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32. Joining the Czechs in Buchenwald
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227 32 Joining the Czechs in Buchenwald There was no romantic restaurant awaiting us in an old castle on the top of the hill as in my fantasy, only the entrance gate to Buchenwald. I have no memory of that gate, in sharp contrast to my memories of other entrances to concentration camps. Each was the entrance to unknown horrors, and each I anticipated with fear and little hope. We were packed into an already overcrowded barracks, but were so tired that all we wanted was to rest. Several of us were on one mattress. The noise of the fighting became louder and more intense. Airplanes buzzed around including small fighters, called in the slang of that time “mosquitos.” We assumed that the Allies knew about the camp and we wondered if they would be able to rescue us before the SS succeeded in destroying us. In this camp there was a strange new fear—the absence of any German SS to keep order. Groups of prisoners of similar backgrounds began to form. Suddenly, two or three strong prisoners dragged in a young emaciated boy who was shaking and whimpering, trying to get away. One of the newly self-appointed leaders yelled at this boy, who was now a prisoner within a prison, “We will hang you, Gypsy, stealing bread!” They pushed him to the extreme end of the building. The wildness and violence in their faces made me cringe. There was a new anarchy of prisoners competing for dominance. The SS stayed in their own buildings as much as possible and gave commands from there. Rumors spread that the camp was to be emptied by sending prisoners to another place before the Allies would reach it. Honsa, a Czech medical student who had worked in Ohrdruf with Fritz and me, made contact with a group of Czechoslovakian political prisoners in one of the buildings. When the command was given over the loudspeakers that Jews had to assemble at certain barracks, Honsa, 228 Unfree Associations who was not Jewish, managed to have the three of us accepted into the Czech block of political prisoners. Fritz and I made our names sound more Czech. My first name had already been translated into Czech on all official documents when I lived in Prague. Now, trying not to be recognized by the SS guards, I marched, as Bohus Blocªek, quickly but carefully with my two companions to the block of political prisoners where our countrymen expected us. The building was different from the usual wooden barracks. From the outside it looked like a real house. Two men hung out of the window of the second floor. Seeing us enter their territory one called out, “Pozor zide prijdou!” (Watch out, Jews are coming!) That was an unexpected welcome! My feeling of security started to crack. I wanted to turn around, but Fritz grabbed me by the sleeve and dragged me through the open door. Two or three of the more important Czech prisoners greeted us. They were all under the tension of the last days. They knew how close the American armies were. They had heard about the pending evacuation and also knew how political prisoners from occupied countries were important as hostages for the SS. What they did not know, and neither did we until many years later, was that Hitler in his last days, hidden in his bunker in Berlin, when asked what to do with those prisoners who might be important for future negotiations, answered, “Shoot them all.” Our new companions gave us a change of clothing so that we would look more like them. We slept in their barracks that night. Sometime during the next day, the order came to assemble. The camp was to be evacuated immediately. On the way to the gate, other groups of prisoners joined us. A long column of people moved towards the train terminal. I think we passed a long row of crowded cars standing on a sidetrack. Through an open window, a voice screamed a message to us that they were Jews of various backgrounds who were being sent from Buchenwald to Theresienstadt. American fighter planes circled over us while we boarded the train. I had been comforted by the fantasy that they knew all that was going on below. Once more we were pushed into overloaded cars. The whistle announced our departure and, through a window, I saw the next group of prisoners arriving. The speedy little fighter planes followed us...