The Underground Reporters (17 page)

As Rabbi Ferda finished speaking, John took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to recite the Hebrew blessings. He sang his portion perfectly. Months of practice had paid off. His parents beamed with pleasure. Later, his mother sent a postcard to her sister in Austria, telling her that they were still well, and bragging about the wonderful ceremony for John. It would be the last message she would be able to send.

CHAPTER
28
A W
EDDING IN
T
HERESIENSTADT

In another part of Theresienstadt, Ruda and Irena were struggling to survive. Too old to be in the boys’ barracks, Ruda had an exhausting job working in the bakery, with long hours and terrible conditions.
This isn’t a bakery at all
, he thought, remembering the wonderful smells of the bakery at home. He tried to keep memories of home as far away from his mind as possible. But every now and then, he paused and recalled the days when he and the others had worked on
Klepy
. He had not written anything since he had stepped down as
Klepy
’s editor. It was as if that part of his life was finished.

Irena had been assigned to work with the young girls, many of whom were orphans. Their innocent faces longed for comfort, and Irena loved them and looked after them as if they were her own children. She called the girls
tetky
, a Czech word for “little aunts,” and they lovingly and jokingly called her
strejdo
, which means “little uncle.” But despite their smooth young faces these girls were frightened, and Irena could do little to reassure them.

A sketch of Ruda working in the bakery in Theresienstadt.

Each day, Irena received a small amount of bread to share with the children she cared for. “You cut the bread,
strejdo!”
the girls would shout. “Only you can cut the slices thin enough. That way, we can pretend there is more for all of us.”

Irena would cut the bread into paper-thin slices and hand them to the starving children. “Here, my
tetky,”
she would say. “Let’s pretend this is a feast.” She would smile, but inside she would wonder and worry about how long they could stay alive in there.

Ruda bent over the hot bakery ovens, hoping he would see Irena later that day. He visited her as often as he could. It was always difficult with
family visits restricted to several hours once a week, but that did not stop him. He was smart and resourceful. He snuck out late at night, traveling through the dark streets to Irena’s barracks, dodging the guards on patrol with their fierce dogs.

“How are you managing?” she asked when he met her that night. She worried so much about her brother, who looked pale and thin.

Ruda shrugged his shoulders. “I’m still strong,” he replied. “And you must stay strong as well.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small loaf of bread that he had managed to sneak out of the bakery. “Here,” he said. “I’ll bring you more whenever I can.

“Have you heard the rumors?” he continued. “People say the transports leaving from here are taking prisoners to other concentration camps, where they are being killed.” Each day, thousands of prisoners received notice that they were to be sent to an unknown destination in the east. No one wanted to talk about where that might be.

Irena nodded. Of course she knew about the transports to the east. But like most of the prisoners in Theresienstadt, she tried not to think about them. Besides, these days she did not want to talk about transports or death camps. In spite of the hunger, the misery, and the uncertainty in which they lived, Irena had fallen in love. Viktor Kende was a young man she had met in Budejovice. In the midst of the bleakness of Theresienstadt, their love had flourished. Finally they had managed to marry.

Viktor and Irena had wanted desperately to create a celebration for their wedding day. For days, they had hoarded extra food for the occasion. They had even managed to find some wine to add to the festivities. Irena had borrowed a white dress from another young woman in her barracks. Viktor had borrowed a suit that fit his tall, handsome body almost perfectly.

Top: A painting of Irena and Viktor’s wedding, done in Theresienstadt. Bottom: A painting of Viktor and Irena on the cover of their wedding book.

On the day of their wedding, Ruda was there to rejoice with his sister, along with his parents and a few friends and family members. Once again, their beloved Rabbi Ferda conducted the ceremony in the attic.

As the rabbi recited a blessing for the bride and groom, Irena closed her eyes and dreamed of their synagogue back home in Budejovice, with its lofty archways and beautiful stained-glass windows. Then she opened her eyes and looked up at Viktor. She reached for her new husband’s hand and held it tightly. The Nazis could not stop this couple from loving each other. She and Viktor drank wine from a small glass, and kissed each other under a wedding canopy made from blankets and old pieces of clothing.

After that, Ruda wrapped a glass in a small piece of cloth and placed it under Viktor’s foot. The breaking of a glass was an important Jewish wedding tradition, reminding everyone, even in joyous moments, that life was fragile. In Theresienstadt, with its constant reminders of the frailty of life, this tradition seemed even more poignant.

As Viktor’s foot stomped on the glass and shattered it, the guests shouted, “Mazel tov! Good fortune! May your lives be full of joy!”

