Mr. Simcha Dobner – Part V

You were separated from your family in the Krychow labor camp and sent back alone to work in a factory near your hometown of Rejowiec, in Poland. After you found yourself living in the ghetto, what happened to you?

One morning in May, we were shocked to see the ghetto fence surrounded by helmeted SS units with their machine guns aimed at the ghetto. Except for a few individuals, we were all rushed onto trucks. With my heart full of rage, I cast my last look at my home town.

In the afternoon, we arrived at a concentration camp surrounded with double electrified barbed wire fences and watch towers: Majdanek.

Upon our arrival, we had to hand over our valuables. Next, we passed before an SS officer who pointed each inmate to enter either a door on the right or on the left. I was sent to the showers and given a pair of short pants, a long jacket and a pair of wooden shoes.

We were quartered in barracks, with triple-bunk beds, two to three inmates per cot. We were given a tiny slice of bread and a meager soup portion.

We had to do useless labor, accompanied by relentless beatings, daily marches and the Nazis setting their mad dogs on us. I sometimes worked near the crematoria. Slowly, we became inured to that fearful building, its chimney with its constant smoke. We’d think, “Today him — tomorrow me.”

After I’d been a month in Majdanek, rumors spread that a transport of men would be picked for some work. My group was included. We were herded into freight cars to an unknown destination, but at least we were leaving Majdanek.

We arrived in Auschwitz. We marched through its gate with its large sign, Arbeit Macht Frei — “Work Makes You Free.” We were led in columns to the bathhouse, then proceeded through very painful hair-cutting and shaving and finally through a hot-cold shower. I was tattooed on my left arm with the number 127977. The first three days there, we were quarantined, and then we were assigned to work units.

What was the daily routine in Auschwitz?

After the daily morning tzel appel, we marched in military fashion, three in a row, to our work sites while the camp orchestra played. The march was torture. We had to go barefoot on the stony ground, but in swampy areas; we had to put on our wooden slippers. The pain was unbearable.

Our unit dug ditches in the slimy ground and loaded the dirt on rail carts drawn by a mini locomotive. We all rushed to fill our cart so as to escape a beating from a kapo or, worse, being reported to an SS officer. After a few weeks, I was transferred to work as a painter.

In January 1944, I became very ill and was admitted into the hospital. After a few weeks, I returned to my work unit digging ditches. It brought me to an almost catastrophic breakdown. Just when my despair was at its worst, I was called back to the painting unit.

The Ribbono shel Olam had mercy on me, because due to a rash, I was assigned to the leprosy block. There I met Shimele the Glazier from my hometown. He knew I was an artist, so he recommended me to the head of his block to draw various signs. For the following few weeks, I was rewarded for my work with an overflow of food that I mostly gave away to other inmates. After returning from my daily outside work, I would continue with my artwork in the evenings. Many block heads argued over whose block I would start painting next. Although I had had no practical experience, my hands performed miracles on the walls and I soon became known as the decoration artist.

Can you tell us about the Death March?

In mid-January 1945, we were ordered to evacuate. In the brutal cold, we marched a whole day and night, surrounded by sadistic SS guards. The gunshots and screams of the victims filled the night. Finally, we were herded into freight cars. We traveled 10 days in locked wagons without food or water. The stench was unbearable. We arrived in Nordhausen and were chased off the wagons and into Camp Dora.

There, deep inside the mountain, the Germans produced missiles. We were assigned jobs. The lucky ones worked on the missiles and received daily bread and soup. The rest of us worked outside and received practically nothing to eat. The brutal hunger and biting cold, in addition to the merciless torture of the work, took a large number of victims daily.

Our job was to clear the woods and built a railroad. One night, we were awakened and driven to our work site and the point of our mysterious work was finally revealed. The rail carts were filled with heaps of corpses. We were commanded to pour kerosene over them and burn them to ashes.

Would you tell us about liberation?

At the beginning of April, we were once more loaded into freight cars and after two days we arrived in Bergen Belsen. I fell down, half dead, and waited indifferently for my bitter end. But someone shook me, yelling, “Get up, we’re liberated — the English are here!” It was April 15, 1945 — liberation!

B’chasdei Hashem, we were zocheh to build new Jewish generations who bring pride to us, to our Creator and to all of Klal Yisrael.

These survivors’ memoirs are being compiled by Project Witness.