Post by crispy362 on Nov 25, 2013 23:31:17 GMT -5
Warning! Content may be disturbing to some readers!
Brutality was a normal part of life in Auschwitz. One could never simply ignore it, but eventually, all prisoners became used to it, as we all knew to expect it. However, I personally could never get used to the beatings. They were a constant threat, even for the most minor of "infractions".
One particular morning, we were roused very early by an SS Feldwebel for an inspection. I don't remember his name, but I remember that he was an older, rather rotund gentleman. He was clean-shaven, had a long, crooked mouse, and could usually be seen with a big, fat cigar in his mouth. I do remember that he particularly hated sonderkommandos. He said we were "unclean" because we had to deal so closely with the dead. As he walked through our barrack, inspecting every two-man bed, the effects of the lack of sleep began to wear on me. I tried not to, but had an overwhelming urge to yawn. In the silence, my yawn rang out like a signal cannon in the dead of the night. He turned to me with s hateful glare. He walked in front of me and blew a puff of the cigar smoke in my face. He asked with a hint of sarcasm "are you tired, Jew?" It took a moment to answer. I remember being genuinely afraid of this man. It was well known among inmates that this man was dangerously insane. He constantly walked a thin line between normal and composed and simply self destructing. What was more, he never hesitated to administrate a beating or a nonchalant execution. Shaking, I answered "Nein Feldwebel." He became clearly agitated, and screamed "You lying Jew!" He swiftly knocked me to the ground. Being to old and out of shape to stoop down and beat me, he began repeatedly kicking and stomping my face and chest. I remember curling into a fetal position, just praying it would soon be over. I could breathe. My vision blurred as he delivered the final few blows. Out of breath, he shrieked "get up! Quickly!" I stood to face him. My head was spinning. My nose and lower lip bled. My chest was on fire, and ached with each labored excursion. Still out of breath, he asked "now, once more, I ask you, Jew, are you tired?" This time, I didn't lie. "Ja, Feldwebel." I answered. Once again, he became very angry. "You insolent Jewish swine! After all we do for you! We give you food, shelter, we give you- we-" he began stumbling over words. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he demanded that I give him my hand. I obliged quickly, not wanting to incur his boots again. "let this be a lesson for you to remember all that we to for you." He nonchalantly. He removed his cigar from his mouth and burned my palm.
Brutality was a normal part of life in Auschwitz. One could never simply ignore it, but eventually, all prisoners became used to it, as we all knew to expect it. However, I personally could never get used to the beatings. They were a constant threat, even for the most minor of "infractions".
One particular morning, we were roused very early by an SS Feldwebel for an inspection. I don't remember his name, but I remember that he was an older, rather rotund gentleman. He was clean-shaven, had a long, crooked mouse, and could usually be seen with a big, fat cigar in his mouth. I do remember that he particularly hated sonderkommandos. He said we were "unclean" because we had to deal so closely with the dead. As he walked through our barrack, inspecting every two-man bed, the effects of the lack of sleep began to wear on me. I tried not to, but had an overwhelming urge to yawn. In the silence, my yawn rang out like a signal cannon in the dead of the night. He turned to me with s hateful glare. He walked in front of me and blew a puff of the cigar smoke in my face. He asked with a hint of sarcasm "are you tired, Jew?" It took a moment to answer. I remember being genuinely afraid of this man. It was well known among inmates that this man was dangerously insane. He constantly walked a thin line between normal and composed and simply self destructing. What was more, he never hesitated to administrate a beating or a nonchalant execution. Shaking, I answered "Nein Feldwebel." He became clearly agitated, and screamed "You lying Jew!" He swiftly knocked me to the ground. Being to old and out of shape to stoop down and beat me, he began repeatedly kicking and stomping my face and chest. I remember curling into a fetal position, just praying it would soon be over. I could breathe. My vision blurred as he delivered the final few blows. Out of breath, he shrieked "get up! Quickly!" I stood to face him. My head was spinning. My nose and lower lip bled. My chest was on fire, and ached with each labored excursion. Still out of breath, he asked "now, once more, I ask you, Jew, are you tired?" This time, I didn't lie. "Ja, Feldwebel." I answered. Once again, he became very angry. "You insolent Jewish swine! After all we do for you! We give you food, shelter, we give you- we-" he began stumbling over words. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he demanded that I give him my hand. I obliged quickly, not wanting to incur his boots again. "let this be a lesson for you to remember all that we to for you." He nonchalantly. He removed his cigar from his mouth and burned my palm.