Chapter 25
In the throes of a hot summer, the work of Treblinka at Camp 1 practically ceased. The Warsaw ghetto had been cleaned out, some arriving on trains wounded with bayonet stabs, and some already dead. Though Camp 2 continued to remove bodies out of the ground for cremation night and day, Camp 1 was in desperate need of activity.
Kommandant Franz Stangl decided to perform one more big construction push to keep the laborers occupied. Old roads were resurfaced. New roads were paved. Signs were created for every corner of the camp. New fencing was put up. Decorative carving took place on some of the larger buildings where the Nazis lived. The Sunday shows were still conducted, but there was stifling, dry heat to deal with, not to mention an ever-present malodor that was revolting.
Stangl was determined to keep everyone working hard to impress Odilo Globocnik and Christian Wirth, his regional supervisors. The new construction projects would keep the workers busy and validate Treblinka’s existence, but it was a challenge for everyone. None of the SS wanted to be there and some of the Ukrainian guards deserted. The stench was too much to bear.
Stangl knew that without people entering the camp to be processed, Globocnik could shut down their entire operation on a whim and order the camp to be leveled. This would inevitably mean the death of all of the Jewish workers, a command he would be reluctant to issue.
That was when a large group of Gypsies arrived…on foot, with horses pulling wagons full of goods. The workers watched as hundreds of Gypsies poured through Treblinka’s gates. However, it did not take long to process them. The passengers had no idea what their future held. Within a few hours all of them were gone, their bodies incinerated.
The revolt date came but nothing happened. A train had arrived with many additional Ukrainian guards as escorts the exact morning the revolt was scheduled to take place. The organizers decided to put it off a few more days.
That summer, Richard Glazar and Karel Unger were tasked onto the camouflage unit to go into the woods and bring back juniper branches for the fences. It was a highly organized mission, where the men were divided into groups, each with a foreman and SS guards for security. On one occasion, they returned to Treblinka but were ordered to enter the back gate of Camp 2. None of the Camp 1 inmates had ever seen the pits, or the gas chambers. It was quite a sight for Richard and Karel to digest.
Out of the corner of Richard’s eye he recognized Zelo in a group of Camp 2 inmates who were laboring adjacent to the closest pit. Though he looked changed, it was definitely Zelo. His skin was blackened from working near the fires all summer, and his face appeared gaunt, but he still had that command presence Richard admired. His shoes and pants were soaked with blood, and it looked like he was shepherding men as they scraped ashes out from under the large grills.
Zelo glanced toward Richard and recognized him as well. A friendly exchange took place among the two Czechs while they silently searched each other’s eyes. Richard noticed something urgent in Zelo’s expression. The end had come, everyone knew it. In a few days the Camp 2 workers would complete the exhumation mission and finish disseminating the ashes. As a result, the SS guards would surely kill them all because they were witnesses to the crime. Some action had to be taken immediately, like the very next day—that was the tidings Richard received from his nonverbal exchange with Zelo.
But then, as if needing confirmation, Adasch—standing beside Zelo—shouted out in Yiddish for all to hear: “What are you waiting for? Everything is finished, isn’t it?”
Richard, Karel, and their entire foraging crew from Camp 1 understood exactly what that meant. They returned to their barracks and explained to Rudi what happened.
“We will revolt this week!” Rudi exclaimed. Then he called together Edek and some other young men to make sure they understood how important their task to break into the arsenal would be.
Rudi defined for everyone the three main goals for the revolt: First, to set fire to all the buildings, which would destroy the camp; second, to kill all the SS and as many Ukrainian guards as possible; and third, to escape into the woods and, if possible, to free the Polish men and Jewish prisoners held in a penal colony nearby the main camp, sometimes referred to as Camp 3. There was no contact with the workers at Camp 3, so the forced laborers would have no early warning of the revolt. However, Zelo and Galewski thought it would be advantageous to kill the guards at Camp 3 as well, so they could not act as reinforcements to search the woods after the revolt. Rudi agreed. There were so many conditions that needed to take place in the first few moments of the revolt for it to be effective, it was hard for Rudi to keep them all in mind. Night after night he had gone over all the details with his fellow conspirators.
In Camp 2, the Nazis began to celebrate. They had whipped and beaten the inmates to such a degree that the speed of the work was greatly increased. Over six hundred thousand bodies had been exhumed, and they were now excavating the final pit using two excavators. They would be done soon, so they decided to have a toast toward their accomplishment. They planned a banquet for that evening, sort of an early celebration supper. Zelo and Adasch found it ironic that the Nazis would celebrate, yet it was the Jews who had done all the work.
One of the excavators was broken down and needed repairs, but it appeared they were no longer concerned with fixing it. They had almost completed the mission. One of the main duties now was discarding the ashes. The process was to not only sprinkle the ashes out in the field, making sure there were no bony fragments in it, but also to replace some of the ash back into the deep pits to be covered over with a layer of sand. Soon the soil would be graded down, the ashes completely disbursed, and the mission would be over. All they would have to do was burn the new bodies arriving for processing, which would only take a few hours once they were removed from the gas chambers.
Zelo sent word through the carpenter Jankiel that the revolt must take place within the next twenty-four hours.
Rudi Masarek was now pressed for time. It was Sunday, August 1st. There were still several items that needed to be done, yet he would honor Zelo’s appeal. It was decided the revolt would take place the following day at 5:00 p.m. The plan was to use the arms room depot key to steal the two cases of grenades with their triggers, along with a few rifles and ammunitions, in the early afternoon. After those items were secured, there would be no turning back from commencing the revolt.
The first group of men in action would surround the barracks and cut the telephone wires. Then the Ukrainian guards were to somehow be lured away from their posts, possibly with a twenty-dollar gold coin, before grabbing their weapons and shooting them. Grenades were to be thrown into the German command post and other places where the Ukrainians and SS might be milling at the time of the revolt. Besides blowing up the gassing chambers, all the wooden buildings were to be doused with gasoline and set on fire, and the armored truck was to be taken over and used to shoot at guards.
In addition to the disrupting events, one contingent of inmates was to focus on the sadistic SS guards like the Doll and Miete and liquidate them as fast as possible. Another contingent would eradicate the Ukrainians on the guard towers. And several men were to focus on opening the gates that faced the forest for a mass escape.
A single shot, fired at 5:00 p.m., was the signal to begin the revolt. One serious problem to consider was the difficulty of having that many anxious men and women make it through the day without giving away any clues. Too many people were in on the plans, and they had not yet dealt with all the informers. There were approximately six hundred Jewish workers left in the lower camp and two hundred in the upper camp. The revolt had to be synchronized. If they were discovered early it would mean many of them would die in the Lazarette.