CHAPTER
29
L
EAVING
T
HERESIENSTADT
N
OVEMBER
1943

As thousands of new prisoners arrived in Theresienstadt each day, thousands also left, having received notice that they were being transported east. The death camps were no longer just a rumor. Each transport took several boys from John’s room, and as each boy packed his meager belongings and said goodbye, the others were left to wonder anxiously when their turn would come. Elsewhere in the world the tide of war was turning. Hitler’s armies were losing in Russia and Italy. Surely they would be beaten, but would it be in time?

For the longest time, John and his family, and Beda and his family, as well as Ruda, Irena, and others managed to avoid the yellow deportation slips that would send them to the east. Because John’s father was a doctor, his services were still needed in Theresienstadt. Beda and Frances’ father had suffered a leg injury while doing forced labor in Budejovice, and that enabled him to delay his family’s transport. Viktor Kende was able to keep the Stadler family safe. He had a job in the Theresienstadt transport department, which let him prevent some
family members from joining the trains.

But they could not all avoid the yellow slips forever. On one cold day in November 1943, John and his family, along with thousands of others, received orders that they would have to leave Theresienstadt.

John stared at the little slip of paper and began to shake. The boys in his room were quiet, looking sadly in his direction and silently giving thanks that they had not been the ones selected.

John’s mother came to help him pack for the journey. She pretended to be cheerful. “Another train ride,” she said, smiling faintly. “But it won’t be for long. We’ll be home soon. You’ll see.”

This time, John was not fooled. He was scared.

The next day, he said goodbye to the boys in his barracks.

At four o’clock a.m. he and the others boarded their trains. These trains did not have seats. They were cattle cars – dark, cold, and filthy. Families were pushed in until they were jammed together: men, women, and children. Finally, the heavy metal doors slid shut with a bang that echoed in the early morning air. The train left the station.

Their destination was Auschwitz.

CHAPTER
30
L
IFE AND
D
EATH IN
A
USCHWITZ

John arrived in Auschwitz in November 1943. The next eighteen months of imprisonment was the worst period in his life. Auschwitz was a place of unspeakable horrors. There were brutal living conditions, constant disease, and daily deaths. John lived in what was called the family camp. Here, at least four thousand prisoners were crammed together in wooden barracks, with only boards as beds, surrounded by a fence of electrified barbed wire. The prisoners were starving. As meager as the food had been in Theresienstadt, here in Auschwitz there was even less: one watery bowl of soup a day, with a small piece of bread.

The foul, muddy camp was a breeding-ground for fleas and other bugs. One winter day, John felt his whole body begin to itch and burn. He removed his sweater and looked at it closely. To his dismay, there were hundreds of tiny fleas crawling everywhere. It was as if the entire sweater was in motion, as the bugs danced across the strands of wool. This was his only sweater. There was only one thing to do. He shook the sweater wildly, and squished the bugs between his fingers until he had
killed as many of them as he could. Then, closing his eyes, he put the sweater back on.

Could anything be worse than this
, he wondered. As each stage of his life became more unbearable than the one before, he would look back and long for past days. Compared to Auschwitz, Theresienstadt had been tolerable. Sleeping on a bug-infested mattress there had been better than sleeping on wooden boards here. Showering once a week, even in cold water with just a sliver of soap, had been better than no showers at all. The warmth of the boys’ barracks had been better than this constant cold and never-ending mud. It was remarkable how one horrifying place could make another one look good.

Home seemed like a distant memory. He could barely recall the days at the swimming hole, and the happiness he had felt there with his friends. He thought about
Klepy
and the young people who had taken part in its creation, and he knew he had to continue to have hope. Hope was what had inspired the children of Budejovice to create
Klepy
. Hope was what had sustained them in Theresienstadt. But hope was harder and harder to find.

One day, shortly after arriving in Auschwitz, John walked outside his building. The frigid winter air passed easily through his flimsy sweater. He slipped and slid across the ice and snow in his thin-soled shoes, which had holes eaten through the bottom. It almost hurt to breathe, the air was so icy. But still, it felt good to be outside. He proceeded across the field, onto a small road in front of the barracks. The Nazis permitted these short walks, and this was the only form of exercise for his now weakened body.

As he walked down the road, he suddenly saw someone he knew walking toward him – a friend who had left Theresienstadt before he had. It was wonderful to see his friend, and to know that he was still alive, though frail and sickly-looking.

“Tell me what you can about this place,” begged John. He was hungry for information, desperate to be reassured that things would be okay.