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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
A mere four days
What is the matter?" asked Shulman. "Is there a Dybbuk within you? Why are you screaming, scaring people?"
"Forgive me, I wasn’t here – I was dreaming. I had a heated discussion with none other than God himself."
"Anything important?" asked Gottlieb. "Or is it a heavenly secret?"
"No. I had only questions, expecting answers," Jacob said, when Shulman got up shouting.
"Who are you to question, to have the audacity to doubt God? Look around you, and you still doubt Him? He rules the world in mysterious ways, there is a pattern we must accept, a reason for it. So why ask, there is only one thing for us to do, put all the trust in Him."
"No," retorted Gottlieb. "I don’t agree. If God is so great, He would welcome a good argument. I for one would not be happy to lose an eye or a limb, I would still bemoan the loss – and we lost more than that. True, you and Yasha had no picnic, but you were not in Auschwitz – and will never fathom the scope of our tragedy. Who is one to turn to if not to God? No one else is left."
"That’s it, my dear Gottlieb, that is the crucible, the meaning of our being on this earth. Life is not given on a silver platter, and we cannot choose. Each of us has a sealed package to carry and must be humble about it, like it or not. Humility is the essence of our existence.
"But how humble can one be? How much can one suffer not complaining? This I know – if the war had lasted a while longer, none of us would be here to complain."
"Shulman," Jacob interjected, "Gottlieb is right. We have no notion what suffering is. Our parents, brothers and sisters, and millions of others are not here, but their agony is known. A great injustice was committed, and as long as I have breath in my lungs I’ll remind the world, and God Himself."
The heated dispute did not solve anything, but somehow Jacob knew that the end of the thorny road is near, the human misery will find relief, a reason for its existence. The young would be helped, their wounds healed, only the scars would remain. As for those such as himself, there is one solution. Life is like a turbulent river, one cannot swim forever against the current – one must either swim along with the stream or drown.
With every roll of the wheels they neared the German border, entering Bavaria, a rich valley hugged by the Alps, toward Bad Reichenthal, a resort near Berchtesgaden, the famous retreat of Hitler. A fancy iron gate, a huge plaza, four three-story structures, well-kept sidewalks adorned with beds of flowers.
Gottlieb and Jacob shared a lavishly furnished room furnished, stretched out on beds, immediately falling asleep – awakened by a young German girl advising them that dinner is served.
At the end of the third day Shulman left for Sweden, to see his sister. Gottlieb was not in a hurry. He, a native of Lemberg, lost all of his family. He persuaded Jacob to stay a while longer, reasoning that if his brother is around, a few days would make no difference.
A fortnight later Jacob left for Munich, headquarters of the Jewish Committee, arriving in the early afternoon. After obtaining the address of his brother, he boarded the express train to Stuttgart. The rest was easy. Standing across the street of the Rheinsburgstrasse, he could see the bold letters of Brotgeber-Mandelewitz – Watchmaker.
Yet he could not move, was glued to the spot, a mysterious force holding him back, a strange premonition overcoming him.
He crossed the street into a semi-dark hall and entered a below-ground apartment. A large room with fluorescent lights illuminating a workbench, tools of the trade, men talking, arguing, a heavy-set man in a white shirt, a magnifying glass fastened to his golden spectacles, but not his brother.
"What can I do for you, young man?" the heavy-set man said, after the others left. "Come in, don’t stay there, come in, I won’t bite you." But Jacob ignored him.
"I have no time, do you have a watch to fix, gold to appraise? I am busy!"
"No, I am looking for Laibl Brotgeber," Jacob said, his eyes nervously searching the room. But instead of answering, the man came closer. His posture changed, and he offered Jacob a chair.
"But where is he?" Jacob asked. "Why don’t you tell him his younger brother from Russia is here," when footsteps approached from the adjoining room, but instead of Laibl, it was a woman, her penetrating, lustreless eyes scrutinizing him.
Next he was handed a photo, of Laibl and a beautiful girl cutting a cake, a small crowd surrounded by a rabbi.
"Yes, this is my brother. But I don’t want his picture. I want to see him. Where is he?"
Right then Jacob knew that something was wrong. That hunk of a man, his hand on Jacob’s shoulder, awkwardly explained that his brother and bride were well, but had left for America four days earlier.
Terribly disappointed, his head spinning, Jacob wanted to be alone. Like a baby, the man took his hand and walked him to an outside alcove and let him in. It was a most miserable night.
Disappointed, Jacob blamed everyone, mostly himself for not leaving Bad Reichenthal at the same time Shulman did. He traveled halfway around the world, and came so close, almost touching, to miss his brother by a couple of days.
Now his ship speeds towards New York and who knows when or whether Jacob would ever see Laibl again.
