Eli Modenstein Shoah Foundation Testimony

Today is November 22nd, 1995. The survivor's name is Eli Modenstein. The interviewer is Sheryl Tatelman. We're in Lincoln, Nebraska, in the United States, and we'll be interviewing in English. I'm Sheryl Tatelman, and I'm here with Eli Modenstein. We'll be doing the interview in Lincoln, Nebraska, on November 22nd, 1995. Could you tell us your name, please?

My name is Elisha Modenstein. However, when I came to the States, I changed it. I made it shorter then, I made it Eli. That's my legal name now, Eli Modenstein.

And Elisha Modenstein, how was that spelled?

It was spelled E-L-I-S-H-A. Eli is E-L-I.

(laughs) And, uh, when were you born?

I was born April 30th, 1918.

And where?

Mława, Poland.

Mława, how was that spelled? Mława.

M-L-A-W-A.

And what, what were the names of your parents?

My father was Shmuel [Samul] Modenstein, and my mother was Faiga Modenstein, born Altman.

And they were born, both were born in Mława. Mława?

So the family lived for a long time in Mława. Even their parents lived there, as far as I know. I never met them. And, the last grandmother passed away half a year before I was born. And that's why they named me after her. Her name was Lifta. So they named me, as a boy, they named me Elisha. Uh....

Did you have brothers and sisters?

Yes, uh.... We were a large family, actually. My father was married twice. I was from the second mother. So the first, uh, wife passed away, and she left them with four children, two boys, two girls. And then he married my mother, and they had six more children. I was the youngest from the boys, and after me, there were three girls. Uh, nobody survived from those. Uh, however, from the first wife, uh, one brother and two sisters, I'll, I'll think back, one brother and one sister survived from the first five. The reason for, my brother left for Argentina in 1923, when I was a little boy, five years old. And he lived through the war there, in a year, and before, he, uh, took down from Poland, one of my sisters, the one older from me. She got married in Mława, and she went to Argentina, and finally settled in Uruguay. And, the other sister left about a month before the war started. Uh, she went to Israel. She was with one of the illegal, you know, aliyot that had, Israel, and she was kept in Tsipern, and finally, after some months, they got certificates, then, that was still Palestine at that time. So, those, uh, people survived. There were, uh, the brother in Argentina, the two sisters and me. All the rest of them were killed in the war.

And what was your life like before the war? There were ten of you.

Uh, we were a middle-class family, and, um, my personal life, I was a young man at that time. my personal life, I was a young man at that time. Let's say, pick it up after school. Well, I was about 15. You know, you don't care about much. I belonged to a sport club. And as a matter of fact, I became vice president of the sport club a little later, and the war broke out. That's what I was doing. And, uh, we used to like to dance, go out dancing, you know, and enjoy life as young people, without much, uh, responsibility at that age. So I enjoyed myself. I had a lot of friends, and I had money, and I enjoyed life.

What kind of livelihood did yo- did your family have?

Uh, we had, uh, two businesses. We had old iron metal business.

Iron metal?

Iron metal. We would call it a junkyard in here. And, uh, we had a small oil factory where we made linseed oil and also eating oil, for frying. Linseed oil and eating oil, or frying oil. Frying oil. Linseed oil is for, uh, painting. And in season, we also made putty to put around the windows, you know. This was my specialty.

Putty?

Putty, yeah. And, uh, so our income, we were a middle-class family, and we had our own home, our own business.

Were you expected to help with the business?

Oh, yes. My father passed away when I was 13 in 1933. Actually, I was maybe closer to 15. Um, And at that time, I start helping. My older brother took over. My mother pitched in. She had a family, you know, big house with children. So, uh, I start working in the business. Uh, and actually, I enjoyed it. We used to have sm- blacksmiths coming down, and they needed, uh, certain sizes of, uh, iron plates, which were about maybe six, seven, eight millimeters thick. Which would be like a half an inch to three-quarter inch. And we used to cut them with a chisel and hammer. We didn't have any torches in those days, I'm talking about in the late 30s. So I used to enjoy. I didn't have to do it. We had people working it. I used to enjoy just to pick up a sledgehammer, you know, and work and help cut those, or even railroad ties, you know, the rails, metal rails. We used them for building at certain sizes, like a meter, 60 pieces long, which would be four and three-quarter feet. We used them for balconies. They hang balconies in it. They put one part into the building, and the rest of it stuck out in the building, the balconies, on the building. So, uh, we used to lay the rail on the side, cut in the narrow edge, and a little bit on the other edge, then raise it up with something under, and drop it down and break it. And I used to enjoy doing it. And, I think, being used to hard work, which, I'd done it for pleasure, helped me survive in the later years when I got in a concentration camp. Because I, I could shovel the whole day, and it didn't bother me.

What kind of schools did you go to as a child?

Oh, I went, actually, to a few different schools. I went to a religious Zionist school. Then I went to Orthodox Talmud Torah, they called it. And, uh, after that, I went to a public school. And, uh, my father, being a religious man, he didn't want me to go to gymnasium. They were, a co-educational with girls and boys. So I had a private tutor, which I got my education from. I had the education, at least equivalent of a high school education here.

