Step 4: Death March
Magda HerzbergerOn the third week of March, a sudden change took place in our camp. All of us were assembled outside in front of our barracks. We had to form rows of five and we were told that we were leaving our camp with our German guards. We wondered where we would be taken. Again we were faced with fear of the unknown. We marched with our guards for hours on a dirt road, leaving the outskirts of the city of Bremen. It was cold when we left in the early morning, but later on the weather got warmer. I was lucky to have my boots and socks. I felt sorry for other prisoners who had to march with their wooden Dutch clogs and with only rags wrapped around their feet inside those stiff, hard shoes. We marched throughout the day, having only short periods of rest, following a dirt road leading into a forested area. We received no food nor drink during all that time. At twilight we came to some barn-like buildings. Then the guards broke our column into several groups and forced the groups into the single-room structures. They reserved some buildings for themselves. The structure into which I was pushed with other women was totally empty and bare. We had to sleep on its hard wooden floor. We were very crowded and pressed together. It was dark, there were no electrical lights, and we were locked inside for the night. At daylight, we continued our march. We were getting deeper and deeper into a heavily-forested area of birch trees. On our second day some of us were weakened and they collapsed. Death was inevitable for them. |
Whoever couldn’t march anymore was shot. Seeing my fellow inmates killed on the side of the road created in my heart and indescribably, deep sorrow. Our march lasted for three days, during which we lost more and more prisoners. There were also among us who might have been physically strong enough to go on, but who were weakened emotionally and demoralized by depression resulting from witnessing the inhumane treatment of our fellow prisoners; they, too, were killed. They had lost their desire to fight for their lives and wanted to die and find relief from their agonizing pain and suffering. You might ask me what kept me going on that death march, saving my from falling into a deep depression and meeting the fate of my fellow prisoners. What kept me walking in my severely weakened state? My strong and fierce determination to survive allowed me to last through that terrible ordeal. During my march, I had to evoke pleasant thoughts and create a series of positive images in my mind, which in turn gave me the fortitude to march against all the odds I was facing. I could see myself liberated and at home with my family. I could see my mother lighting the candles of Sabbath on Friday night. I overcame my fear of not being able to keep on marching. In other words, my positive attitude was my greatest tool of survival. Finally, on the night of the third day, half of us survived the ordeal of the Death March. We reached the gates of Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. |
Elie Wiesel: A story of father and son
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The gates of the camp opened. It seemed as though an even darker night was waiting for us on the other side. The first blocks began to march. Our turn was coming: “Block 57, forward! March!” It snowed on and on. An icy wind was blowing violently, but we marched without faltering. The German guard made us increase our pace. “Faster!” We were no longer marching, we were running. The night was pitch black. I was putting one foot in front of the other, like a machine. I kept saying to myself: “Don’t think, don’t stop, run!” Near me, men were collapsing into the dirty snow. Gunshots. The idea of dying began to fascinate me. To no longer exist. To no longer feel the excruciating pain. To no longer feel anything, neither fatigue nor cold, nothing. My father’s presence was the only thing that stopped me from giving up. He was running next to me, out of breath, out of strength, desperate. I had no right to let myself die. What would he do without me? I was his sole support. All of these thoughts were going through my mind while I was running. The road (we were running on) was endless. When German guards were tired, they were replaced. But no one replaced us. Chilled to the bone, our throats parched, famished, out of breath, we pressed on. |
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We were the masters of nature, the masters of the world. We had transcended everything- death, fatigue, our natural needs. We were stronger than cold and hunger, stronger than the guns and the desire to die, doomed and rootless, nothing but numbers, we were the only men on earth. At last, the morning star appeared in the gray sky. We were exhausted, we had lost all strength. A German guard announced that we had already covered twenty kilometers (12.5 miles) since we left. We came to an abandoned village. One more hour of marching and, at last, the order to halt. We all let ourselves sink into the snow. My father shook me. “Not here… Get up… A little farther down. There is a shed over there...come…” I had no desire to get up, but I obeyed. It was not really a shed, but a brick factory whose roof had fallen in. It was not easy to get inside. When we finally succeeded in entering, I let myself sink to the ground. Only now did I feel the full extent of my weakness. I fell asleep. After however long I was able to sleep, I was awoken by a cold hand tapping my cheek: it was my father. He looked incredibly different. His eyes were glazed over, his lips parched, decayed. Everything about him expressed total exhaustion. His voice was damp from tears and snow. “Don’t let yourself be overcome by sleep, Eliezer. It’s dangerous to fall asleep in snow. One falls asleep forever. |