Frustrated, he hit the table, crying himself to sleep. When he opened his eyes it was daylight, and he was lying on the bed fully dressed, his fists bruised.
Jacob could not face anyone; he needed time, he had to think, then took a long walk descending hilltops, ravines, heaps of debris, finding himself in the theater district.
Tired, he entered a theater and dozed off, awakened by an actor, portraying the loss of his family, contemplating suicide, saved by a man helping him regain self-assurance, faith in his fellow man. Despite the drawbacks, tragic events, one must not despair. "Und Das Leben Geht Weiter." Only the weak cannot face difficulties – but the strong do survive. "And Life Goes On."
That movie was the most propitious catalyst, a timely answer to his frustrated behavior.
Back in the room, he pondered: What would have happened if he had come here in time? Most probably Laibl would have postponed the trip. Who knows for how long? This is better, he tried to convince himself. It is not too soon that Laibl left this blood-stained place, the cursed camps and the Germans – to start a new life, a happier, brighter future.
As for himself, well, he needs patience. Looking back when he like a gypsy moved from place to place, not sleeping in the same bed twice, at times not having a bed, but survived, a little more of this will not kill him. Thus, if patience is a tranquilizer, then time is the best medicine, and he’ll take advantage of it, make up for all the wasted years. "Where there is life there is hope."
There was a knock on the door. Mandelewitz called him for supper, and he was ready.
Jacob had the occasion to observe his hosts. If there was any similarity it was only their appearance. He, a heavy-set man, a Santa Claus type, outgoing, friendly; she, not much smaller, attractively zaftig, uncommunicative.
After a delicious dinner, his wife retreated to the kitchen, Mandelewitz with a cup of tea in his hand, asked: "How was your day, Yankel? I am happy to see that you are looking better. If there is anything I can do for you I would he happy to, for your brother’s sake. He is a good man."
"Yes, I feel much better. Though I miss my brother, it is much more than others can look for.
"Though I am curious – how you, a Litvak, and my brother, a Poilisher, became such good friends. You must agree, there are certain distinctions, if not in religion, than in behavior, cultural background, tastes – personality."
"No, my friend, times have changed quite drastically. The war brought people from all corners of the European continent together, especially us, Jews."
"But how did you meet?" Jacob asked insistently. "Tell me how a friendship like this developed?" He wanted to know not only about Laibl, but also the fate of the rest of his family.
"Patience, young man, patience is a great virtue," Mandelewitz said, deliberately stressing the words. "We have all the time in the world. I’ll tell you all I know about him." He took off his pince nez, leaving a mark on his fleshy nose, exposing dark gray eyes, then polished the gold rims, and moved closer to Jacob so he wouldn’t miss a word.
"One afternoon we received a new transport of highly skilled watchmakers, and as an old inmate of Sachsenhausen I had a chance to see them," he said. "Among them was an 80-pounder in rags dragging his feet, a Musulman, his big brown eyes wandering all over the place – that was your brother."
"But, what do you mean by a Musulman? True, my brother is a Semite, but not a Musulman!"
"Yes," Mandelewitz said, laughing heartily. "Obviously you were not a Katzetler. A Musulman is just an expression. Anyone who was in a ‘Lager,’ especially where your brother was, in Maidanek, eventually became a skeleton, a Musulman.
"Now let me tell you about Sachsenhausen. That camp consisted of two inconspicuous houses fenced in from all sides, constantly guarded. Within these walls the German high command performed secret experiments, not on people, but vital for the war complex.
"In one building they gathered jewelers, watchmakers, mechanics from all of Europe, the best in their field, perfecting precision instruments.
"In the other – printers, engravers and artists – making money. Highly skilled counterfeiters, imitating banknotes of European countries to perfection.
"As long as the Nazis needed us we were treated humanely, though fully aware that in time we’d be eliminated.
"Leon – I mean your brother Laibl – was put in the camp clinic, and with the help of extra food his young body bounced back, gaining strength, then he joined the rest of us. We became friends. Besides, we had one thing in common. He hoped to be reunited with his brother Yasha – I with my sister Sonia.
"Our hopes grew with the opening of the second front, and the Russian onslaught on Berlin. Then we knew that the end was near, one way or another. But when the guards in fear for their own skin left in a hurry, we breathed easier, saved from certain death.
"After the liberation, Leon went to look for his family, I for mine. Weeks later we met in Stuttgart, he with Bella, the girl he betrothed in the Warsaw Ghetto, I emptyhanded, my family, wife and two children – gone.
"So that’s it; true you missed him, that is a pity. For the time being your letters will have to do until you see him again. But if I may say, I hope that something like this happens to me – that I find my sister. Although I have four more in America, I miss my little Sonia the most."
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