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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
The passion play
"Let’s change positions," Ruth insisted, like a jockey adjusting her feet, a warden assured that the prisoner won’t escape; her heart pumping, finally reaching the finish line. The pretentious warrior a moment ago already transformed into a contented child.
"Ruth," Jacob said, gazing at her pretty face, when she stopped him, her finger on his mouth, her translucent eyes wide open. "Tell me the reason for your behavior. You had reached the top of the world, and had everyone else at your mercy."
But she seemed to be in a trance.
"Do you hear me?"
"Ja, mein lieber, I heard every word. I wanted to tell you before. I did not mind then – but now, I don’t know if I should. But what the heck, you won’t marry me anyway.
"When I was a teenager," she began, "I, like every German youngster, joined the Hitler-Jugend, took part in parades, learned patriotic songs, particularly the Horst Wessel Lied.
"I was raised in an environment with little love, forbidden to see my friends, many I had spent a happy childhood with.
"Developed for my age, I learned early about sex. Late one night I left the bathroom, when I heard mute noises coming from my sister’s room – and there was Elsa on her bed naked, her legs wide apart, an officer on top pumping her, I becoming an ardent spectator.
"One night she noticed me.
"‘Do you like what Franz is doing?’ she asked, unabashed.
"‘I don’t know. I have never tried it.’
"‘Okay, my little sister. I’ll fix you.’
"True to her promise, not long after, Elsa took me to a house. There I was in a smoke-filled room, on a huge bed, one officer after another mounting me, like bulls taking turns. One big brute in particular, hurting me."
"But I don’t hurt you, I am not a brute, am I?"
"No, my Liebchen, contrary to the common belief, you are not. You are kind, gentle, unselfish, wunderbar, and I would have gladly married you even though you are a Jew," she said, her pulsating breasts heaving, her overfilled eye blinking, kissing Jacob goodbye.
It was a long, hot summer. Jacob’s room turned into a furnace. The U.N.R.R.A.-sponsored shop closed for vacation, and awarded its employees an excursion into the Rheinland: a young lawyer and two couples, Jacob, his co-worker Maltz, two office girls, their aloof behavior discouraging any further involvement, all sharing an old hostelry.
They swam in the neighboring brook, boated on the great river, visited centuries-old castles, impressive cathedrals, their ancient camera in constant use.
It was a place to visit but not to stay permanently. Two weeks was enough. Unlike other tourists, they were anxious to return to the city, the perfect setting and lack of activity left one brooding, the solitude disturbingly uncomfortable. How can one explain?
If a sick person needs someone to alleviate his pain, so was a healthy one in need of someone with whom to share this beautiful place.
In the camp one had friends, buddies to discuss things with, often argue to prove a point, at night the ever-ready girl sharing his bed. If the feeling was not always mutual, nevertheless it was an effective tranquilizer.
Upon his return he had two surprises. Someone had broken into his room and stolen the only valuable item – a shortwave radio, a steady companion that had taken him to concert halls, symphonies of his favorite composers.
The second surprise was rather pleasant, poignantly nostalgic. The apartment vacated by Mandelewitz had a new tenant, a family from Radom, Mayer Levi, a friend of his father, a feldsher (country doctor). Who could ever forget the Bankees, sort of suction cups on the back that he was so experienced with, and the children so dreaded.
His arrival revived a long-forgotten past, making it strikingly alive. Reb Mayer and Jacob’s father would never miss Friday night or Saturday services.
He, his wife, and his entire family were repatriated from Siberia, and although they were poor and subsidized by American help, nevertheless Jacob envied them. They were the happiest people on earth, one would not have changed it for all the treasures in the world.
At last the long-awaited affidavit arrived. But when Jacob came to see Miss Ravine, the head of the emigration department, he got sidetracked. He was not, she claimed, the only applicant. There were many others anxious to leave, he finding himself at the end of the waiting list. The only consolation was that although he was last today, tomorrow there would be another one in back of him. Someday he would be at the front of the line. …And then?
Then he’ll get rid of this blood-drenched part of the world, go to the United States of America, the land of plenty where the streets are paved with gold, where God of Mammon reigns supreme – paraphrasing Shumacher.
If that is so, Jacob wondered, if happiness or peace of mind can be measured by gold alone, he knew that he would fail. The past would be a constant reminder that money and happiness seldom go together. And if ever there had been an attraction or the thrill of money a factor, it was long gone.