And what kind of child were you?

You mean if I were a good child? (laughs) Uh, I think I was always, uh, behaved. Uh, you didn't see any not-behaved children in the old country, for some reason. I think the upbringing was more eager, and, um, they demanded more of you. You also were brought up, in some way, you, you knew your place. When, like, for instance, some older people came in the house, to visit. As a child, you always moved in a corner, and sat quiet. And I think something like this stays with you. And I can tell even today, I'm not so, uh, you know, front-out with people. I would, uh, I'm a little shy still. Which, actually, at my age, I shouldn't be anymore. No, no way. (laughs) It's kind of- unconsciously, it's still there.

You said that you, your family was an Orthodox family. Your father was a religious man.

Yes, he was a reli- religious man, and that's the reason I went to Talmud Torah, And, uh, I finished the Talmud Torah, uh, which were eight class, and, uh, you learned everything in it. Chumash and Rashi and Gemorrah and Toysefes and Mishnaiahs, the whole works. And, um, a lot of it, even at my age now, and I don't, uh, keep it up, so to speak of, only when sometimes I'll pick up, I have some books. I kind of like to look into it. There are a lot of smart, you know, verses in it, and uh, you can always learn something.

What was your family li- family life like?

Oh, we always had our meals together at certain times, especially holidays. The daily meals were all together, you know. And then at mealtime, you usually talk about politics, you know. Like, for instance, here, you'll have young people who'll talk about football, baseball. Our conversations were who's prime minister, what the prime minister said, what's going on in the House of Representatives, which we call the same. All the issues in the paper, or anything new came out. We elaborated, they shared their own idea, you know. And, uh, there were a lot of parties, even Zionist parties, there were a lot of parties. I, for instance, I was in Betar. My older brother was in Poalei Zion, you know. I had this fri- a sister, uh, she still lives in New York in a nursing home, she was in HaShomer Hatzair, you know. Another sister was in the Kaluts. So we always had something to debate about, who is right and who is wrong, and made it interesting, uh, where we grew up.

What was your bar mitzvah like?

My bar mitzvah wasn't too elaborate. My father was already not feeling so good. So I had my bar mitzvah in the, it was a small synagogue. We called it a shtiebel. And, uh, I had my speech, and then, uh, we served some things like drinks, and cake, things like that. Uh, not elaborate like they make them in here. Not at all. Only they had more meaning to it, because your speech was usually on the Sedra, which was in that particular week. On the portion of the week. On the portion of the week, and, your opinion, your comments on it, and what you thought of it. And, uh, like I said, I had some religious learning behind me, so I was pretty good for it. And this was going on til my father passed away in, uh, '33. And then we worked in the business, and, uh, I used to belong, at that time, I belonged, uh, probably at the age of 17, in Maccabi. So evenings we used to go down, and meet friends over there. We always had something to do, you know, young people, boys, girls. We did a lot of dancing, especially Saturday night. Uh, (coughs) we used to have a record player, which we plugged in into a radio, you know, and danced away. (laughs) So we had good times, till the war came on along.

Um, what was your interaction with the Gentile people in the town?

Actually, the town I lived in was about 20, 21,000 population. However, the core of the city was Jewish. Very few Gentiles, very few, in there. Um, however, if there were elections, they'd usually be, uh, non-Jewish picked in the elections, because they had the majority. See, they had outskirts from town, where the Gentiles lived, was incorporated for election time, into, into the city. Uh, I didn't have any Gentile. I knew, uh, a lot of Gentile people, and, and they knew me, you know, from the business. Uh, only a close friend, I never had. As a matter of fact, I was in Poland last year, and, uh, they going in uh, one place, the group. And I noticed a fellow, which used to live in the street behind me, not far from me. I remembered his name. You know, he recognized me, too. We were the same age, born in 1918. And, uh, we became good friends. As a matter of fact, last, uh, Christmas, I was in, a church, you know, for Christmas. So, seems like, uh, after so many years, you see somebody from your hometown, and you recognize, you feel like, close, closer than there would be in normal time. Most of my friends were Jewish friends.

Did you ever encounter any anti-Semitism before the war?

Yes, I did. However, I, personally, for some reason, they respected me. I was in good health. I could, you know, fight back if I had to. I had some occasions, very, very seldom had. Only, the anti-Semitism in Poland was there. We had, uh, a particular person, his name was Tureski, you know, And he was always going around, you know, don't buy from a Jew, you know, stayed in front of the Jewish store and tell Polish people, which came in for the market days, uh, don't buy from a Jew, you know, things like that. And sometime in the market days, there were Jewish people, uh, like, um, tailors and shoemakers, and they had their stands, and sold clothes, or shoes, or boots. Uh, there were cases, where they, a whole bunch of them, just went in the marketplace, and turned over everything, you know. Uh, (coughs) this was close to the beginning of the war, when this was going on. And, uh, their slogan was, the Jews go to Palestine. Actually, most of my friends, which their parents didn't have their own businesses, they didn't have any future. They didn't have anything really to fall back on. Uh, they finished school and a lot of them, most of them emigrated, either to Palestine, or Argentina, or, you know, South American countries. Although I still had some good friends, which we enjoyed each other til the war came.