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Come, my son, come… Get up.” “Come, my son, come…” I got up, with clenched teeth. Holding on to me with one arm, he led me outside. It was not easy. We were outside. The icy wind whipped my face. I was constantly biting my lips so that they wouldn’t freeze. All around me, what appeared to be a dance of death. There was no sound of distress, no crying, nothing but agony and silence. Nobody asked anyone for help. One died because one had to. “Come, Father, let’s go back to the shed…” He didn’t answer. “Come, Father. It’s better there. You’ll be able to lie down. We’ll take turns. I’ll watch over you and you’ll watch over me. We won’t let each other fall asleep. We’ll look after each other.” He accepted. After navigating the way back, we succeeded in getting back inside. We let ourselves fall to the ground. “Don’t worry, son. Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.” “You first, Father. Sleep.” He refused. I stretched out and tried to sleep, to doze a little, but I couldn’t. Deep inside, I knew that to sleep meant to die. And something in me rebelled against that death. Father laid down too, and fell asleep. “Wake up. One mustn’t fall asleep here…” He half opened his eyes. “No advice,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I’m exhausted. Mind your business, leave me alone.” My father too was gently dozing. I couldn’t see his eyes. His cap was covering his face. “Wake up,” I whispered in his ear. He awoke, looked around, and smiled. I shall always remember that smile. Where in the world did it come from? |
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Heavy snow continued to fall. There was shouting outside, in the courtyard. Night had fallen and the German guards were ordering us to form ranks. We started to march once more. On the road, it snowed and snowed, it snowed endlessly. We were marching more slowly. Even the guards seemed tired. The intense structure of marching was now gone. No more gunshots. Everyone walked as he wished, as he could. By now it was night. It had stopped snowing. We marched a few more hours before we arrived. We saw the camp only when we stood right in front of its gate. “Father, are you there?” I asked as soon as I was able to utter a word. I knew that he could not be far from me. “Yes!” A voice replied from far away, as if from another world. “I am trying to sleep.” We stayed in Gleiwitz for three days. Days without food or water. We were forbidden to leave the barrack. The door was guarded by a German guard. On the third day, at dawn, we were driven out of the barrack. We threw blankets over our shoulders. We were directed to a gate that divided the camp in two. A group of German guards stood waiting. We were led out of the camp. After a half-hour march, we arrived in the very middle of a field crossed by railroad tracks. This was where we were to wait for the train’s arrival. Snow was falling heavily. We were forbidden to sit down or to move. A thick layer of snow was accumulating on our blankets. We were given bread. Someone had the idea of quenching his thirst by eating snow. Soon, we were all imitating him. As we were not allowed to bend down, we took out our spoons and ate the snow off our neighbor’s backs. A mouthful of bread and a spoonful of snow. |
German citizens train response
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A crowd of workmen and curious passersby had formed all along the train. They had undoubtedly never seen a train with this kind of cargo. Soon, pieces of bread were falling into the wagons from all sides. All the spectators observed these emaciated creatures ready to kill for a crust of bread. A piece fell into our wagon. I decided not to move. Anyway, I knew that I would not be strong enough to fight off dozens of violent men! I saw, not far from me, an old man dragging himself on all fours. He had just detached himself from the struggling mob. He was holding one hand to his heart. At first, I thought he had received a blow to his chest. Then I understood: he was hiding a piece of bread under his shirt. With lightning speed he pulled it out and put it to his mouth. His eyes lit up, a smile, like a grimace, illuminated his face. And was immediately attacked. |
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A shadow was close to him, and this shadow threw itself over him. Stunned by the blows, the old man was crying:
“Meir, my little Meir! Don’t you recognize me… You’re hurting your father… I have bread… for you too… for you too…” He collapsed. But his fist was still clutching a small crust. He wanted to raise it to his mouth. But the other threw himself on him. The old man mumbled something, groaned, and passed away. Nobody cared. His son searched him, took the crust of bread, and began to eat it. He didn’t get far. Two men had been watching him. Others joined in. When they withdrew, there were two bodies next to me, the father and the son. I was sixteen. |
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The hours went by. Our eyes were tired from staring at the horizon, waiting for the liberating train to appear. It arrived only very late that evening. An infinitely long train, composed of roofless cattle cars. The German guard shoved us inside, a hundred per car. When we are all on board, the car left. My father had huddled near me, draped in his blanket, shoulders full with snow. I called out to him. No response. I would have screamed if I could have. He was not moving. The train stopped in an empty field. The abrupt halt had wakened a few sleepers. Everyone looked around, startled. Outside, a German guard walked by, shouting: “Throw out all the dead!” The living were glad. They would have more room. Volunteers began the task. “Here’s one! Take him!” Two volunteers grabbed people who had passed, and got them out of the wagon. “Come on! Here’s another! My neighbor. He’s not moving…” I woke from my apathy only when two men approached my father. I threw myself on his body. He was cold. I rubbed his hands, crying: “Father! Father! Wake up. They’re going to throw you outside…” His body remained motionless. The two volunteers yelled at me: “Leave him alone. Can’t you see that he’s dead?” “No!” I yelled. “He’s not dead! Not yet!” I began to hit my father. At last, my father opened his eyes. They were glassy. He was breathing faintly. “You see,” I cried. The two men went away. 9