Forty of the men had previous military training. Rudi was counting on this fact for some assurance their scheme could work. Still everyone was edgy. The workers knew that the next day they would either escape or be killed. There was no other option if they participated in the revolt. Camp elder Galewski made his rounds, reassuring everyone and encouraging them to remain calm and prepare mentally for the next day.
In the women’s quarter there was never much talk of the revolt, chiefly due to the effectiveness of a couple of female informers. Therefore the women were not officially told when it would start, but they could tell it was imminent due to the way the men were acting. Tchechia received the clues with a measured response. She knew which workers could be trusted and which ones could not. There was a female kapo who lorded it over the women each day. She was a known informer. Her name was Paulinka.
Paulinka and Kuttner Kiewe had an understanding. To that date in August, Paulinka had given away at least six Jews who had mistakenly confided to her they had plans to escape. She was despicable, and Tchechia speculated that Paulinka was probably the reason the men felt they could not trust her and Bronka with too many of the details. Someone should take care of her first, thought Tchechia.
Bronka caught a quick glance from Rudi during the Sunday afternoon camp performances. It was the type of look that communicated that he had some important information for her. He did not smile, or even hold the gaze for very long, but without a shadow of a doubt, Bronka knew what it meant. The revolt was inevitable now.
Bronka thought for a moment. It was comfortable standing there, listening to the concert. The guards had treated them better in the last few weeks than they had earlier in the year, when trains flooded Treblinka’s unloading platform with passengers. It almost seemed wiser not to revolt with how well the guards were treating them, but Bronka knew the comfort she now felt was fleeting. Besides, what would happen when the war ended?
Bronka knew that all of the workers would have to be killed because they could not be left alive as witnesses to the murders occurring there. Bronka reassured herself that the revolt was the only way forward, the only plan that could move her out of the cycle of slave labor followed by death. She and Tchechia would participate in the revolt and escape—or die trying.
Tchechia was stronger than her, both emotionally and physically. Bronka realized she might die while trying to flee the guards, while Tchechia would more likely make it safely to her freedom. These thoughts were a little terrifying for her, but she knew she could not be paralyzed by fear. That fear in itself could cause her death if it prevented her from taking a risk on the most important day.
When the concert finished, the young women ran next to each other back toward their living quarters, where they would wait until supper. Before they arrived, Bronka whispered to Tchechia, “The revolt is happening tonight or tomorrow.”
“How do you know?” asked Tchechia.
“I could see it in Rudi’s eyes.”
“Well then, we must get ready. We will make sure the gold we have stored is easily accessible once we hear the first shots being fired.”
“I hope we have enough,” said Bronka.
“It will have to be enough!” declared Tchechia.
Zelo could not sleep. At dark, the male barracks in Camp 2 was locked and the lights were turned off soon after. The men knew what was happening the next day through communication between some of the workers across the fence. It was clever how they did it, but it had to be clever or the Germans would find out what was going on. The revolt was to begin at five in the afternoon, and Zelo and his men would be ready.
Before Franz Stangl settled down for the night he thought about writing a short note to his wife. It was his usual routine, a habit he had started many months before. He did not always mail the letters he wrote to her, but he usually wrote and updated her on how he was doing and asked her questions.
However, that night he was deciding against writing her. He had just returned from leave. His wife Theresa had pestered him incessantly about quitting his post. She had somehow figured out what was happening at Treblinka, and that “her Paul” was in charge. It had greatly disturbed Theresa. She recently saw a priest about it. Her final words to her husband before he left home was that he needed to quit, and soon. She did not understand, thought Stangl. It was not that easy.
Stangl put down his pen. He would write her tomorrow night.
A sip of liquor.
A moment to think.
In essence, Theresa had issued him an ultimatum, though she knew she wasn’t allowed to do that to him. He had gone over this with her after they were first married. He could issue an ultimatum, as the man, but she was never to give him one. She did not like that rule then, and she obviously did not like it now, because she threatened him. It was almost as if he were supposed to choose Theresa over his job at Treblinka. It wasn’t fair.
She knew he couldn’t simply quit, not with men like Globocnik and Wirth. They had no feelings for others, and it appeared no sense of family, or what it might be like to be married to a strong-willed wife. These were men who had a singular focus—deal with the Jews.
Stangl decided to take his mind off the whole mess. He would definitely not write Theresa tonight, and he would consider writing the next day. Tomorrow will be a good day, Stangl thought. A friend from Vienna passing through the area was to visit with him over lunch. It will be nice to catch up, he thought. But for now I must get some sleep.
Chapter 26
Monday, August 2nd, was a very hot day. The guards discussed several tactics on how to keep cool, but finally decided they would take a nice long swim after lunch. Stangl received his visitor and began drinking with him before their meal. The Doll had taken a pass to leave the blistering hot and smelly work site. He would not be back for a few days.
Several of the Jewish workers walked along the camp street, watering the parched flowers. The rest of the Jews were at their respective work sites, keeping out of the sun and trying to act normal. There were no trains that morning. Just stillness, except in the upper camp where they feverishly worked to finish operations.
Before lunch, while smoke rose from the grills in Camp 2 and Ukrainian guards walked the perimeter fence for their morning rounds, Rudi told the young men to take the cart to the munitions room.
“Now is the time,” he said softly. “May God be with you.”
The young men had been briefed that they must secure the grenade detonators this time, and they were ready for the task. Just before they left, however, it was reported that one of the guards whose room was directly next to the arms room had worked the previous night and was now resting inches away from where the young men were to gather the rifles and grenades. Something had to be done. Camp elder Galewski, who spent the morning reassuring the workmen who were having a hard time focusing, dispatched a brave worker to go and deal with the untimely predicament.
The man selected by Galewski went to the guard’s room and knocked furiously. “Sir, you must arise! You are needed in the vegetable garden. There is a fight with the potato workers.”
The guard arose, swore, dressed, and then rambled out of his room to attend to the problem.
“We must move quickly,” the worker declared to the guard. It was true; time was of the essence.
When the Jewish worker and the guard departed the area, a horse and cart—the one used for garbage pickup—was rolled up to the back of the ammo room. One of the men went through the front door with the stolen key and then opened the back window next to the cart with trash. The grenade boxes were handed out the window, as well as the detonators, pistols, and then rifles.
Nearly three dozen weapons passed hands through the window and were then quickly wrapped in burlap and placed underneath the garbage moments before a desperate whisper was heard. “He’s coming back! Quick, get out of there!”
The young man inside the room lowered the window, replaced the bar, and hurried out of the room. As he rounded the corner of the building, he passed beside the grumpy guard who was frustrated by being called from his rest for such an insignificant matter.