What was your relationship like with your brothers and sisters?

Very good. We were a very close family, even, we were, uh, from different mothers. You couldn't tell the difference. As a matter of fact, uh, my brother, the oldest one, which went to Argentina, um, I can't I, I remembered his address. See, I didn't have anything in writing. When the war ended, I remembered his address, and I wrote him a letter. And we were in touch, and then, I brought them down here to Lincoln, for a visit. Actually, he was twice here. Uh, the second time I brought him down, my younger daughter got married. I sent him papers and tickets. And, uh, so we were very close. And then we were quite a few times in Israel, where he moved from Argentina in 1974, due to the fact that his daughter, and son-in-law, and two children moved there before. I think in '71. So, each time when I went, I used to go for Passover, and have Passover, the Seder, you know, with him. Unfortunately, he passed away in '93. Only he had a ripe age, he was 91. So he had a full life.

Was he the oldest of all the brothers and sisters?

He was the oldest.

And what was his name?

Chaim. Chaim Ben Zion.

Was there any of the brothers and sisters that you were particularly close with?

There wa- in particular, I was with my older brother. Hirsch Meyer was his name. And he was a few years older than me, from the same mother. And, uh, you know, in the old country, uh, you didn't have so many rooms like you have in here. So we had a bed, we slept together. And when he used to go to a movie, you know, he came back at night. I was a little boy. He used to tell me the story, what there was then, I used to, you know, enjoy it. So we were very close. And later, before the war, he was married. And he had a little boy, five, six years old when the war started. Actually, both brothers had little boys. At the same age, there were maybe a month, two apart. And, uh, got lost in the war.

You were talking about the shtiebel you went to, the, the small synagogue.

Yes.

Can you tell us a little bit about that, what it was like there?

Oh, it was like, I would say, one big room, kind of divided with, with, uh, columns, ceiling probably, maybe nine feet ceiling. And there was the cabinet where they kept the scrolls, aron qodesh, you know, and a big table for reading the Torah in the middle of the room. And I would say maybe 30, 40 people, mostly older people. And the younger people like me and my brothers, so when father was alive, we used to go with him Saturday. However, they were inside, we were staying outside and debating politics, you know. And, uh, when I was a boy, about, uh, oh, 10, 12, 13, they used to send me, uh, to buy, uh, pastry, you know, while the services were going on, we were outside eating those. Uh, then, uh, the holidays, like Purim, you know, there was something, uh, different than you see in here, especially Simchas Torah, you know. Uh, religious people didn't drink the whole year. However, Simchas Torah, then that's a mitzvah, the drink. And I remember in particular the one, which was, uh the gabbai, in the synagogue, He used to go around to all the people and take a drink, you know, and he wish a gut yontuf. By the time he finished, he was drunk. And I remember distinctively, there was a few years before the war, that he actually was laying in the gutter. And he was a pious, you know, religious, wonderful man. And that's what he did. He just overdone it. That was a big miss for the doer. And we kids, we enjoyed those things, singing with the Torah, you know. You feel that you participate in it, you know.

So it sounds like those were good days for you.

Oh, they were very good days. Uh, When I look back, sure, we have a nice life here. Oh, it's a different life, you see. You don't have the camaraderie among people which we had growing up. You know, here, you don't want to go to anybody's house without calling, or waiting to be called, you know. Over there, it was a different thing. You want to go someplace, you just knock on the door. You walked in. If you came at supper time, they usually invite you over, sit down, eat with us. It was a different approach to everything. And, um, and there's something which I'm still missing. And, uh, wherever I go to Israel and meet some of my old friends, you know, school friends, they feel that you just saw them yesterday, not, not that you were apart for a few years. You know, I usually go every two, three years. You feel like we saw each other yesterday. It's a good feeling. And, uh, they'll tell you anything there is about us, anything which you wouldn't think anybody will tell you anything about his private life, or his family life, or what's going on between him and his wife, and he, anything, you know, to complain about, they'll tell you. It's your own fine idea.

November 22, 1995, with Eli Modenstein. You were talking about your life before the war. When, when did this life start to change?

Actually it started, everything started about September 1, 1939. Germany attacked Poland. It was early in the morning, and we heard planes go by, not too many, and dropping bombs. There were a few casualties, and the whole city, an uproar, you know, took off. We were close to the German border, about 10 miles, 18 kilometers, maybe 11 miles. And, everybody took off. People didn't have any way, even, uh, no autos or even horse and buggies. Um, like I mentioned, we had a junkyard. And so it happened that one, um, farmer came by, and he lost one of his wheels on the wagon. So he came in, if he could find a wheel, in the junk. Which he found. So, uh, to make a deal with him, we put some, um, clothes, you know, and packages on the, on the horse and buggy, You know, and one of my youngest sisters got on the wagon, and he took off. You know, and I was afraid for my little sister, and I ran after him, it took me a few miles till I caught up with him. Anyway, I got up with him, and, um, I don't remember exactly how we got in a little town about, uh, 12 miles from my hometown. I had a cousin over there, and so this was the idea to get there and stay with him for a few days, till the front, you know, moves, gets quiet.

