Angel of Auschwitz (10 page)

B
ORIS WAS A VERSATILE
ghost who could change roles readily. From his performance as a professor, he could quickly become a spy or thief. Because of our urgent need for medical supplies, Boris set forth on a mission to find the supplies we required. We prepared a list of what we considered the most necessary instruments and implements.

In the middle of the night, the camp ghost arrived at the officers’ infirmary. He searched the drawers, cabinets, and closets, returning to barracks 12 carrying a small metal box. To camouflage the box from the sight of the guards, he set up a force field of invisibility around it.

Opening the lid of the metal box, I was delighted to find a display of gauze pads, bandages and splints, scissors, surgical thread and needles, surgical knives and lancets, as well as iodine to disinfect wounds and alcohol to clean our instruments. This small box was a treasure chest of life-saving supplies.

I hid the box near my bed, where it would be easily accessible. Lifting a loose board from the floor next to the wall, I exposed a dark cranny, a secret chamber. Here I stored the medical box, a jug of water, a handkerchief with crusts of bread, stones and feathers that I found, and other personal items. I was grateful to have these healing tools, whose value was more precious than gold.

N
ow
IT WAS MY
turn to teach. I chose Jezra as my healing assistant. As girls close in age, we had developed a rapport and telepathic link. Jezra understood the consequences of our risk. As healers, we were acting in open defiance of Commandant Schuller’s orders. Camp policy was to shoot the sick and wounded, or to let them die without treatment. The punishment for disobedience was death.

The young girl demonstrated the saintly virtues of a sister of mercy—gentleness, patience, compassion, and humility. She wanted to do what was right and true, and acted with courage and conviction. Jezra was my soul sister, and I loved her deeply. Her sweet disposition and elfin grin melted my heart. Although slight of build, she was strong in spiritual qualities.

I asked Jezra to assist me as I made my daily rounds of the camp. She had to be cautious and discreet, since she had not yet learned how to become invisible. The ghost man led the way from barracks to barracks, bedside to bedside. Jezra did not appear to be aware of his presence, even though he was telepathically instructing me in patient care. I wondered when she would be ready to communicate with Boris. How would I introduce them? Would she be able to see him and speak to him as I did?

As we visited the bedsides of people with different kinds of illnesses and injuries, I taught her everything that Boris had shown me. If I left out an important fact, Boris acted as my prompter, interjecting specific instructions for me to convey to her. We had no pharmacy of medicines to offer. We depended on the divine remedies of love, prayer, and healing, as well as elementary first aid.

G
OING FROM BEDSIDE TO
bedside, Jezra and I observed the personality types of our patients. We recognized a correlation between personality and illness. Bold and outspoken prisoners were punished by whippings and beatings. They suffered from bruises, lacerations, and broken bones. The more docile and compliant prisoners came down with fevers and infections. A sense of helplessness and powerlessness weakened the immune system in its ability to defend against disease. If the guards didn’t like you, if you annoyed or irritated them for any reason—watch out! Disobedient prisoners were cursed, ridiculed, and spit on. They were kicked and thrashed about like bad dogs.

After making our rounds of the camp, Jezra and I returned to barracks 12. We discussed the psychological needs of our patients and how their beliefs and attitudes affected their speed of recovery. She was a careful observer of human nature, paying close attention to the mental and emotional disposition of each person. Even when people could not speak, she was able to intuit their needs. She developed a compassionate bedside manner that brought comfort to many.

We studied the basics of first aid—how to stop the bleeding, how to clean a wound, how to treat for shock, set a bone, pull a tooth, lance an abscess. The ghost professor supervised our training sessions, prompting me when I faltered and telepathically instructing me so I could convey the information to Jezra. She practiced each technique and procedure until she was satisfied with her level of competence. I was overjoyed to have such an eager and ready assistant.

I
T WAS TIME TO
teach my apprentice the basics of hands-on healing. I explained to Jezra, “We have two hearts: a physical heart that pumps our blood, and a spiritual heart that expresses divine love. Remember that a healer is an instrument of love.

“Let your spiritual heart open like a rose unfolding on a summer morning. Feel the love as it flows from your heart and streams down your arms to your palms. Allow the love to radiate out through your palms. Now hold your hands, palms facing down, a few centimeters above a wound, or place them directly on the body. Sense the flow of energy. Feel the warmth. It is easy to do. Just
believe
you can.”

As I practiced various hand positions on Jezra, another girl stepped forward and watched us with interest. “Why do you place your hands over Jezra’s head?” she asked. She had big brown eyes that looked wide open to the world. Her name was Aniela Aredarski. She was fourteen years old.

Aniela volunteered to play the role of a sick person so we could practice our healing techniques on her. I stood at the head of the bed and lay my hands on Aniela’s shoulders. Jezra stood facing me at the foot of the bed and placed her hands on the soles of her feet. Then we ran healing currents back and forth to balance the energy in her body.

Through the grace of God, many recovered from their illnesses. Wounds healed from the increased blood flow stimulated by the healing energy. Hands-on healing stabilized the vital functions of shock and trauma victims. It calmed the emotions and brought peace to the heart.