The horse-pulled cart made its way over to the SS garage managed by Standa Lichtblau. The mechanic inspected the grenades and weapons. They were ready for use. He took the munitions and a secret stockpile of alcohol bottles out of the garage. Working stealthily, he disbursed everything by wheelbarrow to other work sites. By the time lunch was over there were weapons and grenades all across Camp 1.
Galewski told Rudi, “The nest is out. Get word to Zelo. From this moment, not another Jew will be murdered without reprisal!”
Tchechia sat in the kitchen area, peeling a mountain of potatoes with three other women, when there was a quiet knock on the door.
“Is Paulinka here?” a male voice asked when the door was cracked.
“No, she is at another site.”
Standa quickly entered the room, bringing half a dozen grenades and detonators. He looked at the women seriously but with a slight glow emanating from his eyes.
“It is today,” he said triumphantly. “Hide one of these grenades in your potato buckets.”
“Gladly,” said one of the workers. Tchechia reached out a second time to have two grenades for her bucket.
Zelo and Jankiel received the news from Camp 1 with relief. Their crew was scheduled to be locked in the barracks that afternoon, but Zelo convinced the guards to let them all continue working for extra bread rations. The cremation work needed to be done, so the guards relented.
Zelo inspected the weapons and ammo previously bought from nearby peasants. The revolt was to start at 5 p.m. He eyed the guards on the watchtowers along with those in the excavators. He would be ready.
The Jewish workers at Camp 2 had desperately waited for this day. Having endured incredible mental suffering with their scandalizing tasks, they were filled with much relief to hear the good news. The workers had only to withstand but a few more moments. They labored heartily, trying to act normal, yet whispered to each other in passing, “Ha-yom, ha-yom! (The day, the day!)”
Stangl and his Viennese friend were laughing, having a grand time. They had finished lunch, but the stories and drinking continued. They could be heard from outside Stangl’s office.
Some of the guards congregated under the branches of a large tree on the edge of the courtyard. Another group of guards departed for their afternoon swim. Suchomel, in a bright-white shirt, decided to ride his bicycle around the camp for a while. Miete and Mentz rested in the shade at the Lazarette. Kiewe, his hat pulled low over his forehead, was dispensing ten lashes as punishment to someone who displeased him. He did not know that his actions were being watched very closely by attentive prisoners.
Richard observed the wonderful, cloudless blue sky as Rudi gathered the Czech contingent around him. He was so nervous and overcome with emotion that he could barely speak.
“Has the gasoline been sprayed on the buildings by the disinfectant detail?” Rudi asked. The worker in charge of spraying all the clothes with disinfectant had a central part to play for the entire plan. He filled his canisters with the gasoline received from the garage and walked around the camp that day, spraying the sides of all the buildings.
“Yes, check.”
“Everyone on the list has their guns or grenades handy?”
“Check.”
Rudi wiped the sweat from his brow. “The gas pump will blow up as soon as the first shot is fired?”
“Yes, as well as the buildings around it.”
“The branch cutters are ready to cut the telephone lines? People are at the fence, ready to blow it open? Galewski is keeping an eye on Kiewe?”
“Check, check, check!”
Rudi gave the men a genuine smile, the first one seen from him in a long while. As he spoke his final words he was borderline incoherent. “Boys…tell the ones at home…this is the moment…”
Rudi shook each man’s hand one last time: Robert, Richard, Karel…but Hans refused to shake. He quickly mumbled something about the revolt not actually happening.
Hans had seen revolt dates come and go; he did not want to get his hopes up too high that day. Something had changed about Hans after Zelo had been taken to Camp 2. It seemed he could never quite pull himself together, and he was not as helpful to the revolt organizers as he had been when Zelo was with them. The other Czechs recognized that something had broken inside of their friend; they understood his despair.
David Brat grabbed Richard’s hand and whispered to him, “King David’s psalm declares, ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.’”
Richard held firmly to David’s hand—a true friend. Richard remembered when he was delirious with typhus and suffering from malnutrition. David came to the sick bay and secreted two small, wrinkled apples into Richard’s hand. How much David spent for the apples, he never cared to share. What Richard could not forget was after David gave him the apples, the old man knelt down and kissed Richard on the forehead. It was a simple gesture, but in a place like Treblinka, where the only physical touch was with a whip or a slap, the kind act was truly remarkable.
Other workers shook hands, always discreetly, and always in the knowledge that it could possibly be the last time they would see each other. There was a glow in everyone’s eyes and a spring in their steps. Bellies were stuffed with food for the long night; pockets were stuffed with money.
As the minutes ticked on, spirits grew agitated: 2:10, 2:22, 2:37… Galewski and Rudi determined they would not be able to wait until 5 p.m. to begin the revolt—something would most definitely happen before then. Though they wanted the time to be as close to evening as possible to aid the workers’ escape under the cover of darkness, it was decided that 4:00 p.m. would be the new time. Galewski sprang into action to let Camp 2 know about the change.
The heat was intense.
Suchomel took another lap riding his bike.
Laughter was heard from the kommandant’s quarters.
Then something happened that put everyone on edge.
Shouting was heard from behind the barracks…
What was up?
Kiewe discovered a teenager with a pocket full of gold. He began inspecting other men near him, telling them to clear out their pockets. Kiewe shouted for Blau, one of the chief kapos who was friends with Stangl and an informer. The two began discussing what had been happening that day—boys shaking hands at lunch as if they were saying goodbye, workers being especially nice, men running to formation quicker than usual…
Suddenly Kiewe began marching one of the men caught with gold toward the Lazarette.
It was not yet 4:00 p.m., but something had to be done. Galewski sent a man with a pistol to intercept Kiewe.
A shot rang out.
The camp froze.
Chapter 27
At Camp 2, the men heard the shot but it was earlier than expected. They were not sure if it was the revolt or one of the many executions at the Lazarette. The men, soaked with perspiration and blood from their duties, paused for a moment, glanced at each other, and continued to work. Then there were explosions and more shots. The uprising had started! It was time to take action.
Zelo hurried to a wall where a sharp axe was hidden, camouflaged in the corner. He then ran toward the nearest guard, who stood looking at him in disbelief. One strong swing to the midsection and the guard went down. Another guard came running. Another swing. Zelo had his second kill. He grabbed their rifles and handed one of them to a fellow worker.
Others at Camp 2 went into action. Adasch and Jankiel ran to retrieve their pistols and let the men in the male barracks know the revolt had begun. The workers outside who had been carrying corpses quickly grabbed whatever they could find: pitchforks, shovels, and other instruments used for their dreadful tasks. They immediately put them to work on the bewildered guards.
Soon men were being killed on both sides, guards and workers. Both guards driving the excavators were shot. Guards in the towers were targeted, but they returned fire, and some with deadly accuracy. The months of pent-up anger and rage from the Jewish workers at Camp 2 finally released itself upon the guards who had whipped and threatened them daily.