So you wanted to go just by yourself, or to take your family?

Uh, that's what the whole family was planning to do. And, uh, they came afterwards. I don't remember how they came. They must have got ride too, because like I said, they were 12 miles. And my mother was already an older lady, and, um, (clears throat) we met again at the cousin's place. The war started on September 1st, which was on a Friday. Uh, so Friday, Saturday, we were in this little town, uh, by the name Sękowo. And, uh, Sunday, German planes attacked this little town. So, uh, you could see a lot of cows were killed from the bombs. Some people next to them. And again, people took off again from there, you know. And I, together with mother and sisters, uh, we did separated from my older brother and his wife and their little boy. And, um, we went in the direction of Płock, a larger city. We had some family over there too, so this is why we go there. And didn't take, we stayed a few days, I don't know, two, three days. And the German army caught up with us again, and they figured there's no use running anymore. They better go back. And actually, I started back, you know.

Back to Mława?

Back to Mława, you know. And I remember walking, you know, the highway, and a German patrol stopped us with officers, asked me in German, you know, where to go in a certain direction, which I showed them, this way you're going. Didn't say anything. And I just marched down till I got to my hometown. I must have been like 45, 50 miles away when I started back. And then we came back, and, uh, my house was, wasn't, uh, destroyed, was standing. We moved back in, and, uh, we started opening up the oil factory. We stopped making oil, people stopped coming, you know, buying, already at that time, to start buying the German money. And, um, this was going on for a few months. There was no radio, no paper, nothing. We didn't know any German either. Only little by little, you start picking up. That's close to Yiddish, you know, so we just picked it up from there. Till, uh, the iron business didn't go at the time, everything was laying there. Till, uh, one man came, and he showed us a paper that he's supposed to take over the iron business. He was a German. Nothing you could do. So we prepared to load everything on, on wagons, horse and buggy wagons, and wheeled it over to a different place, from the yard we had. And, uh, at that time, they started taking people to work, to clean the streets, to different things, you know, cut, uh, wood for the German army. Uh, you didn't get paid for that. Actually, you could get beaten up, too. So to be more secure, we asked this man which took over the business, if we could work for him. For nothing, you see. And he was a nice fellow, actually. We got along just fine. And the same thing happened with the oil factories we had. One Volksdeutsche from a nearby town came. His wife was German. He was a Pollack, he was a sergeant in the Polish army. So he came, he took over the oil, oil factory. And he also took over a candy factory from somebody else. So he wanted to move in the candy factory where we lived. And he moved us in, in the place where the candy factory was, you know. Just four walls. So we moved in over there, and we lived there, until the close of the ghetto, actually. The life in the ghetto, you couldn't go out of the ghetto.

When did it become a ghetto?

The ghetto became on, uh, December 1940. Until then, you could go and move around. Only you had your, uh, Jude star, a yellow star. You had to wear in the front and in the back. And you couldn't walk on the sidewalks. When a German soldier came by, you had to take off your hat for him. And, uh, if they picked you up to work, you know, you didn't get paid for nothing.

And when you say they, was it the Germans?

The Germans.

The soldiers themselves?

Right, right. One time I was walking in the street, you know, and a few of them, you know, picked me up. Loaded us on, on trucks, and took us to the railroad to unload coal. And, uh, like I said, I was used to shovel. So I knew how to shovel, you know, wiggle down to one side to the bottom, and then you could shovel. See? If you want to take a shovel with coals from the top, that isn't so easy. So anyway, there were a few of us. And we worked the whole day taking off from the railcars into our trucks. And at the end, you know, let us go, and that's it. We were glad we hadn't gotten beaten up for it. So those things were going on constantly. If I wasn't among them, some others would share to do those works. And like I said, I worked in this junkyard for this fellow. Me and my brother and older brother. So, um, this was going on, uh, till about '41. And one day, we went out of work. They came in, and they had the whole, uh, population go to one place, you know, a big lot. And they erected a scaffold, and they hanged three people on it. There was a friend of mine, which lives now in England, his father. And then I had a friend, which I went to school with. He was a policeman in the ghetto. It was him. And I don't remember what was the third. Anyway, the whole population had to watch it. I wasn't there. I, with a few other people in my family, we had an attic from the kitchen. We could remove a board, you know, and crawl up from the table with a chair and crawl up into the attic. And we stayed there. However, one sister-in-law went and took my younger sister with her. And after the hanging, the SS shot into the people. And my little sister, she was about ten at that time, got killed.

And what was her name?

Her name was Chana. And, um, so happened they buried her across the street, almost, from our window. She was buried there, and a few other women. Same place.

So was this the first time that you remember people being shot in the ghetto?

