The Snow of Auschwitz

I sit at the kitchen table, anxiously eating my meager breakfast composed of toast, watching as my grandmother whisked eggs and flour. Her wiry grey hair was messy, and her apron was speckled with various stains from her cooking. She was in a hurry, preparing bread for the move today. She told me we were going to take a trip from our home here in Germany to Switzerland, that it would be a long ride, but that I would love it once we got there. She said Switzerland was very beautiful, with majestic mountains and rolling fields to play in.

“Hurry up Angelika! We mustn’t be late!” Grandma says, wiping her hands off after putting the bread in the oven.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” I whine, shoving the last bit of toast in my mouth and place the plate in the wash. I race to my bedroom to finish packing for the trip, depositing only my most treasured belongings into a bag to take with me. Grandma had warned me that we must only take what we valued most, and for me, that meant taking my favorite stuffed animal (a bunny), my locket, and my writing journal. It wasn't much, but I loved each of these things deeply, refusing to ever depart with them. Inside the locket are my Mommy and Daddy, their faces small and faded from the years. They had died a few years ago, though Grandma refused to tell me why. She said some things were best not to know. Ever since the day they died, I have been wearing this locket, refusing to take it off.

I take my bag back into the kitchen where Grandma is, clutching my bunny in one hand, as she takes the bread out of the oven, placing it in a bag so it won’t spoil on the trip. We grab our belongings, and head out the door, Grandma walking so fast it was hard to keep up with her. She had a worried expression on her face that puzzled me, but I decided to dismiss it as her being sad to leave the house. I take her hand and look up at her,

“It’s okay Grandma. I’ll miss it too. But there will be big mountains in Switzerland, and lots of fields to play in!” She smiles weakly at me, giving my hand a little squeeze as a small tear trickles down her cheek.

“Yes, there will be.” She murmurs, and as if coming out of her haze, shakes her head and continues rushing down the dirt road. We head away from town, going down the old dirt road that ran through the woods. I see another lady running to us, shouting,

“They’re coming! They’re coming! The rumors were true!” I tilted my head, puzzled, and Grandma quickened her pace to a run. I tried to follow, but my bag was heavy, and my legs were far smaller than hers.

“Grandma! Wait up!” I called, and she grabbed me and picked me up, running in a full out sprint. Her movements were jerky and I dropped my stuffed bunny, it flying from my small fingers and into a puddle on the side of the dirt road. My mouth drops and my eyes go wide, “Stop! I dropped my bunny!” I cry out, but she refuses to stop, her pace unrelenting as her worries grow.

“There’s no time!” She pants, and I begin to cry softly, confused, afraid, and missing my bunny. I didn't understand what was happening or why we were running, but it reminded me of the tales Daddy would tell me of the bad guys chasing the good guys. It was almost surreal, as if I was being placed into a movie. In the distance, I see a dark black truck driving down the road towards us. Grandma begins to slow, tired from the sprint and weak from age, but yet continues pushing forward. Suddenly, she trips on a small hole in the road, and we go tumbling to the ground. I go sprawling from her arms, falling unto the cold, dirty ground, and she falls on top of me. She rolls off of me quickly, pushing herself up and grabbing my hand as we continue on, leaving the package of bread behind, muttering,

“No time! No time.” I hear a loud bang behind me, the woman who was running with us falls to the ground. I turn to see the black car nearing us, men in dark black uniforms yelling things at us, screaming things like:

“Dirty Jews! Stop this madness!” Grandma doesn't stop, though, and continues struggling to run away from them. The men in the truck scare me, and I stay close to her, fearful. The truck finally catches up to us, driving right beside us, and the men in dark uniforms step out with large guns in their hands.

“We have been instructed by our leader, Hitler, commander of the third reich, to stop any Jew in our path and turn them in.” One of them says, sneering at us. Another even spits at Grandma. My fear turns into anger as I watch these men, disrespecting us as if we are trash. I don't understand why they keep saying the word Jew like it’s some sort of bad thing.

Then one of the men points a gun at Grandma.

