they didn't want to harm me. So this I remember. And I came back. I gave him the cigarettes & he promised me a doll. Of course I never saw him again, & that was the end of him. We don't know what happened. Then the bank confiscated my father's money. So he had to do any labour work to keep the family alive. Then he was taken away. At some point my parents put me alone with a man while they were looking for a place to hide. I was so afraid of this man, screaming for my parents. I found some scissors & cut my leg. He opened the door & saw, my parents came eventually. That was a horrible experience. Then an order came one day that all the Jews must be segregated in some place. We were taken to the railway station. But we were saved by my aunt's boyfriend who was a Hlinka Guard. He said to pretend my sister had typhus. We had the doctor, & she was carried in a blanket. So we were taken off & came back to our flat. But they put a black heart outside the flat, nobody should come near this building because there is typhus. My family brought us food. That’s the first rescue. We were very lucky with rescues. But every time it got worse & worse. Eventually Miriam, her mother & sister went into hiding with other family members in a small flat. Eight of us in one bedsitter. We couldn't contact my father or my other sister, so we lost them. The caretaker of the building was a communist & he helped us there. We'd been there a few days when we saw my father in the road. My uncle didn't call him. I can never forget that ’cos he must have tried to hide as well. Of course he was caught & taken to concentration camp. I never forget looking out the window, seeing him the last time. I wanted him so much. My mother wanted to put her shoes on. But my uncle said, if you go out, I’m not sure you can come back. 985: Black Heart Outside The Flat Miriam Freedman Adapted from Miriam Freedman's interview with Dr Bea Lewkowicz for AJR Refugee Voices Testimony Archive, July 2024 • Learn More → Text adapted and edited by Susanna Kleeman Facebook & Instagram Posts