“Just to start with,” Laszlo said. “Later, we’ll switch roles. Everyone gets to be SS.”
Clara and Mindel were given a head start, while the others turned their backs and counted to ten. Mindel ran off right away, looking for a place to hide. There really weren’t many, apart from the huts. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping the others wouldn’t notice her.
She heard Laszlo call out “Coming”, and soon after the footsteps of one of the children approaching her hiding place. She waited until the last moment before she darted away, hoping to have the element of surprise on her side, but Fabian was too quick for her. He grabbed her arm and dragged her behind him to the punishment place. Clara was caught soon thereafter and the two of them stood in the middle of the circle, while the others pretended to tie them to a stake, singing, “The Jews will burn! The Jews will burn!”
Mindel and Clara had to pretend to beg for their lives and offered the “SS” food, clothing, money and whatever else they could think of. Once they were officially “burnt alive”, the game ended and they started again with roles reversed.
That part Mindel liked a lot better, because the SS always won and the Jews never had a chance. They played several more rounds of the game, until none of them could anymore and they all collapsed to the ground.
It was strange to feel so tired, because her brothers had always told her she’d become faster and stronger when she grew older, but in reality, the opposite seemed to be true. Every day she could run less and had to sit down to catch her breath more often.
But sitting around doing nothing soon became boring and Ruth, who was thinner than a stick, said, “Let’s see who’s thinnest.” She straightened her dress and pushed her fingers up beneath her lower ribs. Her hand disappeared up to her knuckles.
“Ha, that’s nothing, I can beat that,” Fabian boasted and pushed up his shirt to show how he could make his entire hand disappear beneath his ribs. “What do you say now?”
The other children murmured with admiration and Mindel nodded very seriously as she said, “You are really thin.”
“What about you, Mindel? Show us how thin you are!” Fabian urged her, but she answered, “I don’t like this game.” Herself, she could only squeeze the first two digits of her fingers behind her ribs, another disadvantage of being the youngest and smallest in the group. She always lost at these games.
Much too soon dinner time came around and, despite being so hungry, she loathed the moment when she had to put the disgusting gruel into her mouth. Why couldn’t the SS feed them something nice?
8
Rachel was torn from her slumber by loud yelling and it took her a moment to remember where she was. She jumped out of her bunk, put on her shoes and ran outside for the inevitable roll call. But much to her surprise, there was no roll call, only a queue in front of the field kitchen.
She’d gotten so used to the awful gruel, she didn’t even smell the stale and musty odor anymore and hastily spooned every last drop into her mouth – just in time to line up with hundreds of other women. Even before the line had fully formed, they were marched from the camp in rows of four.
It was already light outside, and the entire population of the rather rural town seemed to be on their feet already, heading out to work. As soon as the group of prisoners came nearer, though, the townsfolk diverted their steps into side alleys, or looked away—apart from some intrepid ones who hurled terms of abuse at the prisoners.
Rachel walked on the outside of her row of four and faltered in her step, as a glob of spit landed on her arm. But even as she wiped it away, the guard behind her lashed out with her truncheon, shouting, “Keep walking, filthy Jew!”
She stumbled onward, furtively glancing around. Never had she felt more humiliated in her life; she didn’t understand why these people hated them so much. She was a German just like the townsfolk, the only difference between her and them being that her ancestors practiced Judaism.
In the distance, she could see a large building, presumably the factory they were assigned to. Despite the early morning, the air was warm and she feared the walk back in the evening, when the asphalted street would be scorching hot. Grateful for her dilapidated shoes, she glanced around and noticed some other women had nothing but rags wrapped around their feet.
After a tiresome march they finally arrived at the Rheinmetall-Borsig ammunition factory that stood like a sentry at the far side of the town. The resident inmates hurried to their workstations, but Rachel had to line up alongside the other newcomers to be assigned their line of work.
She just hoped it would be something where she could sit down, because in her weakened condition she was completely exhausted from the half-hour walk that back on the farm she’d done several times a day without a single complaint.
“You, come with me!” a male factory worker said, pointing at Rachel and five other women. He led them to a workstation, where, with a jubilant heart, Rachel noticed several high stools. The foreman showed them how to fill bullet shells with explosives and then left them alone, assembling the next work group.
She didn’t dare to talk or even look around, but focused exclusively on the task at hand. It was not physically challenging like street construction work would be, but she had to concentrate hard not to spill the explosives when stuffing them by hand into the shells.
As the morning passed, the air inside the factory grew unbearably hot and stifling. In addition, the smell of the various chemicals stung her nose and eyes, and after a while she could barely see through the