“Get in the car, or you’ll regret it.” The man says, his finger wrapped around the trigger and ready to shoot. I am paralyzed, and I look up at Grandma, biting her quivering lip and holding back tears.

“Never!” She spits, and begins to run. There is a deafening bang, then she falls to the ground, limp. Gunpowder fills the air and chokes me, or perhaps it’s the sob forming in my throat as I am forced to watch as she falls to the ground with a hard thump. She was the only family I had left, and it seemed almost surreal for her to be here one moment and gone the next. I freeze, staring at nothing in particular, my breaths coming short and quick. The men turn towards me, clearly unphased, and I wish I could shrink into nothing. The man points his gun at me, poking me with the large bayonet.

“Get in the truck, or you’re next.” I obey, no questions asked, climbing into the car and sitting there, numb and oblivious to the world around me. I subconsciously grasp my locket, praying to God that I would make it through. Tears stream down my face, but still I hold my head high, trying to be brave. I sang lullabies in my head, remembering the songs Mamma used to sing to me before I went to sleep. Hushaby, don’t you cry, go to sleepy little baby. The words course through my mind, but offer little comfort as we head towards the dense forest, and I could see faintly hovering in the sky, a flakey substance floating in the wind, almost like snow. A charred, charcoal colored snow.

We arrive at the train station, and the men shove me into a cart and close the door, taking my bag with them. I was thankful I had my notebook in my pocket. The cart is filled with several other people, their clothes tattered and many of them crying. They all have one thing in common: the yellow star over their chests. I head over to a somewhat empty corner, standing beside an elderly woman with thin, spindly brownish gray hair. She wore a defiant scowl on her face, though her eyes were clouded with fear and anxiety.

“What is this place?” I asked, tugging on her sleeve to get her attention.

“This is the train to Hell. Rumor has it, we will be going to a death camp, where the Nazis are said to kill us, or worse.” I gulped, not really understanding what she was talking about but knowing that whatever it was, it was a bad thing. We were being sent to our deaths.

“Why? Why are they doing this to us?” I began to cry, and she rests a soft hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“We’re Jews. They’re Germans. We don’t believe in the Mien Kampf and they don't believe in God. Ain’t no point in fightin, but they don't see it that way. They blame us for losing the war, and hate us because we’re different from them.” She put her arm around me, and I clutched her dress, crying. “It’s okay child. We’ll be okay.” Her voice was very reassuring, and I refused to leave her side for the rest of the train trip. The woman’s name, I found, was Zarownica, or Nica for short.

The train ride was long and unrelentless, the large amount of people bothering me as opposed to the solitary I had once welcomed at home. Soon, I had to use the restroom. I tugged again on Nica’s sleeve,

“I need to use the restroom.” She frowns down at me.

“Can’t you hold it? It ain’t like we got a bathroom.”

“I have to go! Bad!” I begin to whine in a childish manner, and she shushes me. She sighs heavily, glancing around the crowded cart for options. She pushes me into the corner, taking her jacket off and covering me. I relieve myself, tearing paper from my precious notebook to act as tissue paper. Happily, I return to her side.

“Thank you.” I whisper, and she smiles at me kindly,

“You’re welcome, Angelika.”

Finally, after several hours, the screeching of the train on its tracks let us know we had arrived. A soldier, whom I now knew to be a Nazi, came and opened the door of the cart. A few people stepped back, but nobody came forward to get off. The Nazi took his gun and pointed it at a man, shooting him. The man slumped to the ground, his eyes glazed as he looked down at the wound in his chest, blood gushing through his shirt. He coughed a few times, blood coming from his mouth and nose, making a gurgling sound in his throat. It takes every bit of effort I have to not throw up, and I turn away, unable to watch. Hesitantly, the people began pushing forward. Nica took my hand and led me off, keeping me close to her.

