Angel of Auschwitz (14 page)

“Rosetta was seated next to me when one of the men spotted her. Known by reputation as ‘the voluptuous Jewess,’ she was an object of desire and derision by the guards. Three of the brutes tackled her and threw her to the ground. Screaming, kicking, flailing her arms in a frenzy of
fear, she tried to fight them off. By brute force they overpowered her. She was at the mercy of her attackers.

“First I recognized Sergeant Krause. He was the ringleader, the most aggressive of the brutes, and mounted her first. Next I recognized Corporal Kroter. He had a fixation on Rosetta because she had such big breasts.

“Then they grabbed me and pushed me against a post. As they prepared to rape her, each man unstrapped his belt and wrapped it around my body and the post until there were seven belts holding me. Their belts were wrapped so tight around me that it was hard to breathe. My arms and legs turned blue and went numb. I was forced to watch, with no escape. Before my eyes I saw defenseless Rosetta being raped, mutilated, and humiliated. They thrust the venom of their anger into the helpless girl and stole her power and her light.

“One man was ejaculating in her mouth, another was sucking her nipples, and a third was penetrating her private parts. They slapped her cheeks to break her teeth so her mouth would open wider. Then they kicked her face with their boots and broke her jaw so their big cocks could go deeper down her throat. They kicked her again and broke her nose. Fingers of blood ran out of her nose and mouth. Red blood ran into her eyes and covered her face. Blood gushed down her legs from her genitals and anus.

“Waiting their turn to violate their victim, the men watched the scene, laughing, leering, and joking obscenities. ‘Jew animal,’ they yelled, and spit on innocent Rosetta. ‘Filthy slut,’ they insulted her.

“Pinned down by brute bullies, she lay crushed by the sheer weight of her rapists. Her ribs cracked and punctured her lungs. Gagging and gasping for air, she could not catch her breath. She choked to death as she swallowed her own teeth and blood and saliva and the semen of the rapists. She stopped breathing, and nobody noticed. They kept on banging her until the last man was satisfied.

“Then they pulled up their pants and came to get their belts. When the last man unstrapped the last belt, I fell to the ground, panting.
Somehow, I found the strength to get up.
I must find my way back to Natasza
, I told myself.
Then I will be safe
.”

That night, Jezra slept in my bed with me. She was too terrified to be alone. I felt her body quivering all night long. What could anyone say to comfort her? How would she find peace?

J
EZRA SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON
the ground, her bag of stones in her lap. She stared ahead blankly, seeing nothing. The girl had escaped to her inner fortress, a safe haven of make-believe.

Playing the stone game helped her sort out her feelings. Each sacred stone had a symbolic meaning, like each card in a deck. The act of laying out the stones had a grounding and stabilizing effect on the sensitive girl. The symmetry of the stones pleased her. When the pattern of her life was challenged by outside forces, arranging the stones in a familiar order restored her sense of self. It was her way of coping with trauma, a ritual to maintain her sanity. Her hand shook as she picked up her drawing stick and pressed it into the hard dirt. The rows of stones were crooked. Some of the tall stones had fallen over like dead men.

After Rosetta’s death, Jezra had changed the arrangement of her stones. She divided them into three groups: the black, the white, and the red. Three rows of black stones confronted three opposing rows of white stones. Like armies poised on the battlefield, the forces of Darkness sought to conquer the army of Light. In the center of her stone design, between the rows of black stones and the rows of white stones, was a circle of red stones.

Jezra explained, “Do you see this line of soldiers, the white stones? They represent the good guys. They stand for truth; they stand for love. Over here, this line of warriors, are the black stone men. They are the masters of deceit, the manipulators of the mind. In the center, the circle of red stones, are the downtrodden, the weak, and the helpless. The color red represents the blood of sorrow shed by the innocent victims of the Holocaust. Look, this stone is Rosetta. She was my friend, and I loved her. She was only thirteen years old—too young to die.”

I could fathom the depths of her pain. Her spirit was wounded. Her body was shaking because there was no solid place to stand. The very foundation of her being had been shattered.

Jezra struggled to make sense out of madness, to create order out of chaos. By rearranging the stones, she took the various elements in her life and gave them new meaning.

Jezra retreated behind the stone walls of her inner fortress. Inside her mind was a world that she created, where she was free, a safe place to rest and to dream. Fantasy and imagination were survival tools for prisoners at Auschwitz. They fed the soul and rejuvenated the psyche. They opened a channel for creative energy, for healing and renewal.

T
HE DEATH OF
R
OSETTA
cast a dark shadow across Jezra’s path. Her bright eyes turned into gray stones that looked downcast on the ground. She disconnected herself from reality.

During the night, our ghost mentor mentally projected thoughts of hope and feelings of optimism into the subconscious mind of the sleeping girl. Aniela, Old Mother, and I were already students in Boris’s dream school. The professor used dreams as a vehicle to imprint the mind with thoughtforms and visual images. The purpose of the dream school was to increase our capacity to survive.

Boris projected healing colors during our dream sessions. For Jezra he used brown for grounding and connection to the Earth. For Old Mother he used gold for wisdom. For Aniela he used blue for inner peace. My dream color was turquoise, for protection. My favorite subject in sleep school was “dreams of the ocean.” Cleansing dreams released negativity from the subconscious. I woke up feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

The crows also visited my dreamtime. They telepathed messages to me about the conditions in the camp. They were my cheerleaders. “Rise above, Natasza!” they called out as they flew over my head.