Several men started cutting through the multiple layers of barbed-wire fences that separated camp work and freedom. There were three rows of barbed wire plus an additional row with trestles interspersed with barbed wire.
One row cut through.
Two rows cut through.
One of the guard towers not out of commission yet began firing down on those cutting the fences.
More shooting.
More cutting.
Bodies were prostrate all around the fourth and final obstacle before freedom. Soon the tower gun was quieted. An immensely loud explosion originated from Camp 1. The Ukrainian guard in the tower decided to escape down the stairs and run for his life.
The gas station has blown up!
Zelo knew it was time to flee and join the main effort at the lower camp. The workers here would finish it up. No more bodies would be excavated today!
Kiewe heard the crack of a gunshot, then felt a searing pain in his left side. Had he been fired upon? By whom? Who dared? He fell to the ground on his side and looked up into the face of the man who had shot him. There stood a Polish worker named Wolowanczyk, a Jew from Warsaw. He actually had a confident grin on his face! Kiewe wanted to scream to warn Mentz, but it was too late.
When he heard the shot, Mentz came quickly out of the Lazarette—he, too, was shot. Something has to be done and quick, they thought. But neither were able to get up and do anything. It appeared the inmates had taken over the camp.
Kommandant Stangl jackknifed out of his chair and shouted, “What the devil is going on out there?”
As soon as Stangl opened wide the door to his office, gunfire sprinkled the exterior wall of his building—almost as if it was directed at him!
“Who is doing this?” Stangl shouted.
Stangl’s visitor leapt for the floor and hid behind the desk. Stangl, as if in a daze, clumsily shut the door and locked it, then maneuvered to the floor alongside his friend. Whatever was happening outside, they would have to wait it out.
“Kiewe’s got his!” a voice yelled out.
“Hurrah!” shouted another voice.
“Revolution!”
Immediately after the single shot on Kiewe there was a brief pause, as if no one could comprehend what was happening. Though it was a quarter hour before 4:00 p.m.—fifteen minutes before the prescribed time—Galewski quickly deduced that the workers must immediately follow through and continue what had been started, even if the upper camp was not ready. Without words passing between the two men, Rudi understood the same and went into action.
To get things going, Rudi whipped a grenade out of his pocket and thrust it in the direction of the Ukrainians’ barracks. Kaboom!
He then secured a confiscated machine gun and climbed to the top of the zoo’s pigeon house for a good vantage point. It had been a while since he had been a lieutenant in the Czech Army, but his warrior instincts were now fully engaged.
Jews with pistols and rifles from each camp now came running into the courtyard, looking for guards to fire upon. Franz Suchomel quickly un-holstered his pistol and began firing into a mass of workers heading his way. The workers with guns immediately returned fire, knocking Suchomel off his bike, but they did not fatally wound him. He clambered away toward the mess hall.
Bottles of petrol turned into Molotov cocktails were lit and thrown at many of the wooden buildings, instantly setting them ablaze.
Grenades exploded.
Machine-gun fire rattled throughout the camp.
More shots, more explosions, more yelling.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! It’s begun!”
Several gasoline drums were set on fire, causing enormous explosions and black billowing smoke. It did not take long for the SS and the Ukrainians to realize what they were up against.
Those in the watchtowers began to rain down violent gunfire onto the Jewish workers. But their gun blasts drew attention from the armed insurgents and the guards soon became targets themselves. Grenades were lobbed at the towers, machine-gun fire was returned to their high positions, and some of the tower guards were taken out.
As the Jewish workers ran out of ammunition they threw their weapons to the ground and looked for fallen guards to steal theirs. Chaos ensued as the uprising was now in full swing.
The potato workers in the kitchen did not hesitate to jump into action with their weapons. They knew exactly what they were expected to do. Seizing the grenades from their buckets, they ran outside and witnessed the full extent of the revolt.
As Galewski had earlier instructed them, the women dispatched their grenades toward the guard buildings and offices. Nearly everything ignited in instant flames. The dry, dusty weather finally aided the workers who had endured the scorching heat each day.
Tchechia was exuberant. She ran up to one of the wounded Ukrainian guards and grabbed his rifle. As she moved out she directed her rifle forward and led the women in shouts of, “Die you Nazi pigs! Hurrah!”
A few of the female workers, excited with their initial success, were now expected to head to Stangl’s office to set it ablaze, but they were stopped by gunfire and explosions. One woman was shot and fell where she stood. The other women, now terrified of dying, wanted to immediately flee the camp before it was too late.
Tchechia, wishing she could cause more damage, turned the corner away from a blazing building and sought to head toward her friend Bronka, who had been on the other side of the camp when the revolt started. More blockades and withering gunfire hindered Tchechia’s way.
She and a group of women ran across the courtyard, away from the explosions. As they scurried about, a few of them came face-to-face with Paulinka, the informer.
“Hey, Paulinka,” shouted Tchechia. “Did you betray people before you came to Treblinka, or just take up the skill here after you arrived?”
Paulinka stared back at the group defiantly.
Another woman, who had lost her sister to Paulinka’s disloyalty, rushed past Tchechia with a large rock in her hand. In precious little time the woman paid Paulinka back for being a traitorous informer. She had no regrets.
The roof of a building crashed down next to the cluster of workers. They searched for an avenue of escape but instead saw Nazi reinforcements entering the camp. They could not go in that direction, and they could not escape through the burning buildings.
Then suddenly, out of a dark cloud of smoke, Franz Suchomel appeared. He approached the women and declared, “If you come with me now back to the kitchen, I will ensure your safety and see that no reprisals come your way.”
Tchechia looked at the tall fence still blocking her way of escape. There were Nazis standing in front of it, shooting at people running toward them. Tchechia thought of Bronka, who quite possibly had already left the camp. She thought of what might happen to her if she hesitated in answering Suchomel.
“Okay,” Tchechia responded. She and several of her brigade followed the lone SS officer into the mess hall and laid down on the floor to ride out the storm.
Bronka looked for Tchechia but couldn’t find her anywhere. Then she tried to find Rudi but saw that he was on a roof, shooting at the guard towers. She recognized fallen comrades all around her, and heard others screaming, “Flee, flee, before it is too late!”
Bronka ran with a group of men into Camp 2, where she had never been allowed entry before. They snuck alongside the grilling racks and an enormous pit, partially filled with bodies. They made their way over to a watchtower that was being consumed by flames. She and several men climbed over a fence and through an anti-tank barrier that had been manipulated enough by others for a passageway. One more fence to get through!
Bronka noticed several dead bodies lying around an opening in the fence, men who had given their lives for others to escape. She quickly ran through it, then proceeded into the woods beyond.