P
ART
F
IVE
Bond of the Heart

D
UE TO THE UNCERTAINTIES
of camp life, our training sessions were erratic. We had to seize each opportunity as it presented itself.

One afternoon, as we practiced hand positions on Aniela, a sprite of a girl limped forward and sat on the edge of the bed. She carefully placed her palms across Aniela’s forehead.

“Let me help too!” she pleaded. “I know that I can do something. I want to be of use, even if I am just a little girl.” I noticed that her right foot was twisted, and she dragged it forward with each step. “My name is Klara Lieberman. I’ve been at Auschwitz for six months.”

While Jezra and I applied first aid and practiced hands-on healing, Klara came along as “the comforter.” She held the patient’s hand and spoke words of hope and encouragement.

Our school of healing was taking shape. In addition to me as the leader of our team, it consisted of Boris, the ghost professor; Jezra as healing apprentice; Aniela as healing assistant; Klara as comforter; and Gretta, on call for emergencies. We orphan girls had important jobs to do. The motherless daughters of Auschwitz became sisters of mercy. We welcomed Klara into our team of healers. Like a dove, she brought peace and calm with the gentleness of her touch.

W
ATER WAS NEEDED FOR
almost every aspect of healing. To obtain a supply of water, Jezra and I devised a plan. We called on Boris to retrieve the following items: a bucket or pot to collect the water, a glass jug with a cork to store the water, gauze cloth to filter the water, and a bag full of salt. Our plan was to wait until the sun had set on rainy nights. Under the cover of darkness I would sneak outside my barracks and place the empty bucket at the juncture of the rooflines. Rainwater ran down the channel between the slanted roofs and drained into our collection pail.

Day after day, we scanned the sky for signs of rain. The first opportunity to carry out our plan came six days later.

“A storm is coming! A storm is coming!” Three black crows shouted as they flew over my head. I knew that they were telling me to get out the water pail. It was going to rain.

As the night passed, the roar of the wind and pounding of raindrops on the roof awakened me. I was filled with anticipation and excitement. Before the rosy fingers of dawn graced the morning sky, I got out of bed and went outside to retrieve the rain pail. Carefully, I picked up the heavy bucket of storm water and carried it to a place where Jezra waited for me. Here we filled the water jug and all the containers we had found. I was grateful to have keen night vision. I was accustomed to seeing by the stars.

The four sisters of our healing team joined hands in gratitude to celebrate the rain. We called it “holy water” because it was a gift from heaven.

A
S THE MOON WAXED
and waned and the sun made circles in the sky, the girls of our sisterhood journeyed through puberty and grew into young women. As our bodies developed, we experienced new feelings and desires. As our bond of kinship deepened and our monthly cycles synchronized, we shared a common time to bleed. The blood was scant because of hunger and exhaustion, but our emotions were intense. As motherless daughters of the Holocaust we struggled to make sense of our sexuality and feminine nature. Every one of us had witnessed the rape or sexual assault of a friend or comrade. We knew our growing breasts advertised our incipient sexuality. As our bodies matured, we became increasingly vulnerable to the leers and lust of the iron men.

To honor each young woman for her dedication to healing, we decided to create a simple ceremony. It was our way of claiming our power in spite of confinement and subjugation. As we began our moon time, Jezra, Aniela, and Klara gathered at the side of my bed. I pulled out the cork of the glass jug and offered each girl a cup of clear water, a cup of rain rescued from last night’s storm. “Raindrops for teardrops,” we toasted. “To life,” we said in unison.

Instinctively my body knew to conserve water. I held back the flow of liquid tears. I cried with my heart, but my eyes remained dry. With the gift of rainwater, we could cry out our pain. Real tears were cleansing for body, mind, and spirit.

O
UR CIRCLE OF HEALERS
continued to meet. Working together as sisters we formed a bond of the heart. Although our mission was dangerous, our commitment was unshakable.

Gathering around my bed, we practiced hands-on healing and first aid. With Aniela volunteering in the role of a sick or wounded comrade, we moved our hands from one position to the next over her thin figure, from head to toe, both front and back. We learned how to serve as channels of healing energy.

Standing in the shadows a respectful distance away, Old Mother began to observe our training sessions. Silently she stood watching us, her arms folded across her chest, her tattered gray shawl wrapped tightly around her strong shoulders. Old Mother said little but spoke with her eyes. Her piercing look reminded me of my dear mother, Nadia. I recalled the early days of my childhood, waking up before dawn, watching her sit looking out the window, absorbed in communion with the starry beacons of the night.

We welcomed Old Mother into our sisterhood and shared with her our secrets, hopes, and fears. She became an adopted grandmother to the orphaned girls. We looked up to her as an elder of wisdom and power.

A
FTER A LONG PRACTICE
session, we sat down to rest. “Come hither, divine children,” Old Mother beckoned, inviting us to join her. “Aspiring healers and budding nurses, come and listen to a noble story.” We followed her, walking out of the gray barracks into the dusty yard. In the shape of the crescent moon, the sisters formed a semicircle in front of our female mentor. Aniela came first and stood far to the left. Then came Jezra, then Gretta and myself. Finally came Klara, who stood last on the right. Old Mother’s story began like this: