There is a man that I met years ago.

His name is Moishe the Beadle, and he has

become an important figure in my life. When I met him, I was studying the Talmud, but I had an
interest that extended beyond just the Talmud. I yearned to study the Kabbalah, but my father
forbid it. Even now my father refuses to let me pursue it. He tells me that I am too young to be
pursuing such a dangerous realm. Not only that, but he tells me that there is nobody to teach
me in our village. This infuriates me. I don’t want anything holding me back. I am inquisitive and
want to learn, but my father keeps restricting me.
But, thankfully, I think I have found someone willing to teach the Kabbalah to me. I don’t
think my father would approve, but I feel drawn to investigate the Kabbalah. He is attempting to
purge me of my interest, but he is unsuccessful. I want to learn the secrets of Jewish mysticism.
Now, on my own, I have found someone to teach me! Well, I didn’t really find him, it is more that
we happened upon each other. Yesterday evening, I was in the synagogue praying, as I do
every day, and Moishe the Beadle came up to me and began asking me theological questions. I
was puzzled by his questions. I had no answers for him, but his questions intrigued me.
I plan to meet him again tonight. I can’t wait to learn from him, to have him impart his
vast knowledge upon me! I am going back tonight, but our meetings will not end there. I plan to
meet him whenever possible. I will spend hours upon hours in the synagogue, learning from
him. I am very excited to discover the secrets contained in the Kabbalah. Moishe the Beadle
seems very knowledgeable. He also seems very mystic himself. He sometimes makes odd
statements that confuse me. I will probably grow to understand more of what he says as we
study the Kabbalah, of which he has much knowledge. I’m sure that he will make a great
teacher!
Moishe the Beadle was the last person I expected to have teach me the Kabbalah. He is
poor beyond comprehension. He stays out of people’s way, and makes himself insignificant and
seemingly invisible. But, I should have known better. He is very knowledgeable about the
synagogue and its ways. It is the one place where he is on an equal field with the rest of the
town. I should have suspected that he had the ability and wisdom to teach me.
My only fear is my father’s reaction if he realizes what is occurring. I am going against all
of his warnings. He has forbidden this behavior. He has forbidden me from studying the
Kabbalah, but I have ignored him. If he becomes aware of my actions, he will be exceedingly
angry. Worst of all, he may never let me study the text, even when I come of age. But, this is a
chance I must take. The reward far outweighs the risk.

This has been the worst week of my life. Less than a year ago, we believed that the
danger of the Germans would pass away before it reached us. We were sure that they were on
the brink of defeat to the hands of the Russians. How wrong we were.
 Our whole lives have changed since then. First, came the deportation of all foreign Jews.
Unfortunately, that put an end to my lessons, since Moishe was foreign. Thankfully, he escaped
and returned, but with warnings which were ignored. Even I, his student, ignored his warnings.
Life went back to normal. We were naive to the danger surrounding us. Next, came the Fascist
party seizing power. This put a pro-Nazi government is power to rule us. This should have
revealed the danger to us, but still we missed it. The next day caught our attention, though.
German troops were now located within Hungary. But, what made the news even more
terrifying, was the knowledge that it had been supported by the Hungarian government. Now,
we began to worry, but the fear came much too late. Within the week, we had German soldiers
in Sighet. At first, they were kind, and evaporated our fears, but these fears have since returned.
The tone changed. It is no longer kind German soldiers. It is now strict, superior German
soldiers who don’t see us as people.
Less than two weeks ago, the Passover began. It has since ended, but our lives will
never return to the way they were before the celebration began. It was the worst Passover
celebration of my life. Instead of gathering in the synagogues, we gathered in our homes,
consumed by fear. We are commanded to rejoice during this time, but nobody had it in them.
Our hearts weren’t in it. We wanted the celebration to be over so we would no longer have to
fake our feelings.
The seventh day of Passover was when our worst fears became reality. It was a day
filled with terror. It was on this day, that we knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that things would
get much worse before they got any better. This was the day that the Germans arrested our
leaders. Now, we are without leaders. There is nobody to make important decisions. Everyone
is looking to my father for direction, but he is just as lost as all of the others.
Since then, it seems that every day is filled with another edict. First, we were
commanded to remain in our residences for three days. They were serious about it too. If you
were found outside of your home, the Germans would kill you. Needless to say, my lessons with
Moishe the Beadle had ended. Later that day, the Hungarian police, the force that was meant to
keep the Hungarian people safe, burst into our homes and confiscated everything of value.
Once again, the penalty of not complying was death. The next commandment seemed innocent
enough. We Jews were required to wear a golden star. It doesn’t seem very harmful at this time.
When others came to seek my father’s opinion on the new requirement, he didn’t seem very
concerned. From that point on, new rules have been being released at a ferocious pace. We are
no longer able to do anything, or so it seems. We can not go to restaurants, travel on trains, go
to the synagogue, or be outside in the evenings.
Who knows what will be next. Surely this will not be the end. Unfortunately, my father is
now confident that we will lose our freedom before the war is over. All hope is gone. We feel like
prisoners. Our houses no longer feel like homes; they feel like prisons. We are no longer free.
Every aspect of our lives are regulated. We no longer have the power to make decisions.
Everything we do is controlled by the Germans that are ruining our lives. Many people are losing
the will the pray. They are beginning to believe that we are doomed, and that the Jewish people
will come to an end.
Never in my worst nightmares did I ever dream of such fear, terror, and anguish flooding
this town. Now, I feel no other emotions but these. I had no clue that my life could change so
dramatically in such a short span of time. My life is no longer the same life I had before
Passover arrived.