Richard held unbridled joy as he ran to and fro, carrying an axe, shouting, “Hurrah!” He couldn’t believe the Ukrainian barracks were burning to the ground. Warehouses, garages, and shops throughout camp were all burning. Guards were being shot, but unfortunately far more Jews were going down.
Richard ran alongside his friend Karel, who was waving a spade over his head. Suddenly Karel stopped. Just twenty yards in front of them was a guard, poised behind a tree, using a rifle to take out workers running past him, one by one.
Robert Altschul, coming up from behind, ran past Karel and Richard without realizing the danger ahead. Crack! The Czech with a razor-sharp analytical mind fell facedown in the hard dirt like a rag doll, shot dead by the guard.
Keeping their emotions in check, Richard and Karel turned to flee in the other direction. As they maneuvered away from the armed sniper they heard a familiar voice, shouting, as if to push them on. It was Rudi. Still on the roof. He was yelling at the Nazis while he fired his rounds in their direction.
“Take that for my wife!”
“Take that one for my unborn child who did not even get to come into this world!”
“Take that, you murderers!”
Richard noticed the fake train station that Stangl commissioned and on which Jankiel Wiernik spent countless hours working. It was now engulfed in flames. He scanned the area, looking for Hans, but he was nowhere to be found.
As Richard and Karel kept running, Richard laid eyes on Zelo. He had apparently opened the gate between Camp 2 and Camp 1 and was helping workers cross into the upper camp to escape for the woods. His commanding presence was easy to spot as he was giving orders like a true leader. Zelo maneuvered swiftly to help as needed—engaging the enemy with his rifle—all the while simultaneously encouraging those around him to be brave and fight back.
Richard knew he may never see Zelo or Rudi again, but he also knew he must keep moving with Karel. Nazi reinforcements kept showing up out of nowhere. Something told the young man he better not hesitate or he would be shot from behind by the crisscrossing barrage of fire.
Utter confusion.
Explosions and smoke.
Lack of order.
All the meticulous planning to ensure that hundreds of Jews could escape had evaporated into a burning mess and a barrage of bullets reigning down on them from the towers and other fortified positions of the guards. Regardless of the plans, it was now time to make their escape because the Nazis were overwhelming the camp with gunfire.
“Outta here! Outta here! Get into the woods!”
Poor Robert!
Where was Hans?
Would Rudi get down from the roof and escape?
Zelo!
Chapter 28
Franz Stangl looked out his window at the chaos in his camp. His beautiful eight hundred meters of flower-lined street was littered with bodies and smoldering debris from the fires. The new guardhouse, built exquisitely with wood in Tyrolean style, now burning down! The new fuel pump and tank, designed like a real service station with flowers and signage, had gone up in a massive explosion, which blew out some of the surrounding buildings’ windows.
His new barracks—gone!
His new street—in ruins!
The bakery whose Viennese baker made such delicious treats—blown up!
His beloved train station with the imitation clock—burning like an inferno!
One of the guards from Camp 2 had escaped Zelo’s wrath and banged on Stangl’s window.
“The upper camp is overrun!” he shrieked. “Everything is burning—the men’s barracks, women’s barracks, and the kitchen.”
Stangl wasted no time getting on the phone to call the chief of the external security police. “Revolt! Come quickly!” He was thankful the telephone wires had not been cut. Then he loaded his pistol and ran outside to see if he could find any Jews causing more destruction to his beautiful camp. Did they not consider all the planning and the time it took for construction?
The Jewish workers still fighting knew they were on a suicide mission. They continued to clear lanes of passage for their fellow workers to escape through. There would be no hope for those still firing at the Germans once reinforcements arrived. In addition, special units were sent on patrol in various distances to scout the perimeter of the camp. The longer those still sacrificially shooting waited, the less odds they would have to escape.
Known informers were dealt with, much like Paulinka, who had her head shattered. Eventually some men broke through the bars of the carpenter’s workshop window and ran around to open up the fence with their axes. People stormed through the gate, but it was quickly blocked again. Upon hearing the initial explosions, immeasurable Nazi reinforcements poured through the railroad gate of Treblinka. One of the first places they tried to defend was the gaping hole in the gate.
Bodies—mostly of Jewish workers—littered the open spaces of the camp. Nearly every building seemed to be on fire. The heat from the flames hungrily torched everything around it, including humans who ventured too close. The only hope now was for those who had already crossed over Treblinka’s gates.
Rudi Masarek lay mortally wounded on the roof of the pigeon house. As soon as he ran out of ammunition he became an easy target for a sniper in one of the guard towers. Unbeknownst to his friends, Rudi had decided long before that he was not going to leave Treblinka. The revolt needed people who would continue to fire to provide clear lanes of passage so the utmost people could escape. During his dying breaths he thought of Gisela and the life they intended to have together.
Hans Freund, like Robert, was shot during his escape toward Camp 2 and the woods beyond.
With caked blood on his shoes and pant legs from his work amidst the pits, a persistent Zelo led with zeal and moral stamina. A rampant fearlessness and concern for others compelled him to leave the safety of Camp 2 and its gateway toward freedom, so he could help his comrades at the lower camp.
He was last seen running in and out of the flames, exhorting fellow workers to take courage, return fire, and flee for safety. Sometime along the way, Zelo Bloch was riddled with bullets and cut down by the might of a machine gun. He poured out everything he had until he fell.
Camp elder Galewski made it to the upper camp alive. He assisted other workers at great risk to himself to ensure they made it over the barbed wire encircling Camp 2. He struggled to pull every worker he could through the danger area and into the safety of the woods.
In the lower camp, Suchomel, Tchechia, and the other women who had sheltered in the kitchen were suddenly forced to flee the building when the roof caught on fire. A swell of frightened workers congregated in the camp yard near to where the female sleeping barracks were burning. Surrounded by flames and a storm of gunfire, a panic set in on all who had fled there.
A guard’s voice penetrated the clamor and confusion. “Put your weapons down. There will be no reprisals for those who form up in front of the kommandant’s office. I repeat, put your weapons down and make a formation in front of the kommandant’s office. Those who comply will be spared. Those who resist will be shot. There will be no reprisals for those who peaceably move to the formation.”
At this point, the frenzied mass of bodies halted and complied.
The revolt was over.
If one was not already through Treblinka’s gates, there was no option but to cease the uprising—resisting was useless. Besides the guards inside the camp, the Nazis had surrounded the perimeter at a distance of five kilometers.
One hundred and five prisoners formed up in front of Stangl’s office. They had survived the revolt, but they were still prisoners of Treblinka.
Tchechia was unable to make it to safety. She held out hope that Stangl and Suchomel would keep their promises. She decided to search for a new way to escape, possibly alone, as soon as the commotion died down.