A
DREAM
I
WILL NEVER
forget is etched in the archives of my memory:

A party of Gestapo visitors had entered the camp grounds to make an inspection. They walked with a commanding gait and the arrogant authority of elite power. I was standing a short distance away, hidden from their sight by the other prisoners in front of me.

One man stood out from the others. He walked briskly ahead of the entourage with short staccato steps. He wore a peaked officer’s cap and a brown trench coat. His eyes were fierce and menacing, and his mustache was neatly trimmed.

I froze in my tracks at the instant of recognition. It was Hitler! He sensed my presence and glanced in my direction. Quickly I turned my head to avert his psychic probe. I scrutinized him discreetly with sideways glances, fearing to look into his evil controlling eyes. Making contact could allow his darkness to penetrate my shields and defenses. I sensed the magnitude of his power as an adept black magician.

Every muscle in my body tensed as the specter of fear gripped my psyche. A knot like a clenched fist tightened in the pit of my stomach, turning into nausea, as my body was repulsed by the dark force emanating from this man. Time stood still as I was overcome by abject bone-chilling terror.

By the grace of God, I remembered Boris’s teachings on conquering fear. “Fear is the weapon of the Dark Side,” Boris had instructed me. “Transcend your fear with a heart of love.”

Would I kneel before the altar of evil and give fear the power to control me, or could I summon from my God Self the strength and courage to confront the Darkness? “The power of God’s love is invincible,” the voice of my heart spoke loud and clear. “Trust in God’s love to protect you.”

Opening my heart, I relaxed and felt the love deep inside. Then, to my amazement, a miracle occurred. Hitler turned to face me and pulled open the front of his trench coat, revealing the truth of his inner being. White light as bright as lightening burst out from within. The radiance of his True Self dazzled my eyes.

My heart was pounding as I woke up in my barracks. Perhaps the forces of destiny had arranged this encounter with Hitler to occur in a dream state. Until this moment, I had envisioned Hitler as the epitome of darkness personified. How could Hitler radiate light?

Boris appeared at my bedside, offering his interpretation of my dream and answer to my question.

“ ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ are roles we play in the game of life,” he explained. “Our personality masks and the roles we play conceal our true nature. We are the loving essence of our Creator, every one of us.”

A
S THE MONTHS PASSED
and turned into years, my heart opened to Captain Otto, and I grew to love him. He was the only man I would come to know with intimacy. Beyond the boundaries of race and war, there was an attunement of souls that drew us together. On the surface we pretended that we were strangers. We played our assigned roles according to the rules. We kept our soul connection a secret, never to be spoken about, even to each other, a secret hidden in the chambers of the heart.

Knowing this man helped me overcome my prejudice against the Germans. When my conscience questioned the rightness of our union, my inner voice answered,
Love your enemies
.

My relationship with Captain Otto lasted for two years, from the ages of fourteen to sixteen. Our meetings took the form of a silent ritual. I was forbidden to speak or make a sound during the sexual act. Countless times I climbed the creaking staircase to his room, drank a cup of tea, and went to his bed. We spoke with our eyes. Due to the bond of our sexual union, I was empathic to his feelings, telepathic to his thoughts.

One cloudy afternoon, as he opened the door, I sensed a change in his mood. This day he did not want sex. For the first time, he spoke to me. He was seeking a confidant, a sympathetic ear. His voice was laden with emotion as he shared the news that had broken his heart. The hardness of his soldier self melted in the pathos of his grief.

“My dear Gretchen, my beloved wife, is dead and gone. She was killed during the bombing of Berlin. I have lost my future. She was seven months’ pregnant. This war is a disaster for all sides. When will it end?”

My eyes turned to her photo in the gilded frame. I looked at her face with sympathy. “I feel she is at peace,” I said kindly. “Be grateful she is no longer suffering. Her spirit is free of the woes of this world.” In this way, I honored the Healer’s Code. I expressed compassion to my enemy. He was vulnerable and human, just like me.

Months later it was my turn to carry Captain Otto’s child. This child also would not live to take its first breath.

I
T WAS MY GOOD
fortune to be born an optimist. Amidst the pain and the sorrow, I saw a silver lining gracing the darkest clouds. In my midnight of despair I turned to the heavens for inspiration. I found solace in the tranquility of sparking starlight and comfort in the healing rays of the sun.

In the topsy-turvy upheaval of war, my psyche craved order and stability. In spite of the uncertainties of daily living, I could depend on the sun to bring the morning light. The predictable path of the sun across the sky reassured me of the unfailing laws of nature. The sun was symbolic of hope and the sustenance of life.

To honor the sun, I saluted the dawn. I gave thanks for the promise of the new day and of all brave tomorrows. I envisioned a future when war would end and all people would be free. I prayed for peace among the nations and for the brotherhood of men.

Fantasy was a treasured tool in my arsenal for survival. I created a mental oasis to replenish my soul, an inner sanctuary of renewal. It was my retreat from the madness and horror of my days. I imagined a fat jovial man who lived on the sun. When the sun man woke up, he laughed so loud that the roar of his laughter chased away the darkness and scattered the cobwebs of the night. He sent his golden rays as ambassadors of hope to the people of Earth.

L
IKE MEDICS ON THE
frontline of battle, the sisters of our healing team risked their lives. As their leader I was responsible for making on-the-spot decisions. My psychic abilities helped me sense how people around me were feeling and reacting. By necessity I was one step ahead of everyone else, anticipating what was going to happen next.

I developed a practice of careful observation, paying close attention to the attitudes and dispositions of my comrades. I had learned the art of attention as a little girl spending the day at the shoe shop, watching my father interact with customers. From him I learned to read people’s characters and to respect the uniqueness of each person.