I’m surprised that I still have any sanity left. I spent days upon days packed into a cattle
car. Never before have I experienced such misery. The door was nailed shut, and each car was
packed with so many bodies that there was no room to sit. We had to remain standing due to
lack of space. There was no food or water on the cattle cars. We became thirsty very quickly.
Soon, the thirst was unbearable. The extremely tight configuration of bodies made it worse. With
so many bodies there was no air to breath, and the heat was intense. Death from lack of water
seemed imminent. I thought things could get no worse on this ride, but they quickly did.
Madame Schächter began to cry and scream about a fire outside the rail car. In these
horrible conditions, she had lost her mind. We tried to calm her, but her cries became louder.
After hours of her screams, we became very angry. Hate for her filled everyone's heart. We
wanted her dead. We wanted quiet. Our rage overflowed. Some of the men tied her up and
gagged her, but this only provided temporary relief. She escaped her bonds and began
screaming again. We couldn’t take it any longer. We were miserable and desperate. This time
the reaction wasn’t so kind. The men beat her into submission. Finally, we had silence, but our
actions hung over our heads. We weren’t really embarrassed or ashamed, though. Instead, we
felt more relief. In our torture, we were beginning to lose our compassion and humanity. We
were beginning to be like animals that focused only on themselves and their well-being.
When we left the cattle cars, the emotions changed, but the intensity remained. We were
no longer angry. We quickly became frightened like we had never been frightened before. We
found ourselves in the middle of a camp. The camp was enclosed with fencing and was very
secure. In the middle, there were buildings with large furnaces rising from them. A strange odor
was coming from these furnaces. The camp was very creepy. The fear was only made worse
when we were informed that the odor coming from the furnaces was the smell of burnt flesh. I
have never felt so much fear in my life. This fear has yet to leave me. The only difference is that
now the fear is mixed with anguish and sorrow.
Next, came the selection which tore my life apart. It destroyed my family. The men and
women were separated into different groups. As my hand parted from my mother’s, I could feel
part of me leaving with her. I was no longer whole. I was crushed to see my sisters and mother
walking away. I have little hope that I will ever see them again. I have little hope about anything.
I have little hope.
Then came the selection of the men. An inmate of the camp gave my father and I
advice. He told us to lie about our age. He told us that if we did not, we would be taken to the
furnaces. I cannot say that I was consumed with fear by this statement, because that had
already happened. When it came to be my turn, I told the SS that I was an 18 year-old farmer. I
was sorted into the same group as my father. This brought me significant relief. No matter what
happened, I would have someone with me, someone to endure the struggles with. But, deep
down I was crushed. I wasn’t sure anything would help me to endure any more struggles. My
only desire to live came from being with my father. I knew he couldn’t take it if I died. He would
break. He would lose his desire to live. This is all that has kept me alive.
What happened next, has kept me from sleeping deeply ever again. We marched past
pits of fire. They were throwing adults in one pit and children and babies in another. I was
horrified. I have never seen such inhumane acts. I never believed that anybody could be that
cruel. I cannot sleep. Whenever I close my eyes, these images are present. What scares me the
most, is that I wasn’t surprised when I saw this. No cruel act can surprise me now. Nothing
seems too evil for the Germans.
I will never heal from what has happened. My life has been ripped apart. I no longer
have a family. I no longer have the innocence of youth. I have become a shell of a body, with
the inside consisting solely of fear and terror. I will never forget the acts of evil that I have now
witnessed.

I thought I was a prisoner while I was still Sighet. That could not have been further from
the truth. Compared to the position I am now in, I had infinite freedom at that point. While in
Sighet, I felt like a prisoner, but now, I am a prisoner. I now have even less freedom than I did
then.
I no longer have a house, instead I sleep in barracks that would make a soldier complain
indignantly. My clothes are no longer mine. I wear striped prison clothes, so that everyone will
know that I am scum. My identity no longer consists of a name, personality, or family. My
identity is made up of the code A-7713 tattooed on my wrist.
I now live in a concentration camp named Buna. Those that have been here for a long
time say this is one of the better camps. They seem to be right. We are forced to work very
hard, but as long as one does their work, they are safe from execution. We are told that not all
camps are like this. They say that some camps are made as a place to store those that will be
killed. I hope my sisters and mother are not in that kind of camp.
I no longer have a family, just a father. For all I know, my sisters and mother may be
dead, or they may be alive. They no longer hold any significance in my life. If I dwell on them,
and worry about them, I will be dead very soon. To me, they are as good as dead. If I focus on
them, that is time in which I am not focusing on survival. It takes maximum effort just to survive.
Every action, every thought, must be centered around surviving. Those who grieved for what
they lost are already dead. All that matters in these cursed camps is yourself. Everyone else, I
care nothing for. I have no friends, nor do I want any. I don’t have time for friends or fun. All I
have time for is staying alive.
All I have left is my father. He worries about me. We are fed very little, but he still tries to
give most of his meal to me. I refuse, knowing that if he dies, I will be alone in this world. I will
have no more family. He is becoming weaker and weaker. We work hard, and for long hours,
but are given very little food. I’m afraid that he cannot survive this vicious routine for much
longer.
In the camp we live in, we work every day. My father and I both work in a warehouse.
We sort electrical items. The work is not difficult, but it becomes very monotonous. Our Kapo,
usually of good temperment, can enter into fits of rage. Often, I have seen people, including my
father, be beaten up. When my father was the target, I was very angry. Strangely, it wasn’t the
Kapo who I was angry with. It was my father. I was angry that he couldn’t avoid the beating.
Later, this anger proved to me just how much I have changed. I no longer care about others in
the same way I used to. My father is the only person I attempt to care about anymore, and
sometimes it is hard to care about him. Now, I look out for myself, not thinking about others. My
only priority is survival. This stays above everything: family, friendship, and community. I was
embarrassed that I stood aside, indifferent to my father’s beating. Shame flooded through me as
I realized that I struggle to love him. As much as I hate it, I now am beginning to see him as a
liability, something that hinders my existence. Before, I still cared about him. I looked after him
when we arrived at this camp, but things are changing. It has become a chore to keep him alive.
I don’t do it because I love him, instead because he is all I have. It seems that my life in this
concentration camp has been reduced to simply trying to survive. My life consists of three
things: eating, working, and sleeping.

We have been evacuated from Camp Buna. The Russians have come close to the
camp, so it was abandoned. I considered staying in the infirmary and not leaving, but I am afraid
that they Germans would have killed me before the Russians could rescue me. We were forced
to run to our new location. We ran miles upon miles. It was exhausting in the beginning, but by
the end, the pain and tiredness vanished and was replaced by an emptiness. If we fell behind
we would be shot. In the beginning, that was all that kept us running, but by the end, running
became our state of being. Our bodies expected it to last forever.
After an eternity of running, we arrived at a camp named Gleiwitz and were transferred
into cattle cars. Before we were loaded, I about lost my father. They had another selection, and
he failed. Thankfully, the lines were utter confusion, so I was able to sneak him back to safety.
For an instant, I felt panic. My father was my only family member left. Although, having to take
care of him has become a chore, he is still all I have left. He is the only token I have of my
previous life.
Once in the cattle cars we left for an unknown destination. During this trip, I realized just
how close to animals we had become. We were no longer humans, we were animals. All that
mattered to us was survival. German citizens threw bread into the car. As soon as it would enter
the car, people would begin to tear at each other, fighting for it. I stayed away, but I couldn’t
avoid the sights of inhumanity. People were shoving and clawing at each other. I saw a son kill
his father to steal the bread from him. He was then killed by others. Whoever was in possession
of the bread had a death sentence. It was horrifying. I didn’t realize just how much we had
changed. We no longer contained any trace of our former selves.
When we arrived in Buchenwald, father seemed to give up the will to live. He sat down in
the snow and refused to move. Although it was difficult, I tried to remain loyal to him. I tried to
convince him to get up and move to the barracks. The air raid sirens erupted, forcing me to give
up and go to the barracks alone. In the morning when I woke up, I searched for him. After a long
time of searching, I found him and brought him soup and coffee. He was not in good condition.
He was sick and confined to his bed. I had mixed feelings. Part of me wanted the liability gone,
but part of me was scared of being alone. I learned that he had dysentery. He begged for water,
but I refused, knowing it would worsen his condition. I stayed by his side, trying to get him
medical attention, but nobody would help him. His pleas for water continued constantly.
Sometimes, I would break down, and give him the water he begged for. I was afraid that he
wouldn’t survive to see the freedom I am now beginning to regain hope in. People began to
steal his food, and beat him for making noise, with even an SS officer participating. The officer
got mad at him for not being silent, and beat him in the head. This morning when I woke up, he
was gone. I knew immediately that he had died overnight.
The reason I am able to write this is because I feel no grief or sorrow. These emotions
left me long ago. All I cared about was myself. My father became a liability, something that hurt
my own survival. When I realized he was gone, I expected to be torn apart, but what I felt was
much more disturbing. I didn’t feel sad, instead I felt relief. I was relieved that I no longer had to
take care of him. I could focus totally on myself now. I am flooded with shame. Since I entered
into the hands of the Germans, I have tried to stay loyal. I saw other sons turn on their fathers,
and I promised to myself that I would be different. In the end, it didn’t matter how hard I tried, I
was the same way. By the end, he was no longer my father, he was a burden that weighed me
down. I had tried to tell myself that I would be different, but I was wrong. I don’t know how I can
ever look at myself again. I am no longer Eliezer from Sighet. He died in the German camps.
The Germans took everything from me: my family, my home, and myself.