All evening long, those who remained at Treblinka heard gunshots, dogs barking, and shouting from the woods. More and more Jews were rounded up and killed. Hopefully Bronka made it into the forest and survived, Tchechia thought.
Camp elder Galewski fled through Camp 2 as one of the final workers to get through. He—like Zelo—continued with all his might to push and motivate workers not to give up, to keep moving, to keep fighting, to never lose hope. He found himself in the woods with a few other escapees in the late afternoon, going from person to person, urging everyone to keep moving because in the morning the Nazis would round them up if they didn’t move. He worked himself to exhaustion. Alas, when it was time for he himself to get up and continue the journey, utterly depleted, and with Nazi guards quickly closing in on his position, camp elder Galewski ingested a vial of poison from his pocket. Within seconds he was dead.
Go, go, go! Bronka kept quietly repeating to herself. She tried hard to keep up with those men who were just in front of her. She was exhilarated. Unbelievably, against all odds, Bronka had made it outside the perimeter fence and beyond.
Once inside a densely packed area of foliage, the small contingent of escaped workers halted so they could hear if any trucks were coming. The only sounds were the machine-gun noises from the camp piercing through the forest. They decided to continue to head southwest; there was an ancient logging road nearby. Bronka noticed there were seven workers in her group, and there was another larger group of approximately twenty ahead in the distance. The larger group went to the right and followed the old road. Bronka’s group decided to stay in the trees and follow a creek. Dogs would surely be sent to hunt them down, so they kept in the water wherever it was available.
Moments later there was shouting a few hundred yards away, horses were heard, and vehicles with mounted machine guns, all trying to chase down the escapees. Bronka’s group waited, not wanting to cause any movement. It was not dark yet, and the trees were not as thick as they wanted.
The seven survivors watched as the Germans and Ukrainians infiltrated an area where they suspected a mass of Jews were hiding…and they were correct. Men came out with their hands up, but they were mowed to the ground by crisscrossing fire. Bronka’s group slowly crawled away from that area as quietly as possible, seeking denser brush and a place to wait for nightfall.
More yelling.
More vehicles heard in the distance.
More gunshots.
Would the sun ever set? Bronka wondered.
They saw the nearby peasants all run for their homes, not wanting to be mistaken by the Nazis as Treblinka workers. Bronka’s small contingent spotted an old barn on the edge of the woods. Some wanted to creep inside to wait for the sun to set.
Four men ran for the barn, but Bronka stayed with the two other men. They ran another kilometer and a half deeper into the woods, away from the barn, and decided to climb into three trees, thick with branches and foliage to hide them. Bronka rested in her branch and wondered what might have happened to Tchechia.
Unfortunately Tchechia had been in the wrong part of the camp when the revolt started. Bronka easily escaped into Camp 2, but Tchechia would have had to scale over a high fence or break through the back wall of the buildings that separated the female living quarters with the sorting areas of the camp. Bronka searched in vain for her friend as other small clusters of people barreled through the woods. But there was not even a sign of other women, let alone of Tchechia.
The three workers hiding in the trees heard a terrible sound in the direction of the barn. German voices. Screaming. Machine-gun fire. Bronka was thankful she had decided to keep moving. She held tightly to her tree, hoping the guards would not come in her direction.
Chapter 29
Richard Glazar and Karel Unger ran next to each other, shouting, laughing, and jumping for joy. They had crossed the vegetable garden, ran by the smoldering racks in Camp 2, and then exited Treblinka through the fallen gate.
Gunshots penetrated the air around them, bodies fell, people cried, but Richard and Karel kept running. After the fence came the woods, those glorious woods that meant freedom! Yet they knew the woods would be viciously hunted that night for any sign of survivors.
The two men slanted left, then ran across a weedy field toward the bogs. Another man was just in front of them. All three ran through the dense bushes surrounding the shore and jumped into the water.
Swimming furiously, the man in front of the Czechs reached the other shore first. Crack! A gunshot from a dark-uniformed guard on the opposite side mowed down the poor soul who had tasted a short-lived liberation from Treblinka. The gunman wasted no time and pointed his rifle toward the two men stalled in the middle of the lake. Crack! Crack!
Richard and Karel dove low down into the water, scraping the silty bottom, swimming furiously underwater back toward the shore they had just left. Richard raised his head among some reeds he thought might be used for cover. Crack! The guard spotted his ascent. It was target practice. Richard plunged back underwater. In the brief second he grabbed a mouthful of air, he saw more weeds, thicker cover, out of the corner of his eye. He swam there, hoping Karel would make it as well.
Inside the willow branches Richard risked another breath. More shots, but not nearly as close. It must be at Karel! Richard plunged back under the water and slipped to the thickest area of reeds. A hand grabbed his arm. Richard barely raised his face out of the water—it was Karel, grinning at him. They had made it!
There were a few more shots, as if for good measure, but the sun had lowered under a distant tree line. A grey hue hung over the bog. Treblinka was in a mountain of smoke. The men stayed in the water until it was almost completely dark, twilight, with only their faces out to draw another breath. They were alive and wanted nothing more than to flee the area, but they heard shots everywhere around them.
All of a sudden there were voices heading their direction. Dogs barking, people shouting loudly, drawing near to their position. Several horses galloped by the bog.
More shots!
More shouting!
More horses!
It was as if the Nazis were right on top of them.
“Over here,” one of the guards shouted. “There are two more bodies over here!”
A truck rumbled in behind the submerged escapees. Their adversaries were within ten feet of where Richard and Karel had buried themselves in the reeds and willows, having only the top of their face above water.
“Park it here!” one yelled. The Czechs could hear the Nazis hoisting dead bodies into the flat bed of the truck.
The dogs kept moving, away from the area.
“Let’s hurry, it’s almost dark,” one of the guards bellowed.
The truck departed.
More shots were heard, away from the bog.
Richard and Karel had not been detected. It was just murky enough in their patch of the bog to escape notice.
As a dragonfly danced around the still faces of the two Jewish friends, the concluding glimmer of daylight evaporated and darkness flooded the area. The Czechs wait for another hour—their faces ravaged by mosquitos—delaying their departure because of the truck returning to the camp. More voices. More dogs barking. The wagon, full of dead prisoners who had dared to hope for escape, slowly rumbled back to Treblinka. All through their time in the water, the two men could hear machine-gun fire, pistol shots, and rifles—the furious sounds of reprisal and death waiting for them if they, too, were found.
Agreeing it was time to move out of the water, Richard and Karel swam to the distant shore and crawled out of the slippery mud on the bottom of the bog. Submerged in the water for over four hours, they were soaked and shivering. Before they ventured into the woods they looked back at Treblinka to see it still ablaze with multicolor flames. Good riddance.