Uh, no, this wasn't the first time. Uh, no, let me go back. This was the first time when this happened. And then afterwards, they had picked up a hundred people, a few months later. Could have been in '42 already at that time. They picked up a hundred people. They kept them for a few days. And then they took them all out on a field. They had them, you know, dug a big hole. And everybody from town had to be there. They lined up 50 in front of the hole, which they dug. And they announced, if we'll hear one little scream, we're going to shoot the other 50. So they shot us 50 people. Among them was a friend I went to school with too. And, uh, nobody raised their voice or said anything or breathed, even. So to save the other 50 people, this was a second time. Eventually, from time to time, somebody got shot for something. Or nothing. They happened to be in the way of somebody. So this was the life in ghetto, uh. We had rationed everything. We had to have cards to get a minimum of things. And you had tickets you had to buy to get water, in the pails. So, uh, there was one place where they distributed the water. You went with a couple pails. And they had a cart and they punched the holes. And you had to carry it home, which was, you know, like half a mile. Only that time, I was, you know, 21. I could take two pails and walk like nothing. And that's the way the life went on. And, there were sicknesses and typhus started. Uh, no medicine or doctors, actually. Uh, [coughs] there was a friend of mine, which learned to be a nurse. She was a doctor in the ghetto. And she took care of all those sick people, mostly typhus. And there was one friend, which got hung. He got sick on typhus, and they took him out from the hospital for the hanging. This was going on until the end of '42. And then, they closed up the ghetto.

Before you tell me about that, can I ask you a few more questions about the ghetto?

Yes, please.

You said that you had to move from where you were?

We moved from the place we lived, from Płocka 31 to a street in Warszawska. I don't remember the number. There where the candy factory was. And we lived there till the end of the ghetto, when they liquidated the ghetto. And you moved there because of this particular gentleman that... There were no places where to move to, you see. Uh, they created the ghetto in a couple streets. And the city, which was a good-sized city, they had 3,500 Jewish people. They packed them in, in those houses, which were available. So in one apartment, you could have three or four families. Like, uh, we lived there, and it was my brother, his wife, and a little boy. And there were two families from a different town, which they brought in. To my hometown, from Rypin. There was a father, mother, and two daughters, grown up already. One must have been 22, 3, the other one maybe 18, 19. And, uh, then was, uh, theirs, uh, I think, the wife's brother, and a wife with one child, a little girl. So we all lived in two rooms, small rooms. I would say 10 by 10, 10 by 11.

Did you have enough to eat in the ghetto?

Uh, we ourselves, my family, we did. Uh, due to the fact that I looked more like a non-Jewish, like, Christian, and my Polish was perfect, no accent whatsoever. I used to go to, out of the ghetto, you know. And I knew a lot of people, and used to do a lot of dealing with them. And I used to bring in different things to eat.

So did you have to, was this before the ghetto was closed?

This was, the ghetto was already closed. However, there was a gate, there was Jewish police watching the gate. And I knew the people, and they kind of looked the other way. When I went in, if I brought something, like for instance, I used to bring coals.

Coals?

Coals, yeah. And I used to bring potatoes, as a matter of fact, when they took, I saw it, when they took, I saw it, I had 1,500 kilograms of potatoes. A kilogram is two and a half pounds. That's about 4,000 pounds of potatoes I had put away for the winter. Outside, you know, made a big hole, covered with straw and, uh, dirt, and had a little opening for it. So when we were driven out of the ghetto, this was left. So, uh, we managed, my, my family in particular, we did. There were a lot of people, which, uh, lived under Russians and got []. And, uh, they used to go around and ask for a piece of bread, or, or, a few potatoes, things like that.

And did you ever do any work in the ghetto? You said that sometimes you were assigned to do these jobs.

I did a lot of things in the ghetto. Uh, before I started working for these men in the junkyard, I used to go out with, every morning they took out, uh, an amount of people, a few hundred people. And I used to go to clean the toilets, outside toilets, you know, uh, cutting wood, you know, so on, and cutting with axe. Or they were taking apart the buildings which were bombed out, though there were not any machinery like they have now, you know, those, tanks where it's swinging in and knocks down the walls. One used to crawl up, you know, take off from the top, go down to the bottom. And we cleaned them up, put them away in stacks. So there was always, or, or, clean the street with a broom. It was always something they took you out for.

You said that you knew some of the Jewish police.

Yes. Uh, they were working under the supervision of the German police. Only they were never, not never, most of the time, they were alone, you know. And, uh, when they could, they looked the other way. When the Germans were there, they acted differently too, you know. They had to do it.

How did people get chosen to be in the Jewish police?

I don't even know if they were volunteering. I doubt it. I think they assigned one person, and this person picked some stronger, younger people to, uh, be the policemen. And for the most part, how did the Jewish people inside the ghetto treat each other? With respect, we cared for each other. We helped each other. You can imagine that three or four different families moving in, in a one- or two-room, you have to cook in the same stove, a coal stove, or wood stove, which you don't turn on with a switch. You have to blow in and make the fire going, and they have to cook three or four families separately. And three or four women, they get along. So we did. We knew the circumstances, and we did the best of what we had.

At that time, did you have any idea of what was going on or how bad that things could get?

No, no. Actually, those people which lived with us, from Rypin, one of the townspeople came at a later time. He came back from, uh, more east, and he told us what he heard over there, what they're doing. Like, they take people on trucks and they gas them, and you looked at them, you're crazy. We would do things like that, you know. Nobody did believe that anything like that would go on. Uh, although, I forgot to mention, I had a radio hidden. And at that time, you had to have an antenna to run a radio, you know. And especially, if we wanted to pick up, what we could pick up, England or Moscow. So, uh, we used to take it out late in the evening when it was dark already, and I hooked up a wire. We had drain pipes, aluminum drain pipes. I hooked up the wire, you know, into the house. We listened to the news at a certain time, and hide it away. If they would find the radio, they would kill us all, you know. So we knew a little bit what was going on. Only the beginning of the war, they were going forwards all the time. There weren't any good news for us, you see. So, um, however, we knew something. And we hoped that the war will end soon. Only it didn't end soon. It took six years.

When did the Germans start to take people out of the ghetto? Was it gradually, or all the years?

No. No. They came, actually, at one time. We, they took us out on a big field, not far where we lived. And they picked out the older people. Amongst them was my mother and my sister. And they made them march, you know. There were posts standing every few feet, or maybe 20 feet. And they showed them where to go. They went in an abandoned, uh, mill, flour mill. The machinery was gone, so they kept them over there for a couple days. And then they shipped them out.

Where to?

I'm not sure. Either they went to Treblinka, or they went someplace east, where they killed them. So how my mother lost her life, and sister? I don't know.

But that was the last time you saw them?

This was, this was the last time I saw them, sure. And, um, then a few days later, very shortly afterwards, they let us know, nobody went to work or anything. The ghetto was closed off with the German police on the outside. And they told us they're going to resettle us to a work camp. In other words, we'll be working there. We'll get to eat. And, uh, we'll be treated, you know, humane. And, uh, one day, they announced, together again on a certain spot, and, uh, they marched us to the railroad train. And actually, before they marched out, they asked us, you know, they went around with boxes to give up any, you know, gold, silver, or money. You can keep, uh, your ring, a wedding ring you could keep. All the rest you had to give up. And there was a little girl, a friend of my sister, and that time he was in Israel, the friend. Actually, he was a policeman, in the Palestine, before the Jewish state was established. His little sister, they picked her out from the group, you know, and they looked at her and they pulled out five German marks. Why didn't you give it up, pulled out his gun, shot her in the head, right in front of everybody.

How old was this girl?

She was, this girl could have been, 12, 13, maybe 14 years. So, you know, after seeing that, a lot of people started emptying their pockets, and throwing away.

When did this happen?

This happened in, I think October '42. Or was it already November? And they had already taken away the older people. Older people were gone already a few days before. These were the people which were still, uh, in good health, younger people. So, uh, they marched us to the railroad trains, put us on the trains, closed the doors, and away we go.

Were these cattle cars?

Cattle cars, right.

And where did you go?

We went for about three days, till we came to Auschwitz.

November 22nd, 1995, with Mr. Eli Modenstein. You were talking about you were taken?

We were taken, marched to the railroad station, put in cattle cars, they closed the doors, and away we go, we left the station.

How many of you were there?

Oh, we must have been probably 2,500 to 3,000 people. And, uh, there was pretty, uh there were a lot of people in the cars. There was no place to sit down, actually, you know. When somebody sat down, you had to move back, the rest of them, you know, pushed together, so somebody could, uh, sit down for a while. And we were in the cars for two, or maybe three days, I don't remember exactly. We didn't know where we're going. They told us they're taking us someplace where they need us to work. And they'll give us a place to, to live, and food to eat, and we'll work for them. And we believed them, you know. We hadn't thought much about it. We were used to it by then. It was '42., since '39, you know, three years. You, uh, just took it as it came along. And the cars itself, like I said, there were too many people in the car. And when somebody has to relieve himself, he had to relieve himself, you know. He picked a corner, and we kept this corner for that purpose, for the smell and, and everything else. And not knowing where you're going, and you don't sleep for two days, uh, and we didn't have any water even. Uh, when we got on the train, everybody had something with them from home, you know, some bread, maybe cookies, maybe a candy, I don't know. Uh, [coughs] so the first day we kind of got along with that. I remember one time we stopped on a railroad station someplace, I don't know where it was, and they opened the door. We got in some air, and there were some people, civilian people. Saw us, and they were asking us, do you need any water? You know, we said sure. So they were running back and forth and brought water. And, uh, so some people got some water to drink. Some didn't. Til the German, you know, uh, soldiers, or SS, don't let them do it anymore, they closed the doors, and we were sitting there. Til, uh, one evening, the car stopped. They opened the doors, we could see on a big lot, you know, and big reflectors. And raus, we had to get out and jump off the train. We were young, we could do it, you know. Some older people had a tough time, and they were rushing you, pushing you, and with dogs. And right away there, they separated the younger people from the older people, especially women with children, they took them on the side, put them on, on trucks, so they wouldn't have to walk, for the children, too far, uh, which they thought, it's a big thing. They didn't have to walk. Actually, they took them right away to the crematoriums, where they gassed them, and, and they burned them. Um, the old- the younger people, they also took the girls separate, you know, and men separate. And then they marched us in into Auschwitz. Uh, there wasn't a too long march, maybe 40 minutes. Something like that. We came in, it was late in the evening, must've been close to midnight. Nobody had, had a watch, we couldn't tell the time. And they kept us outside. We were between buildings. The buildings were two-story buildings. They still are there in Auschwitz. Saw them last year. I couldn't pinpoint the place where we were. Only it was outside, and they had wheelbarrows, which they used if somebody had to relieve himself.

Wheelbarrows?

Wheelbarrows. Uh, we, we stayed there til the morning. In the morning, you start seeing people coming out from those buildings, dressed like in pajamas, you know, the striped pants and, and jackets. We were still in civilian clothes. And then they started, a little later, a few hours later. They took us to a place, they told us to undress, and they let in groups, into a place which was a shower. And, uh, before the showers, you, they had buckets with some kind of chemical, like a heavy oil, you know, they rubbed it under your arms, between your feet, it seems there was a good thing. There was some disinfection. If you had anything on you, you know, they killed it. And then you went into the shower, and you never saw the people coming out from the shower. You came in a different door. You came in this way, they went the other way. So you never know what was going on over there. However, we came out, and there was piles of clothes, and there were some people, prisoners also, which handed you a pair of pants, you know, a pair of shoes a jacket and a hat. If it didn't fit, you know, it could be for a big fellow, got the small fellow, and a big fellow got a small outfit. Only then, we exchanged between us, you saw somebody's got your size, he's big. You got a big one, you give it to him. And that's the way we straightened things out. At that time, I had uh, left over, from when my father passed away. He had a belt, and there was a silver buckle, and also the edge, which goes in, had a silver piece. And there was the year 1806 on it. And I kept it after my father passed away. It was my heirloom, you know. And somebody noticed it from the other prisoners, and took it away from me, you know. I felt bad about it. They didn't care about bigger things, but a little thing like that. Uh, [coughs] so anyway, uh, before we went in to take the bath, we were standing outside the whole group of men, a few hundred. I don't know exactly how many. The wind was so cold, it must've been in November, end of November. In Poland, the wind, it was so cold, and we were naked, completely. Finally, they brought out some, um, bed covers, you know, um, and then gave them to the people on the outside perimeter, to hold them, so the wind wouldn't blow so much on the naked people. So when you got in and got your shower, and then you got clothes, you were happy, that finally you got through with that. Then they lined us up and gave us the numbers, which, you, you saw my number? This is,

So they gave you the tattoo?

Yeah, yeah, I got my number, 76470. And I had two brothers, one had 69, one had 71.

So you were still with your brothers at that time?

Yeah, we were all three together at that time.

Which brothers were you with?

I was with Avraham and Hirsch Meyer. So, um, we got our, uh, numbers, and they registered everybody by the number, you know, and assigned you to a block, where you're going to be staying. And this group, which ran the block, they took you to the block. The blocks were two stories high, they took us up on the second story, and on the floor was straw. We slept on the straw. Uh, I think this was on a Saturday night, it must have been. The next day, which was a Sunday, we got up, you know, and we had to go on an appell lot, an appell, they call them in, in German, and where they count the people, and this was going on first thing in the morning. They count each block, or each commander. Actually, it was each block. Because after you worked, you went back in the block, and you had to stand where your block was standing. You lined up there, and they counted, and if they miscounted one, this could go on for a few hours. You know, sometimes you could miscount the person. And if somebody died, they had a heart attack or got shot, they had to bring him and line him up in the same lines, so the count would be there, and then they took him away. See? So, uh, that day-

This was the first morning you were in Auschwitz?

The first morning, uh, they took us down, they marched us around, I don't remember what it was. I remember one episode, one fellow from my hometown, noticed there was a dead man laying there, and he was already cold. So, he ran up, and pulled off, he had gloves, and, you know, you are fresh from home, and made some impression when you're taking from a dead person, their glove, and he says, he won't be needing them anymore, and I can use them. Then you realized that he was right.

Then it came supper time, and, uh, they had, uh, potatoes, small potatoes with the skins, you know. In Poland, you don't know about the potatoes. They eat potatoes with skin. They had so much potatoes in Poland, just you didn't have to save the skin. And you didn't realize that, there are vitamins in the skin. So, they lined you up, and there were no plates or anything. You had to take your hat, and turn it over the inside, then fill it up with some potatoes, you know. Then when you got through it, you shake it off and put it back on. And we were dirty already, the hats, and that's the way we were. And I think in a day or two later, they marched us to Buna, which was about eight kilometers, which would be five miles from Auschwitz. Buna, they, they called it Buna-Werke, which means there were building factories over there to produce synthetic gas from coals. And, uh, on the way to Buna, we stopped someplace.

They marched us in, we were about, I think, maybe 50, 60 people. I'm not sure. They marched us in into this room, and they told us to undress, and to go in, five people, to take a shower.

This was on the way to Buna?

On the way to Buna from Auschwitz, in the afternoon. And we already heard at that time that they're gassing people, and we were almost positive, that they are gassing, going to gas us. So it's funny how you pull back to be the last, you know. You see, people go in, and you don't see them coming out because they went out the other end. Anyway, they didn't gas us. There was a shower. We dressed up, and then they marched us to Buna. We came to Buna toward the evening. They assigned us to blocks. And, uh, I got, there were three story beds, you know. I got a top bed, I crawled up over there. And it's a funny thing. One had a violin, and they were playing, uh, carols, in German, Christmas carols, and singing along, you know. To me, it was strange. I, I, I can't, I couldn't comprehend. Am I in heaven or what? What happened in here?

