Dearest Kitty,
It seems like years since Sunday morning. So much has happened it's as if the whole world had suddenly turned upside down. But as you can see, Kitty, I'm still alive, and that's the main thing, Father says. I'm alive all right, but don't ask where or how. You probably don't understand a word I'm saying today, so I'll begin by telling you what happened Sunday afternoon. At three o'clock (Hello had left but was supposed to come back later), the doorbell rang. I didn't hear it, since I was out on the balcony, lazily reading in the sun. A little while later Margot appeared in the kitchen doorway looking very agitated. 'Father has received a call-up notice from the SS,' she whispered. 'Mother has gone to see Mr. van Daan.' (Mr. van Daan is Father's business partner and a good friend.) I was stunned. A call-up: everyone knows what that means. Visions of concentration camps and lonely cells raced through my head. How could we let Father go to such a fate? 'Of course he's not going,' declared Margot as we waited for Mother in the living-room. 'Mother's gone to Mr. van Daan to ask whether we can move to our hiding place tomorrow. The van Daans are going with us. There will be seven of us altogether.' Silence. We couldn't speak. The thought of Father off visiting someone in the Jewish Hospital and completely unaware of what was happening, the long wait for Mother, the heat, the suspense - all this reduced us to silence. Suddenly the doorbell rang again. 'That's Hello,' I said. 'Don't open the door!' exclaimed Margot to stop me. But it wasn't necessary, since we heard Mother and Mr. van Daan downstairs talking to Hello, and then the two of them came inside and shut the door behind them. Every time the bell rang, either Margot or I had to tiptoe downstairs to see if it was Father, and we didn't let anyone else in. Margot and I were sent from the room, as Mr. van Daan wanted to talk to Mother alone. When she and I were sitting in our bedroom, Margot told me that the call-up was not for Father, but for her. At this second shock, I began to cry. Margot is sixteen - apparently they want to send girls her age away on their own. But thank goodness she won't be going; Mother had said so herself, which must be what Father had meant when he talked to me about our going into hiding. Hiding . . . where would we hide? In the city? In the country? In a house? In a shack? When, where, how . . . ? These were questions I wasn't allowed to ask, but they still kept running through my mind. Margot and I started packing our most important belongings into a satchel. The first thing I stuck in was this diary, and then curlers, handkerchiefs, schoolbooks, a comb and some old letters. Preoccupied by the thought of going into hiding, I stuck the craziest things in the satchel, but I'm not sorry. Memories mean more to me than dresses. Father finally came home around five o'clock, and we rang Mr. Kleiman to ask if he could come by that evening. Mr. van Daan left and went to get Miep. Miep arrived and promised to return later that night, taking with her a bag full of shoes, dresses, jackets, underwear and stockings. After that it was quiet in our flat; none of us felt like eating. It was still hot, and everything was very strange. We had rented out our big upstairs room to a Mr. Goldschmidt, a divorced man in his thirties, who apparently had nothing to do that evening, since despite all our polite hints he hung around until ten o'clock. Miep and Jan Gies came at eleven. Miep, who's worked for Father's company since 1933, has become a close friend, and so has her husband Jan. Once again, shoes, stockings, books and underwear disappeared into Miep's bag and Jan's deep pockets. At eleven-thirty they too disappeared. I was exhausted, and even though I knew it'd be my last night in my own bed, I fell asleep right away and didn't wake up until Mother called me at five-thirty the next morning. Fortunately, it wasn't as hot as Sunday; a warm rain fell throughout the day. The four of us were wrapped in so many layers of clothes it looked as if we were going off to spend the night in a refrigerator, and all that just so we could take more clothes with us. No Jew in our situation would dare leave the house with a suitcase full of clothes. I was wearing two vests, three pairs of pants, a dress, and over that a skirt, a jacket, a raincoat, two pairs of stockings, heavy shoes, a cap, a scarf and lots more. I was suffocating even before we left the house, but no one bothered to ask me how I felt. Margot stuffed her satchel with schoolbooks, went to get her bicycle and, with Miep leading the way, rode off into the great unknown. At any rate, that's how I thought of it, since I still didn't know where our hiding place was. At seven-thirty we too closed the door behind us; Moortje, my cat, was the only living creature I said good-bye to. According to a note we left for Mr. Goldschmidt, she was to be taken to the neighbours, who would give her a good home. The stripped beds, the breakfast things on the table, the pound of meat for the cat in the kitchen - all of these created the impression that we'd left in a hurry. But we weren't interested in impressions. We just wanted to get out of there, to get away and reach our destination in safety. Nothing else mattered. More tomorrow. Yours, Anne Dearest Family,
You are extremely lucky to be living freely as citizens of the United States. I have been living in the ghetto, a sad place where I am punished for being who I am. And for being who I am, I have paid a terrible price. But I would not trade it for anything. However, I am content in thinking that someone will hear my story. I’m going to tell you stories of the ghettos in hope that some day my story will be heard. If you did not know, almost every city includes a ghetto. Another fact about the ghettos is that not only are there Jews, but there are gypsies and anyone else who is against the likes of Hitler. The ghettos are almost like another city filled with people whom Hitler thought are outcasts. I wonder every day when this war will end. It’s not right to judge, or discriminate people just because you can or because you want to. Do you know how many ghettos there are in the world? I know for sure that there are very many. There are big ones and small ones. The Lodz Ghetto seems to be quite scary. The Lodz ghetto held 160,000 Jews at one time. There was a man, named Chaim Rumkowski who was called the ‘Chairman of the Council’. He was to carry out the responsibilities of the people in the Ghetto. He made the Jews work until they could not move a single limb. It’s very sad here. No one has much hope. The SS police patrol the streets daily and nightly. I always feel trapped. But hopefully it will soon be over! On the flipside of things, I have met many new people and made some friends. Our neighbors, the Horton’s know someone who recently got deported to a concentration camp. It seems as if more and more people are leaving every day. I’m scared but I know we will get through this. I’ve met some gypsies that were some of the first to arrive here, at the ghetto, and they’ve told me many stories on how it has evolved. It’s very interesting. I’ve always wondered where people go once they get deported from the ghettos. They don’t let us read the newspapers here. After the deportations, the ghettos are always quieter or noisier. Some hide, so as not to be seen by the police and get deported, others go willingly thinking that their chance at survival is lost. I think that everyone has a chance if they are willing to fight for it. No one that I know has left yet. But it will probably be soon. Many of the gypsies have been deported- about 1,000 people. In all I am doing quite well. It’s a little overwhelming at times but I’m making it through. I hope you take this letter and keep it forever so that if I don’t make it, you’ll be able to tell my story. The ghettos are getting smaller. The number of ghettos is increasing. And people are leaving every day. I hope you take time to consider this as a tribute to all those who have left. May there be peace between these countries once more. Sincerely, Your loving daughter Dearest Family,
You are extremely lucky to be living freely as citizens of the United States. I have been living in the ghetto, a sad place where I am punished for being who I am. And for being who I am, I have paid a terrible price. But I would not trade it for anything. However, I am content in thinking that someone will hear my story. I’m going to tell you stories of the ghettos in hope that some day my story will be heard. If you did not know, almost every city includes a ghetto. Another fact about the ghettos is that not only are there Jews, but there are gypsies and anyone else who is against the likes of Hitler. The ghettos are almost like another city filled with people whom Hitler thought are outcasts. I wonder every day when this war will end. It’s not right to judge, or discriminate people just because you can or because you want to. Do you know how many ghettos there are in the world? I know for sure that there are very many. There are big ones and small ones. The Lodz Ghetto seems to be quite scary. The Lodz ghetto held 160,000 Jews at one time. There was a man, named Chaim Rumkowski who was called the ‘Chairman of the Council’. He was to carry out the responsibilities of the people in the Ghetto. He made the Jews work until they could not move a single limb. It’s very sad here. No one has much hope. The SS police patrol the streets daily and nightly. I always feel trapped. But hopefully it will soon be over! On the flipside of things, I have met many new people and made some friends. Our neighbors, the Horton’s know someone who recently got deported to a concentration camp. It seems as if more and more people are leaving every day. I’m scared but I know we will get through this. I’ve met some gypsies that were some of the first to arrive here, at the ghetto, and they’ve told me many stories on how it has evolved. It’s very interesting. I’ve always wondered where people go once they get deported from the ghettos. They don’t let us read the newspapers here. After the deportations, the ghettos are always quieter or noisier. Some hide, so as not to be seen by the police and get deported, others go willingly thinking that their chance at survival is lost. I think that everyone has a chance if they are willing to fight for it. No one that I know has left yet. But it will probably be soon. Many of the gypsies have been deported- about 1,000 people. In all I am doing quite well. It’s a little overwhelming at times but I’m making it through. I hope you take this letter and keep it forever so that if I don’t make it, you’ll be able to tell my story. The ghettos are getting smaller. The number of ghettos is increasing. And people are leaving every day. I hope you take time to consider this as a tribute to all those who have left. May there be peace between these countries once more. It's difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It's a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart. It's utterly impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering and death. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more. In the meantime, I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I'll be able to realize them! --The Diary of a Young Girl, eds. Otto H. Frank and Mirjam Pressler, p. 332 |
Dearest Mother,
How are you? It feels like forever since I have seen you. I hope to see you again, and so does Miriam. I know that it is wishful to think you are still alive, but I can still believe it. As you can see, the Russians made it to Auschwitz. You should have seen the Nazis before they arrived; it was as if they were chickens without heads! They weren’t paying attention to us for the most part; it allowed me to escape for a few moments. I returned because I couldn’t leave Miriam alone, but what I saw outside shocked me. I went all the way to where there was a river, and on the other side there was a girl. I was so jealous of that girl, with her hair and her nice dresses. She was cleaner than I could remember being for years. She didn’t know how lucky she was. Miriam and I were left behind from the march. It was good that we hid, because they were probably going to another camp; the officers saving themselves. I wonder if the Russians found them too. When they came, we were all so excited. Miriam and I ran over to them, half in disbelief. They gave us food, chocolates even! When was the last time you can remember eating chocolate? It was like heaven. The best part, though, was not when the Russians actually got to the camp, but it was when somebody came running in to our barrack, shouting that we were free. And now Mama, we are free. Your daughters are free. Love, Eva Dear Kitty,
Now our Secret Annexe has truly become secret. Because so many houses are being searched for hidden bicycles, Mr. Kugler thought it would be better to have a bookcase built in front of the entrance to our hiding place. It swings out on its hinges and opens like a door. Mr. Voskuijl did the carpentry work. (Mr. Voskuijl has been told that the seven of us are in hiding, and he's been most helpful.) Now whenever we want to go downstairs we have to duck and then jump. After the first three days we were all walking around with bumps oh our foreheads from banging our heads against the low doorway. Then Peter cushioned it by nailing a towel stuffed with wood shavings to the door frame. Let's see if it helps! I'm not doing much schoolwork. I've given myself a holiday until September. Father wants to start giving me lessons then, but we have to buy all the books first. There's little change in our lives here. Mr. van Daan and I are always at loggerheads with each other. Mummy always treats me like a baby, which I can't stand. For the rest, things are going better. I don't think Peter's got any nicer. He's an obnoxious boy who lies around on his bed all day, only rousing himself to do a little carpentry work before returning to his nap. What a clot! Yours, Anne Tarnopol 26 April 1943.
I am still alive and I want to describe to you what happened from the 7th to this day. Now then, it is told that everyone’s turn comes up next. Galicia should be totally rid of Jews. After all, the ghetto is to be liquidated by the 1st of May. During the last days thousands have been shot. Meeting point was in our camp. Here the human victims are selected. In Petrikow it looks like this: before the grave one is stripped naked, then forced to kneel down and wait for the shot. The victims stand in line and await their turn. Moreover, they have to sort the first, the executed, in their graves so that the space is used well and order prevails. The entire procedure does not take long. In half an hour the clothes of the executed return to the camp. After the actions the Jewish council received a bill for 30,000 Zloty to pay for used bullets… Why can we not cry, why can we not defend ourselves? How can one see so much innocent blood flow and say nothing, do nothing and await the same death oneself? We are compelled to go under so miserably, so pitilessly… Do you think we want to end this way, die this way? No! No! Despite all these experiences. The urge for self-preservation has now often become greater, the will to live stronger, the closer death is. It is beyond comprehension. In the Name of the People: Perpetrators of Genocide in the Reflection of Their Post-War Prosecution in West Germany – ‘Euthanasia’ and Aktion Reinhard Trial Cases. Edited by Dick de Mildt Tarnopol is now a city in the Ukraine. In 1939 it lay in the province of Lvov, in Poland and was home to 18,000 Jews, about 50% of the whole population. Only around 150 Jews survived the war in hiding. My dear Abraham, Forgive me for acting idiotically, without leaving any money. I am sending you something through a person. Abraham and Haiku (Mirku), my dear ones, do not complain – unfortunately fate has willed it like this. I must go the same way as those whom I loved most. I beg of you, take care of my beloved children. Inquire about Dela (Adela). Whether she is still alive – and kiss her a thousand times from me. Keep well and care for the orphans. I am going to eternal rest. Mother Frieda Dear Sasha:
Today, we sent you a package with the things that you asked for: two sports shirts, handkerchiefs, socks, bread and lard. You probably already received the package from the 13th of March. We also sent you a few postcards. We received your letter and cards. I see you are doing pretty well. It is good that you write often. You asked for more letters from me. Dear Sasha, with pleasure I will write you more often. But first of all, you should understand that I can't write so much. I just don't have that much to write about. And it is not so easy for me to write long letters in Polish or in German. I think that you won't be able to appreciate everything that I will write. But to give you something to read I will try hard to fill up these pages. Yes, dear Sasha, it has been a whole year since you left us. During that year both you and we have had many experiences. But it is good that we are alive and are able to correspond with each other. And the day will come when we will see each other again. That day will be the happiest day in our lives and in the lives of your parents. You can't imagine how much we and your parents worried until we had that first letter from you, and had the news that you were alive. Many people from Vilna had already come back, and we hadn't had any news from you. But we didn't give up hope. And then one beautiful day we received your first postcard. On that day Sonia [Shep's sister], Bluma [Meier's wife] and I were in the business. We all cried from happiness and read your card many times. You can't picture the happiness of your Mother and Father on that day. Now, a few months have passed. We live with the hope that one day we will see each other again. And I hope that we don't have to wait too long for it. About your friends, I will inform you that Churgin [Izka Churgin, Shep's best friend from childhood] is in Vilna. Doba saw him yesterday and asked him to write to you. He promised that on Saturday he will come to us to get your address. Frid was transported together with the Elecktric factory to Minsk. Dear Sasha, please write and tell us why Aronowitz [Yutka Aronowitz survived the war] writes so little. Today his aunt, Fania Schwartz was here and she cried a lot. Please ask him to write more often. Also, write and tell us what you need, and your parents will send it.For now, I have to end this letter because I have stomach pains. For a long time I have had an ulcer. Next time, I will write more. Your Father and Mother send their best regards. Regards also from Bluma, the children and the in-laws. “We are so preoccupied with you, dear Rosi, we think about you so often, we share your cares… and as a consequence, we converse with you in writing as often as possible… I believe this has become an obligation for which we must be grateful. People are so quick to forget obstacles that have been overcome, and to take for granted what is new and good as easily as if it had always been there.” “Our pains are shared by many others. We have to keep telling ourselves we’re not the exception and must continue to find the patience… and we’re going to do it if we like it or not.” “Still, we don’t want to complain and must thank God when we hear good things from you — and everyone remains in good health.” “There isn’t any point in talking about past mistakes, since our trip had already been so beautifully and perfectly planned and it would have been carried out if nothing had intervened. We’re not the only ones to be affected in this way.” “Dear Magda,
I cannot describe in what emotional state I write this letter; for eight days we’ve been locked up in a railroad car. Out of 77 people—65 men and 12 women—14 have so far escaped, and I don’t know whether to do so myself. Imagine that at about 8-9 in the morning they release us from the railroad car to relieve ourselves—and this happens near the cars, because it’s impossible to move away even one step. Then they again lock us up and until the next morning they don’t open the railroad cars for us, no matter what happens. And, so, many of those here relieve themselves in the car. Once a day we get one slice of bread with a morsel of canned food, and this was only since Tuesday—until then we didn’t get a thing. The heart nearly passes out for a sip of water…. My Magdushka, it’s impossible to tolerate this much longer… to humiliate people to such an animal level. It is almost inconceivable. If I myself were not here, I wouldn’t be able to believe it…. I think that I will try to escape because if I fail and get caught—then at least death is certain…. I kiss you with love, Blanca Levi” April 23, 1943
It is impossible to put into words what we have been through. One thing is clear, what happened exceeded our boldest dreams. The Germans ran twice from the ghetto. One of our companies held out for 40 minutes and another for more than 6 hours. The mine set in the "brushmakers" area exploded. Several of our companies attacked the dispersing Germans. Our losses in manpower are minimal. That is also an achievement. Y. [Yechiel] fell. He fell a hero, at the machine-gun. I feel that great things are happening and what we dared do is of great, enormous importance.... Beginning from today we shall shift over to the partisan tactic. Three battle companies will move out tonight, with two tasks: reconnaissance and obtaining arms. Do you remember, short-range weapons are of no use to us. We use such weapons only rarely. What we need urgently: grenades, rifles, machine-guns and explosives. It is impossible to describe the conditions under which the Jews of the ghetto are now living. Only a few will be able to hold out. The remainder will die sooner or later. Their fate is decided. In almost all the hiding places in which thousands are concealing themselves it is not possible to light a candle for lack of air. With the aid of our transmitter we heard the marvelous report on our fighting by the "Shavit" radio station. The fact that we are remembered beyond the ghetto walls encourages us in our struggle. Peace go with you, my friend! Perhaps we may still meet again! The dream of my life has risen to become fact. Self-defense in the ghetto will have been a reality. Jewish armed resistance and revenge are facts. I have been a witness to the magnificent, heroic fighting of Jewish men in battle. M. Anielewicz |