As soon as we got of the train, I looked up to find a large sign by the railroad tracks that said, Arbeit Macht Frei. Men and women are immediately separated as we leave the train, put in lines to go see the doctor. He is dressed rather nicely compared to the soldier men, even wearing a fancy bowtie. He wears a small nametag that says, Dr. Ernst B., and as he looks over me, his eyes hold an almost sympathetic look. He then mumbles, “too weak” and places me in yet another line, telling me I was to take a shower. The line holds a lot of old people as well as toddlers and children. I also notice a few ladies with fat, round bellies with us. Nica soon joins me, also being placed in the line with me. Her brow wrinkles with worry as she looks ahead. I notice many others murmuring quietly to themselves, sorrowful and anxious expressions on their faces. I didn't understand what was happening. I just wanted to go home. Only, home doesn't exist anymore. I thought quietly to myself, Mommy and Daddy are gone, Grandma is gone, my home is gone. Nica is all I have left. I held her hand in mine, moving closer to her, determined not to lose her too.

“It’ll be okay Nica.” I say, trying to comfort her. She smiles upon me sweetly,

“We will.” She whispers, her eyes shining with a new determination as she points to the sky, saying, “Look to the Heavens child! Look beyond the ashes! For if you believe we will be okay, than we shall.” I looked up into the smoke filled sky, doing as she said, trying to look beyond the snow-like ash. I prayed harder than ever, asking God to take care of Nica and I. Nica pulls me into her arms, kissing my head gently as if I were her own child, and for a moment, I pretended she was my mother. I relish in her embrace, soaking in her warmth and finding the ray of sun through the clouds.

Before entering the room to shower, we were instructed by a mean soldier to strip from our clothing. I did as told, but hesitate to remove my locket. As I take it off, I keep it in the palm of my hand and refuse to put it down. I keep it hidden away in my clenched fist, staying close to Nica and hoping they wouldn't notice. Thankfully, they didn’t. Soon, the large door to the shower room opens, and we begin to pour in, being shoved and prodded by the soldiers like cattle. When I enter “shower room” I nearly vomit. Scratches lined the walls, and the reek of death was palpable. Few lightbulbs hung above us on the ceiling, making the room dim and gloomy. There were no showers to be seen, and the room stank of a nutty smell, almost like sour almonds. I clung to Nica, fearful of what was going to happen to us. When the chamber was so crowded that we were all side by side, stuffed together like a can of sardines, they closed the door. The lightbulbs swung eerily, and I hear a soft swooooosh! sound. The sound continued, along with sudden coughing and hacking. Confused, I took in a deep breath, and a sharp pain stabs my throat. I fall to my knees in a fit of coughing, reaching for the walls, stretching myself up for a breath of fresh air. It gets worse, making it incredibly hard to breathe, yet still I hold on. My breaths are shallow and quick, and I only breathe when necessary. Slowly, my strength begins to deteriorate as the unbearable pain sears through my lungs. Nica is against the wall, raking her nails down them so hard blood spurts from her fingers. A wild look appears in her eyes as she then turns to me, grabbing me and lifting me above her,

“Breathe!” She rasped, and I take a breath, only to find the air just as tainted. Wheezing, she drops me, and I collapse on top of her, too weak to get up, and curl into a ball with her on the floor, the bodies piled up all around us. As my last breaths shudder out of my body, I close my eyes and pray. I pray for Nica, the woman and children around me, Grandma, Mamma, and Daddy. With one hand I grasp the locket in my sweaty palm. Finally, I let my soul take flight into the abyss of an endless sleep. 

“There is perhaps no single location representing all of history that better depicts pure evil, man’s greatest inhumanity to his fellow man, than the stark, cold set of buildings in southern Poland called Auschwitz-Birkenau. During WWII more than one million people, mostly Jews were executed there. Murdered in cold blood. The Nazis called it ‘the final solution of the Jewish question in Europe.’

From 1942 through 1944 Jews were delivered to the camp’s gas chambers from all over Europe.

But in the face of unthinkable horror there were people who displayed courage beyond imagination. Regular men, women, and children who put their very lives on the line in defense of righteousness. It was a small but important triumph of the human spirit then and equally important lesson for us today.”

~Glenn Beck