The Underground Reporters (16 page)

The boys’ dormitory in Theresienstadt as it looks today. It is currently the Terezin Museum.

Bottom: An unknown artist’s rendition of the bunk beds in a barracks room in Theresienstadt.

Frances lived in the girls’ dormitory in Theresienstadt. This is how it looks today.

Frances’ skill as a seamstress became useful in Theresienstadt. After several months, she was transferred to a sewing room in the basement of the girls’ dormitory. There she mended and patched uniforms, and made toys for the children of the soldiers. She carefully stitched pieces of cloth together to make stuffed animals.
Jewish children will never see these toys,
she thought sadly, as she looked down at her handiwork.

At the end of a long workday, she climbed the stairs to the crowded room that she shared with nineteen other girls. Here she collapsed, exhausted, on her bunk bed, trying to ignore the fleas and bed bugs that bit her. I
miss my home,
she thought desperately.
I’m tired and hungry, and I miss my family. Does anyone outside these walls care at all about what is happening to us?

CHAPTER
26
B
OBRICK

In spite of the harsh conditions, some events in Theresienstadt gave the prisoners hope. Through their own efforts, the prison became a place where music, art, and poetry thrived. These activities helped everyone, especially the children, put up with the misery of their lives. When they created art and music, they dreamed of home, and remembered happier times.

Though school was not permitted in the camp, the adults were determined to continue educating the young people. Every day, the children learned from talented fellow prisoners – artists, writers, musicians, and actors. Lessons were taught in the attics of the barracks, where the guards were less likely to discover them. Older children stood guard at the doors, on alert in case the guards came close by.

There were no textbooks. Instead, the teachers talked to their pupils and encouraged discussions about math, history, and literature. The children wrote stories and painted pictures. They sang songs, and talked about a future when they would all return to their homes and resume
their lives. They participated in plays and musical events. They had chess tournaments and political discussions. There were even some sporting competitions. In every way, the prisoners tried to turn their unbearable living situation into something positive and good.

One day, Arna gathered the boys of John’s room together for a meeting. Over the months he had become more than a leader; he acted as parent, teacher, counselor, and friend to the boys, doing his best to help them grow into young men. “As difficult as it is to be here, we have to learn to survive,” he explained. “We have to find ways to be creative and keep our spirits high.” He suggested that they might produce a newspaper for themselves and the others. Anyone would be able to contribute articles. The newspaper was to be called
Bobrick,
a Czech word for “beaver.”

Once a month, the stories, poems, and articles written by the children would be collected into a single edition of the newspaper that would be circulated in the barracks for everyone to read. Everything would be handwritten, since there was no typewriter. When the paper was finished, Arna would gather them all in the room so that it could be read aloud, while the older children stood watch at the door. Just like
Klepy,
this paper would be created and enjoyed in secret.

John could not believe what he was hearing. A newspaper here in Theresienstadt? He thought he had left writing behind when he left Budejovice. He listened carefully to what Arna was saying – that the boys needed to find ways to be creative, that writing was a way to use your mind, a way to feel connected to other people and to fight against
rules and restrictions. This was the same appeal that Ruda Stadler had made for
Klepy,
to all the children of Budejovice.

Children in Theresienstadt watched plays performed in attic rooms like this one.

His mind wandered back to the days when he had been part of
Klepy.
He had felt so productive and motivated then. As soon as the meeting was over, he set to work. He wanted to contribute something to this newspaper. With a dull pencil and a dirty piece of paper, he sat in his bunk and wrote a poem that he would contribute to
Bobrick
.

It has been five years
Since the devil marched into our peaceful land.
Death has moved from house to house.
War has brought terrible times.
Mothers and daughters light candles,
Remembering those beloved
They will never see again.

John never saw Ruda in Theresienstadt, but he knew that Ruda would be proud.
We are doing just what he inspired us to do at home,
thought John.
Klepy
had allowed them to show their resistance in Budejovice, by using their imaginations.
Bobrick
would do the same thing here in the squalor of Theresienstadt.

CHAPTER
27
A S
PECIAL
C
EREMONY
J
UNE
13, 1943

On June 13, 1943, John woke up knowing that he was going to be part of a very special ceremony – his bar mitzvah, the day when Jewish boys mark their passage from boyhood into the adult practice of religious activities. Synagogue services and parties usually mark the day. But not for thirteen-year-old John. Here in Theresienstadt, there would be no ceremony in a real synagogue, and no lavish celebration.

In Theresienstadt, religious ceremonies like bar mitzvahs were held in secret. No one wanted to bring too much attention to Jewish customs. While religious services were not flatly forbidden, they were not entirely allowed either. They just happened, whenever and however possible. Small “synagogues” were created in attic rooms throughout the prison. Rabbis from different towns and villages gathered their communities and held services when they could.

On the morning of his bar mitzvah, John dressed in the best clothes he could find. He borrowed a white shirt fraying at the collar. He tugged on his shirtsleeves. They were short, but they would have to do. His
pants hung loosely around his waist, and he tried to ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach. These days, hunger was a daily occurrence. Thinking about it only made it worse.

An artist’s sketch of a religious service in the attic of one of the barracks. John had his bar mitzvah in a room like this one.

John reached into his pocket, feeling for the small gold pocket watch and the fountain pen, gifts from his father and mother for this special day. How had they ever managed to smuggle these things into the concentration camp, he wondered. He pulled out the watch and looked at the time. He had to finish getting ready. Quickly, he licked his hand and smoothed down his hair, then wiped a dirt smudge from his cheek. He took a deep breath and moved outside his barracks, climbing the narrow stairs to the attic of a nearby building, where the ceremony would take place. On the way, he mouthed the Hebrew words he was about to
recite, over and over. In the absence of prayer books, he had learned all the prayers by memory, working in secret for months with Rabbi Ferda to make sure his pronunciation was perfect.

As John entered the small, dimly lit attic room, his mother moved forward to give him a warm hug. “We’re so proud of you,” she whispered, squeezing his arm.

His father nodded encouragement, while his brother punched his arm playfully. “You’ll be fine,” said Karel.

John glanced around the room. There were only about ten people there aside from his family – mostly friends from Budejovice. A couple of the boys from his barracks were also there, offering moral support.

John moved to the front of the small room to stand next to Rabbi Ferda, who smiled, his gold teeth catching the light from a candle that glowed on the table.

“Welcome, everyone,” Rabbi Ferda began. “Today we are here to celebrate John’s bar mitzvah. I have had the pleasure of knowing John since he was a small boy, and what a fine young man he has become.”

John squirmed.

“Even though we are far from our home, our tradition is strong,” the rabbi continued. “The prayer that John will recite today begins with a statement of faith in the future. And that’s what we all must have.”

Faith in the future,
thought John. After fourteen months of imprisonment in Theresienstadt, it was almost impossible to imagine a future. Would he ever go home again, back to his own room, not one he had to share with forty people? Would he ever return to a real school, play in a
real park, or go to a movie theater? Would he ever have a full meal, and even seconds, instead of having to stand in line for a cup of watery soup and a lump of stale bread? It was so long since he had enjoyed these simple pleasures.

From Theresienstadt, John’s mother sent this postcard to her sister in Austria. She writes that they are all well, and she talks about John’s bar mitzvah. A few months later, the Freund family was transported to Auschwitz.