As the two men navigated through the trees away from camp, they could still hear gunshots in various places around them. They were cautious to avoid areas of light, and stayed away from where there was any activity. Karel was barefooted. His shoes had been lost in the thick mud of the lake’s bottom. The two men searched for them before they departed, but the shoes were lost forever.
Long before dawn they considered stopping, but decided against it. The more distance between them and Treblinka, the better. They followed the stars and moved in a generally southwestern direction for hours, avoiding farmhouses and roads. When the sky began to lighten with the breaking of the dawn, the men hiked alongside a farmer’s mowed field. They found some dense bushes and gathered a mound of freshly cut hay to bed under. Utterly depleted both emotionally and physically, their exhausted bodies soon found undisturbed sleep.
Near sundown the men awoke and considered their position. They had traveled away from the flames of Treblinka all night, but now what? They did not have a strategy beyond their escape. Should they depart Poland and head into Slovakia? Should they look for a town and claim to be Gentile workers of the resistance? The answer came to them when they stumbled upon a peasant woman who declared that all prisoners of war should head west, not east. The two men were traveling in the wrong direction!
They agreed their star navigation was deplorable. They had been walking toward the Russian advance! No wonder there had not been any Germans on their tracks; they had been going the wrong direction, but perhaps it was fate.
Karel suggested to Richard, “The Lord is with us. He has his hand open to us.”
Karel’s sentiment proved right when the two slipped into a barn one night to bed down in the straw up in the loft. There was something hard beneath them—apples! “Again,” suggested Karel, “the Lord has provided.” They ate from the secret apple stash until they could stomach no more. Richard began to accept Karel’s conclusions.
In the morning, they decided to make up false identities. After staying a while in their providential barn refuge, they fled west toward Warsaw and the Vistula River.
Chapter 30
Back in Treblinka, though the uprising was extinguished, the chaos lingered. Kommandant Stangl’s phone rang continuously; guards called in the numbers of Jewish workers who had been rounded up and shot, and higher-ranking officers from headquarters asked about the status of supplies, and if Treblinka needed more backup. Stangl handled all the important calls. One thing he was blessed with was an even temper; he would survive this, even if other people were spinning out of control all around him.
“No, we do not need any more reinforcements,” repeated Stangl to a Nazi on the other end of the line. “What we need now are basic supplies. We will have to rebuild. All the dormitories for Jewish workers are burned down.”
The man on the other end muttered something.
“No, they are not all dead. We have over one hundred here who need a new barracks,” Stangl explained.
The calls about the reprisals were the most common. Stangl had an assistant scribble down numbers on a notepad placed near the phone. Soon the record showed that more Jews had been shot than had escaped. That couldn’t be! Something is wrong. They are starting to kill the villagers by mistake!
Realizing the situation beyond the perimeter of the camp had gotten out of control, Stangl issued the order that all the reprisals should stop immediately. “Return to camp!” he ordered.
Soon he received the phone call he had been dreading. It was from Globocnik.
“Report to me immediately!” Globocnik grumbled and then hung up without waiting for a response.
Stangl had no choice but to oblige.
When Stangl entered Globocnik’s office at the SS HQ in Lublin, he was sure he would be fired on the spot. But it was not the case.
“Operations will be shut down immediately,” snarled Globocnik. “Your work there is terminated.”
Stangl stared at his supervisor and nodded silently.
“Further, I want all the remaining structures bulldozed, the land plowed over, and every trace of Treblinka abolished from the earth. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but why—?”
“This is not going to be another Katyn Forest story. Himmler is very clear on that point.”
“But I thought I would rebuild,” Stangl suggested. “I have bricks and other materials—.”
“Not at all. There will be no rebuilding. Effective immediately you are no longer the kommandant of Treblinka. Kurt Franz is the new kommandant, and his only role is to tear it down, plow over it, and plant flowers and pine saplings. This will be a farm when the Soviets find it.”
“The Soviets?”
“Yes! The Soviets. You know by now how things are going in the east. We have to move out. Relocate. In fact, I have your next assignment for you. You are to return to Treblinka only to pack your bags so you can report to Trieste.”
“To Italy?” asked Stangl.
“Yes, you will report there for your new duties in an anti-partisan combat unit on the Italian front. I will be going there as well. And so will Christian Wirth. It is time for you to move on from here. We are shutting down most of these camps.”
“What of the workers who remain at Treblinka?”
“They are to stay there for now,” answered Globocnik. “Then, when they have served their purpose to assist with Treblinka’s transformation, they will be shipped to Sobibor, or shot.”
His words rattled Stangl. He had given the remaining Jewish workers assurances that they would not be put to death. He had hoped to rebuild Treblinka, better than it had ever been. But he could now see that the larger war was calling the shots. Globocnik and Himmler were looking at strategy, public relations, and propaganda on an international scale. Stangl had been focused on the operations at Treblinka. He, and the Jews who worked for him, were collateral considerations and not important to the grand strategy.
When Stangl traveled to Lublin to meet with Globocnik he was fearful he would be reprimanded for the revolt. Now he could see how foolish his thinking had been. Globocnik was Himmler’s chief lieutenant for the extermination centers in Poland that were about to be overrun by the Soviet Army. Day-to-day happenings in one concentration camp such as Treblinka were nothing compared to the very real possibility of Germany losing the war. What was at stake was their entire way of life. If Russian tanks and soldiers conquered German forces in Poland, there would be nothing left to stop the Allies from conquering Berlin and all of Germany.
From that moment on, Stangl knew that he had to think about his future, about Theresa and the children. If he hoped to ever have a life with them, he must begin preparations immediately. Europe was drastically changing.
The countenance of Globocnik when he spoke of moving from Poland was unmistakable depression and defeatism. There was no more fight left in him. The war would be lost, and what had happened at camps like Treblinka needed to be hidden. “Did you account for all of those who escaped?” asked Globocnik.
Stangl knew what he meant by the question. Globocnik wanted to be assured there were no survivors, no witnesses to the mass killings that took place each day at Treblinka. He was tempted to lie and say that he believed all of those who escaped had been shot, but something about the entire mood in the room that afternoon suggested the era of playing games was over. Now honesty was more important than posturing.
“I have no idea,” Stangl replied. “How could I ever know? There were hundreds who fled into the forest, and hundreds who were reported shot. Were they the same people? There is no way to know.”
Globocnik stared at him listlessly. The curt response was not what he expected from Stangl. He made no reply, just sat at his desk and stared straight ahead.
Stangl began to feel uncomfortable. Should he leave?
Suddenly Globocnik turned toward him and said, “You have no more than three days to clear your post.” Then he motioned with his hand that the visit was over.