“They’re dead! They will never wake up! Never! Do you understand?” This discussion continued for some time. I knew that I was no longer arguing with him but with Death itself, with Death he had already chosen. The sirens began to wail. Alert. The lights went out in the entire camp. The guards chased us toward the blocks. In a flash, there was no one left outside. We all found a place to lie, and went to sleep. When I woke up, it was daylight. That is when I remembered that I had a father. During the alert, I had followed a group without him. I went to look for him. I walked for hours without finding him. Then I came to a block where they were distributing black “coffee.” People stood in line. “Eliezer, my son… bring me… a little coffee…” I ran toward him. “Father! I’ve been looking for you for so long… Where were you? Did you sleep? How are you feeling?” He seemed to be burning with fever. I fought my way to the coffee cauldron like a wild beast. And I succeeded in bringing back a cup. I took one gulp. The rest was for him. I shall never forget the gratitude that shone in his eyes when he swallowed this beverage. The gratitude of a wounded animal. We stayed outside for five hours. We were given soup. When they allowed us to return to the blocks, I rushed toward my father: “Did you eat?” “No.” “Why?” “They didn’t give us anything… They said that we were sick, that we would die soon, and that it would be a waste of food… I can’t go on…” I gave him what was left of my soup. But my heart was heavy. Every day, my father was getting weaker. His eyes were watery, his face the color of dead leaves. On the third day after we arrived, everybody had to go to the showers. Even the sick, who were instructed to go last. When we returned, we waited outside a long time. From afar, I saw my father and ran to meet him. He went by me like a shadow, passing me without stopping, without a glance. I called to him, he did not turn around. I ran after him: |
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At the entrance to the camp, Guard officers were waiting for us. We were counted. Then we were directed to roll call. The orders were given over the loudspeakers: “Form ranks of fives! Groups of one hundred! Five steps forward!” I tightened my grip on my father’s hand. The old, familiar fear: not to lose him. Very close to us stood the tall chimney of the crematorium’s furnace. It no longer impressed us. It barely drew our attention. Shortly into our call, I noticed my father. He was breathing heavily beside me. “Father,” I said, “just another moment. Soon, we’ll be able to lie down. You’ll be able to rest…” He didn’t answer. I myself was so weary that his silence left me indifferent. My only wish was to lie down on a cot. Some prisoners simply had no more strength, and began to sit in the snow. My father wanted to do the same. He was moaning: “I can’t anymore… It’s over… I shall die right here…” “Leave me,” he said. “I can’t go on anymore… Have pity on me… I’ll wait here until we can go into the showers… You’ll come and get me.” I could have screamed in anger. To have lived and endured so much; was I going to let my father die now? “Father!” I howled. “Father! Get up! Right now! You will kill yourself…” I grabbed his arm. He continued to moan: “Don’t yell, my son… Have pity on your old father… Let me rest here… a little… I beg of you, I’m so tired… no more strength.” He had become childlike: weak, frightened, vulnerable. “Father,” I said, “you cannot stay here.” I pointed to the corpses around him; they too had wanted to rest here. “I see, my son. I do see them. Let them sleep. They haven’t closed an eye for so long… They’re exhausted… exhausted…” His voice was tender. 10
“Father, where are you running?” He looked at me for a moment and his gaze was distant, other-worldly, the face of a stranger. It lasted only a moment and then he ran away: Suffering from Dysentery, my father was very sick. I sat next to him, watching him; I no longer dared to believe that he could still elude Death. I did all I could to give him hope. All of a sudden, he sat up and placed his feverish lips against my ear: “Eliezer… I must tell you where I buried the gold and silver… In the cellar… You know…” He began talking faster and faster, afraid of running out of time before he could tell me everything. I tried to tell him that it was not over yet, that we would be going home together, but he no longer wanted to listen to me. He could no longer listen to me. He was gasping more than breathing. For a ration of bread, I was able to exchange cots to be next to my father. “I can’t go on, my son… Take me back to my bunk.” I took him back and helped him lie down. He was shivering. “Try to get some sleep, Father. Try to fall asleep…” His breathing was labored. His eyes were closed. But I was convinced that he was seeing everything. That he was seeing the truth in all things. Shortly after this, my father became delusional. He was hallucinating, and his reality became distorted. A week went by like that. I ran to get some soup and brought it to my father. But he did not want it. All he wanted was water. “Don’t drink water, eat the soup…” “I’m burning up… Why are you so mean to me, my son?... Water…” I brought him water. Then I left the block for roll call. But I quickly turned back. I lay down on the upper bunk. All around me, there was silence now. When I came down from my bunk after roll call, I could see his lips trembling. He was murmuring something. I remained more than an hour leaning over him, etching his face into my mind. I woke up at dawn on January 29th. On my father’s cot lay another sick person. They must have taken him away. My father had passed away. I did not weep, and it pained me that I could not weep. But I was out of tears. And deep inside me, I had hope that I would experience freedom.. |
Citations:
https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/nazi-camps
Wiesel, Elie, et al. The Night Trilogy. Hill and Wang, 2008.
https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/nazi-camps
Wiesel, Elie, et al. The Night Trilogy. Hill and Wang, 2008.