He had an unexpected visitor, Sonia, bringing regards from her brother who had settled in Detroit, three of his sisters helping him open a jewelry store.
"Yashenka," she said teasingly. "How are you?" The sudden pronouncing of his name of long ago bringing back fond memories.
"Jack, it’s me, Sonia! Wake up! I think it’s time for you to settle down, make a Jewish girl happy, not to give everything to the Frauleins. You see, I know, Herman tells me you keep company with a few of them."
"Don’t worry, Sonienka," he replied in the same manner. "I can assure you, when I find the one I like, she won’t be shortchanged. Have no fear, I have plenty left, I have a big, generous heart, and a. …"
"Okay," she said, grinning, and pinched his arm. "Okay, you don’t have to elaborate. Let’s go. I have to meet Herman."
Herman invited Jacob to Tierschenreuth, a small town near Hoff, to meet his only sister, nephew, and two nieces who survived Auschwitz. Although suspecting the reason, Jacob accepted it gladly, jumping at the invitation.
The train passed many towns, dainty hamlets neatly kept, ancient castles, leaves gaily twirling in the wind.
They stopped at Bayreuth, when Herman said: "This is the city made famous by Richard Wagner. Here, at these festivals, one can find opera lovers from all over the world.
"Not only was he famous for the heavy Prussian music and long operas," the animated Herman continued, "but also notorious for a long history of scandals; a wife snatcher and charlatan, a swindler and a virulent Jew baiter.
"He denounced the great French composer Meyerbeer, who in a great part was responsible for his success, only because of his Jewish origin."
"I might add, Hitler was a great admirer of Wagner, so was Nietzsche," Jacob interjected. "For a time I thought that Bayreuth was the place of the Passion plays, a rightful connection for his bigoted statements, but I was mistaken. It is located in Bavaria."
"You are right, Jack, a small place at the village of Oberammergau. Yes, O-b-e-r-a-m-m-e-r-g-a-u.
"The first year of each decade Christians gather there for the sole purpose of witnessing a mock trial, a presentation of the infamous Passion Play, ‘The Crucifixion of Christ.’ A pilgrimage of the faithful reinstating the abhorrent hatred toward the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, their alleged crimes, the killing of the Savior.
"An infamous ritual of prejudice, bigotry, practiced for two millennia culminating with the Holocaust.
"And everlasting love, the teaching of Jesus, the rabbi, is not for them – that is for the birds."
"Oh, Herman, oh, my dear Herman," cried Sonia. "I am amazed, utterly surprised to hear you speak that way.
"You have never told me of this place, which in a sense is no secret. Those spectacles occur all over the world.
"What strikes me is the similarity of both of you. You almost sound alike – one could detect irony, sarcasm, so much acrimony – not only toward man, but also toward God."
"Yes, Sonia, there is a great deal of truth in what you say," Herman said. "I have never denied it. But don’t forget, I might not be religious, but I am still a member of the tribe."
Jacob had a pleasant stay at Herman’s sister’s house. For three days those Galitzianer lavishly catered to him. His young niece, outgoing, friendly, quite attentive, related her tragic childhood, constant want. … A silent confession, that only material fulfillment was her desire.
That beautiful girl was dreaming of overflowing wealth, her mind set only on the tangibles, determined never again to be without them, yet missing the real values of life, the spiritual, sublime glories of one’s existence.
He felt deep sorry, for her and the loss of others, the lack of beauty life can offer, their hearts overburdened only to fill their stomachs, hollow shells.
"So many dreamed of making a living but were so totally ignorant how to live."
Then, who was he to complain and compare? True, he suffered, barely existing for a long time, but he was not branded like an animal, stripped of the basic values of a civilized society. His morale, his soul did not falter, helping him to endure.
One may say that it’s easy for him to think or act the way he does now, and if not part of the majority, he is not normal. If that is so, what is he? A freak?
Then, nothing is normal anymore. These are the times one had to get adjusted. The presence, artificial, transitional, lacking permanence, aware that he lost his equilibrium, like in a bubble floating in midair.
The truth is, he doesn’t particularly care, and doesn’t want to be bothered. It’s sufficient that he remembers the past, and will never forget it. For the present he’ll take one day at a time, and make the most of it. As for the future, he does not think much about it, and quite frankly does not give a damn.
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