Stangl departed and closed the door behind him.
At Treblinka, the first order of business was to collect the bodies strewn across the camp in order to burn them. The Jews had to work extremely hard to make up for all of those workers who had escaped or perished in the uprising. Since most of the Jewish workers at Camp 2 had been killed in the initial fight, nearly all of the remaining males were tasked to assist in the upper camp with the final excavations of corpses and the burnings.
Unfortunately those who planned the revolt neglected to ensure the demolition of the building that was target number one and absolutely essential for them to permanently destroy—the gas chamber. It was made of brick and withstood all attempts by the workers to set it ablaze. Within a few hours the facility had been repaired and was ready for operation.
Tchechia was desperate for information. With no worker leadership, the Jews were forced to rely on whatever the Nazis told them. She looked for another opportunity to escape, but it seemed there were more SS and Ukrainians in the camp than there had ever been. She remained hopeful that Bronka had escaped alive. She knew that on the day of the revolt her friend was on the side of the camp nearest to Camp 2, where workers found an avenue of escape. Tchechia searched for her intensely, but thankfully she did not find her among the deceased who were unloaded from the camp trucks that returned from the woods.
Three days after the revolt, Stangl assembled all the workers in the courtyard. He was departing and he wished to say goodbye to all of them. He gave a short speech, then actually stepped down off of the porch where he normally stood and approached the workers. He began to shake the hands of those who were familiar to him.
“Good luck,” Stangl said with a restrained smile. “I’m sure you will be leaving here soon yourself.”
Kurt Franz, the Doll, stood to the side, glaring at the spectacle. This was not proper Nazi protocol, and it would not make things easier for him with the job he had to do. The camp was closing down. That meant the remaining prisoners would have to be liquidated.
Stangl departed the area.
Franz now stood before the assembly and told them to get to work.
Less than two weeks later, seventy-eight freight cars from Bialystok containing 7,600 Jews unloaded on Treblinka’s large platform. Though there was no warehouse to sort clothing, the tube and gas chambers were still able to serve their purpose. The passengers were commanded to immediately strip and run down the tube for a shower. Soon the large diesel engine was activated, rumbling until the deadly mission was complete.
Stangl and Suchomel traveled side by side in a long military convoy along with Odilo Globocnik and Christian Wirth in separate trucks. They were accompanied by a few of the Ukrainian guards from Treblinka to provide security for them. Some of the trucks were transporting storage containers bursting with diamonds, cash, and other valuables. The men who had carried out Himmler’s secret plans in Poland were now dispatched to the front lines in Italy. They were sent together, for better or for worse, to provide leadership to a large concentration camp near Trieste.
After the revolt, Tchechia became the leader of the few women who were left. They cooked, they cleaned, and they laundered the clothing of their Nazi taskmasters. They did not know what to expect from day to day. Multiple rumors circulated the camp about what was to be their fate.
There was another Jewish worker at the camp also named Tchechia, a young woman who became known as Little Tchechia. Little Tchechia would speak to Tchechia after lights-out, fearful that they could soon be forced to enter the tube and be gassed after all the buildings had been torn down. Tchechia told her not to think of such things.
When October arrived and the temperature was not nearly so blazing hot, the camp had been transformed. All of the burned buildings had been excavated and cleared. Even the brick buildings were bulldozed over, with lorries of wagons removing the debris from the premises. The fake train station area had been dynamited. It was obvious the time for departure had come.
On October 20, 1943, an empty train pulled into Treblinka station. Most of the Jews were loaded for resettlement. No one who had seen the events at Treblinka would be allowed their freedom. They realized that meant being incarcerated at another concentration camp where they would probably die.
One of the guards told Tchechia and Little Tchechia not to board the train, along with one other woman and two dozen males. There were still a few jobs that needed to be done at Treblinka before the SS departed, and they wanted the assistance of a remnant of workers.
“Why didn’t we board the train, Tchechia?” asked Little Tchechia.
“I don’t know,” Tchechia responded.
“Where do you think the others are going?”
“I heard they are going to Sobibor,” Tchechia responded plainly.
“Sobibor? Isn’t that another place like this one?”
“Yes, I’ve heard this.”
“What are they going to do with us?”
“Don’t fret. Perhaps we will find out tomorrow.”
“How can you be so strong? This may be the last night we live and you act like it is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing; I just choose not to worry about what I cannot change.”
“I wish I was more like you,” Little Tchechia whispered, nearly asleep.
The third female worker listened attentively to their conversation.
Another day passed.
After finishing their daily work for the Nazis, the Jews were locked in two empty railcars at night. The buildings had been demolished, and all that was left was a small homestead where the SS lodged. The hours passed slowly.
Each day felt so uncertain, which was horrifying for the men and the three young Jewish women. Suddenly ten of the male workers were taken to a makeshift Lazarette in the woods. Five were shot in the back of the neck with a Finnish submachine gun set to semiautomatic. The other five men awaiting execution were ordered to place the dead bodies onto the grill before it was their turn—the workers’ final act of service to the regime.
Another uncertain night.
Another painful morning. At daybreak the Nazis discovered that one of the male prisoners had hanged himself in the railcar. The remaining male Jewish workers were disposed of at the same location in the woods as their comrades, dubbed the “new” Lazarette by the Nazis.
A night.
A morning.
A train sounded in the distance just before noon.
There was a small room in the homestead where the SS ate their midday meal. Kurt Franz walked in and saw his men being served by the three female workers.
He eyed Tchechia and smiled.
Tchechia instantly knew what was about to happen, but she observed Little Tchechia very diligently pour water into the cups of her captors. Tchechia watched as the Nazis sat and curiously stared at their server. Little Tchechia did not know what was coming.
Suddenly the Doll cleared his throat and said, “Well, girls, it’s your turn.”
Little Tchechia dropped the pitcher.
Tchechia busted out with mocking laughter and declared, “Aha! I never did believe your fairy-tale promises of freeing us. You pigs! Just do me a favor and don’t ask us to undress!”
Little Tchechia whimpered, then began to cry.
With gritted teeth Tchechia turned to Little Tchechia and said, “Don’t cry, Tchechia! Don’t do them the favor. Remember, you are a Jewess!”
It did not help.
Little Tchechia wept all the way to the woods.
The Doll instructed the three girls to kneel facing a pit where the remains of the male bodies were still smoldering.
Tchechia whispered to herself, “These lying pigs—”
A gunshot rang out, shattering the silence.
Little Tchechia screamed.
Another shot echoed in the forest.
Whimpers disappeared like mist in the wind.
Crack! One final shot.
Silence.
Franz picked up a few dry sticks and threw them on top of the three bodies to stoke the fire. He dusted off his hands, then walked away.
The last Jew was killed at Treblinka.