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18 The boxcar doors were slid open. In the morning light we looked out into chaos. The SS swung their clubs and truncheons as we jumped and fell from the boxcars. They were shouting and cursing, and we cowered from their blows. We rushed to line up for the counting. Some prisoners had dropped their bowls and were beaten back in line as they tried to retrieve them. An SS guard climbed into the boxcar to count the dead and to finish off the nearly dead. On the grimy walls of the railroad station hung signs with the name Oranienburg. We stood for the count, and the SS men began shouting for us to march. We marched out of the station and through the streets of the town. This time the pedestrians took little interest in us. From my place in the middle I looked up and saw many bombed-out buildings. The Russians must be coming from the east. I was exhausted and distracted and started to fall back from my row of prisoners. I felt a sudden blow of a truncheon on my back. A guard yelled, “Wake up! You filthy Jew!” I stumbled and forced myself to get in step and march. We were nearly running. We slowed as we came to the camp. Ahead was a massive gate. It was as wide and as tall as a three-story building. Armed SS looked out from the windows on the upper floors. Above the entrance a sign in black letters said: “Arbeit macht Frei.” (Work liberates.) We passed through the gate. The SS men stopped us on a large paved lot next to the gate. In every direction as far as I could see were row upon row of prison barracks . On a small area of green grass in the middle of the square a formation of prisoners was marching back and forth. Some were stooped over, for they carried German army knapsacks on their backs. A Kapo stood nearby and shouted the cadence. The prisoners kept marching back and forth. 165 A Kapo came, used a wooden stick to line us into a formation of fives, and then counted us. He marched us across the camp, and we stopped in front of two large barracks. The Kapo paced along our column, waving his long wooden stick. “You are in Sachsenhausen,” he said angrily. “You will live in these barracks. First you will be given a shower and be registered. Tonight, you will be fed. Tomorrow you will work.” We stripped and left our clothes in piles. We ran through a barracks with icy cold water running out of overhead faucets. It was not enough to wash the grime or filth from our bodies. I copied the other prisoners, who slowed their running and opened their mouths to drink the shower water. We came out through the barracks, and the Kapo and an assistant checked our names against a list and gave us two patches with black numbers and red and yellow triangles on them. We were given a needle and a length of thread and a few minutes to sew the patches to the front of our jackets and the side of our pants. I sat wet and naked on the ground and stitched my prison clothing. I was now prisoner 107,028 of Sachsenhausen concentration camp. We dressed and were led back to our barracks where we stood outside in rows for hours. Finally, our Kapo opened the barracks doors. The barracks were overcrowded with rickety three-tiered wooden bunks. We were to sleep two to a single bunk. My friend Julek Schipper and I agreed to share an upper bunk. It would be tight and uncomfortable on the narrow shelf, but we were both extremely thin. Many prisoners immediately lay down on the bunks to sleep. I was too hungry to sleep and lay awake for hours. I climbed off the bunk without waking Schipper and went outside and stood in the small enclosed yard. I watched as groups of prisoners marched back from work. In each camp I had learned to seek out experienced Jewish prisoners whom I could trust for advice about the camp. I always hoped to find someone from Rzeszów who might know something of Manek’s whereabouts. I walked by the edge of an open square where the prisoners assembled for morning and evening roll calls. I knew that it was of vital importance to quickly learn my...
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