Roll Call and “Selections”
I already knew that there were periodic “selections” in the camp, and that at these, new victims were chosen for the crematory ovens. However, I still did not know that the roll call, too, was used to decimate the internees.
There were two roll calls daily, the first at dawn, the second at about three in the afternoon. It was at these hours that we had to be present. Before the roll call was actually called, we had to wait many hours. While waiting, no matter what the weather, we remained standing: 1,400 women in front of each barrack, 35,000 in the whole camp, 200,000 in all the camps of the Birkenau-Auschwitz area. When we were accused of some infraction of the rules we had to go down on our knees and wait in the mud and dirt.
In the early dawn we shivered from the cold, especially when it rained, which was often enough. During the winter the roll call was always taken under the same conditions, whether in snow or in frost. We tried to squeeze against one another like a herd of sheep, but our warmly clothed guards were alert. Remain at attention we must and observe the required distances.
On summer afternoons the other extreme prevailed, and the sun scalded us with its flaming rays. We perspired until our filthy rags stuck to our skins. We were constantly tortured by thirst, but we dared not break ranks to seek a drop of water. The sensation of parching thirst is inextricably entangled with all my memories of the camp, for our daily ration was hardly ever more than a quarter of a pint of water, at most two mouthfuls.
Everyone had to be present at the roll call, the sick, too. Even those who were ill with scarlet fever or pneumonia had to be there. All the stricken internees who could not stand were laid on a blanket in the first row, next to the dead. Everyone had to be present: there were absolutely no exceptions, not even for the dead.
In the beginning a few inmates tried to cheat and were absent from roll call to avoid the cold and fatigue. Their naivete cost them dearly. Sometimes an inmate stayed away because she had overslept. Such episodes were catastrophic. The missing ones had to be found, and we could not leave the rows until they were located. Even the guards lost their heads. They counted and recounted us. Others dashed here and there on their bicycles between the commander’s office and the barracks. Some searched the koias. The whole camp was alerted.
The most exalted personages appeared to consider such an occurrence as an absence! The latter, chiefly S.S. women, were strange silhouettes in their large black rain capes. They looked like vultures waiting for their prey. Despite their capes and good clothing they never hesitated to seek shelter when it rained. Frequently they did not trouble to come to the roll call at all. Only the internees had to endure the inclemencies of the weather. Still, if we could catch and swallow a few drops of rainwater to moisten our throats we were consoled.
Besides the ordinary roll calls, there were also special ones. A gong sounded and the fateful words “Roll Call” were repeated in the barracks. When we heard the order—no matter where we were, in the kitchens, in the washrooms, or in the latrines—we hurried toward the assembly point as though possessed.
The camp hummed. When we got into line there was nothing to do but wait for the commanders, often on our knees, consumed by our hatred and our fears. Those who were late or who had slipped away were always discovered. The poor souls were trampled by the “kapos,” who, as the officials in charge of the kommandos, rivaled each other in these “corrections,” although they were internees themselves; and left the “guilty” ones with broken limbs and bloody faces.
In these special roll calls, inmates of all nationalities and social classes were thrown together. One of my neighbors was the wife of a career army officer, originally from Cracow; another was a Parisian worker. I heard the complaints of a Ukrainian peasant, the oaths of a Salonika street girl, the prayers of Czech women in pain.
“Why are you here?” we asked one another.
The replies were various:
“A German was killed in our city.”
“The Gestapo pulled me from a movie theater.”
“They picked me up as I was leaving church with my two children. I was not even able to notify my husband.”
“I am Jewish.”
“I am a Gypsy.”
But the most frequent reply was still: “I haven’t the slightest idea why I am here.”
Most of the internees of Auschwitz resigned themselves to their fate and built up a simple philosophy: one had been picked up by the Germans because she had bad luck; others were still at home at liberty because they had had good luck.
We had a few very young inmates, many practically children, in our camp. They were required to appear at the roll calls. Permitted to live a while by the Germans, these little girls, thirteen or fourteen years old, shared all the hardships of the camp life. And yet, they were privileged compared to the Jewish children of the same age, who were immediately sent to the gas chambers.
The treatment which the children received was unbelievable. For punishment they were forced to kneel for hours at a time, sometimes with their faces turned toward the broiling sun, sometimes with stones on their heads, at other times holding a brick in each hand. No more than skin and bones, these children were dirty, starved, ragged, and barefoot. They were a pitiful sight.
Occasionally I overheard their conversations. They talked, as we did, of those things which made up our daily existence in the camp: death, hangings, the crematory ovens. They spoke calmly and realistically, just as other children of their age might speak of games and schoolwork.
I still think about those roll calls. What reason was there for them? Why did the camp administrators concern themselves so much? Their goal was obviously to break the morale of the deportees; but also, by keeping us in the mud, the cold, or the heat, to hasten the work of extermination which was the real purpose of the camp.
* * *
The “selections” were usually made at roll calls. The women S.S., Hasse and Irma Griese, or Dr Mengele, Dr Klein, and other Nazi chieftains assisted at the roll call. They chose a number of internees each time, ostensibly with a view to a would-be “transfer.”
Before I ever saw them, I had heard from the older inmates that Dr Mengele and Irma Griese were the camp chiefs and that both were good-looking. Still, I was surprised how really handsome and, indeed, attractive they were.
Yet there was a certain wildness in Mengele’s eyes that made one uneasy. During the selections he never said a word. He merely sat whistling to himself while he pointed his thumb either to the right or to the left, thus indicating to which group the selectees were to go. Though he was making decisions that meant extermination, he was as pleasantly smug as any man could be.
When I laid eyes on Irma Griese, I felt sure that a woman of such beauty could not be cruel. For she was truly a blue-eyed, fair-haired “angel.”
Occasionally, they picked internees for the war plants, but generally they selected only for the gas chambers. Each time they took from twenty to forty persons per barrack. When the selection was directed at the whole camp, five or six hundred internees were sent to their deaths.
Those who were chosen were immediately surrounded by Stubendiensts, who were obliged to guard them against escape, under threat of the direst punishment to themselves. The condemned men and women were led toward the main entrance. There a truck waited to transport them to the gas chambers. When the death facilities were overtaxed, the people were sent to special barracks or into washrooms, to wait for hours, and sometimes days, until their turn came to be gassed. It was all done neatly and without the least feeling of compassion on the part of our masters.
In addition to the roll calls, there was also what was called a “Zahlappel,” which took place inside the barrack. Suddenly, the building would be isolated and the chief S.S. physician, assisted by a woman doctor who was in charge of the deportees, herself an internee, would march in and proceed to make additional selections. The women were ordered to divest themselves completely of their rags. Then, with their arms in the air, they marched past Dr Mengele. What he could have seen in these wasted figures I cannot imagine. But he picked his victims. They were made to climb into a truck and were taken away, still entirely nude. Each time, this spectacle was both tragic and humiliating. Humiliating not only for the poor sacrifices, but for all humanity. For these destitute souls now being driven to the slaughter houses were human beings—like you and me.