This was inside the barracks they were playing?

Inside the barracks, in the evening. And I'm laying there, you know, I, I don't know where I am. Anyway, fall asleep. They woke us up early in the morning, you know. We had to wash quick, and we had to make our beds, and they had to be so straight. And all, the whole row of beds, had to be, you know, one direction. You could see the line, from one end to the last, had to be lined up. In other words, when you made the bed, you had to look at the one ahead of you, and line up the lines exactly. Otherwise, they'll beat you to death. And, uh, then they gave you, you had a big, what do they call it, um, plate, a tea plate. They gave you some coffee and a piece of bread. You ate quick, and you had to go to the appell place, where they counted you. After the appell, each foreman had already his people picked, and they lined up with him, they marched out, to the Buna-Werke, which were a few miles away. And then we worked there all day in different works like digging, you know, and the, the dirt was frozen in winter. You had to work with the pick to loosen the ground so you can shovel it. It was hard work and little to eat, uh, so little by little you got weaker and weaker. And people were, you know, falling like flies. A lot of people died.

When you first went to Buna, were you still with this group of people from Mława?

Yeah, we were a big bunch from Mława. Some of them, the younger people, they had a group, 16-year-olds, 15-year-olds, which they kept in Auschwitz, and they sent them to a school to learn to be bricklayers. Then they used them to build buildings. See? The group which went, the rest of us, we went to Buna.

And how old were you at that time?

Oh, this was in '42. I was 24. I was in good health at that time. And, uh, I could do any work. And, uh, this was going on for quite a few months. One brother of mine worked as a, oh, what do they call him, metal work, you know. To work on metal which they needed for building. Like bending pipes, or, or, you know, putting together with screws some long pipes, building, uh, I-beams, things like that, you know. To build the metal structures for building, and then to fill them in with the bricks from the outside. Uh, the younger one worked a part in the same command as I did for a certain time. He was older from me, the younger from the older one, the middle one. And, uh, this was, like I say, started around November, middle of November 1942. And about, uh, toward the end of '43, they needed a painter's commander.

Painters?

Painters. They already built up structures, you know, and they had to paint them. They had to paint the windows before they put them in, so they wouldn't get, you know, uh, bad- bugs wouldn't get into them. So, uh, that's what we did. I got in with a commando like that, which was the work was much easier. And I was with this commando for quite some time. And then they needed a commando of specialist painters, you know, better painters. Like, you know, to paint a window, you think it's easy. You have, you don't want to mess up the glass. They really watched you. And so, uh, I worked like that. So I got in, in a commando. I think we were about 15 people. And the commando foreman was a fellow German, only he was a political prisoner, which we worked together in the, in the paint group before. And we were very close, you know. We became friends. So when they picked him to run this smaller commando, he picked me to be with him. And I picked some friends, the one which in Israel today, and it was another one in Israel too, my hometown, which worked with me. With him. And we had a pretty good, you know, job, actually. We were working inside the buildings. Like in buildings there were, they have big kitchens where they made the soups for the civilian workers, which were there. A few thousand. So we got to eat, you know. And, uh, we had a chance to get a piece of sausage, when nobody, didn't, you know, watch, you know. And like I had this thing I told you before about the bread, which I organized the 15 breads, and I got caught with them.

What do you mean you organized that?

I was working in the room where the breads were piled up, where they were stored. They had iron, um, bars in the windows. So I had to work here painting the bars. I worked inside to paint the inside half, and one fellow paint on the outside. And we had the big pails where we kept our brushes, you know, rags, to wipe off. So I grabbed the bread, gave it to him through the window, he put it in the, in the pail, you know. We maybe had three, four, and ran back where we kept our clothes, because we painters had the double clothes. We had clothes for painting when we came in the morning. We took off our clean clothes and put on the painter's clothes.

And these were both, both sets of clothes were the stripes clothes?

Both of them were stripes. Only they were dirty, you know, from paint. And when we finished, we exchanged again. So he took them in into this building where we had the clothes, piled them up, he had 15 breads, and it was on a lunchtime. I went in there, an SS man comes in, and it was kind of a too big pile for him. For clothes. He kicked it with his boot, and he noticed all the bread laying there. He said, what is that? So I told him, I organized it. You didn't say, you stealed it. We, we said, you organized it, you know. That's the way, that was the expression, in camp, if you organize something. And I say, we are 50 people, so everybody is going to get a piece. And he didn't say much. He says, pile them in, and a big pail was there. And took another fellow. And they marched us to the kommandantur, you know, the commander outpost in the factory base. And I thought this is the end, because for minor things, they used to hang people, you know. Not for 15 breads. That was a big deal. Luckily, my time wasn't up. So happened, when we walked in, the main foreman, a prisoner also, from Holland. He was a very nice, intelligent guy. He saw what was going on. He came up to me, kicked me in the bottom, and he says, make loose, or in other words, run. [laughs] And I think that that saved me my life at that time.

So this man from Holland, he was the, one of the head prisoners?

He was the head foreman of the whole Buna-Werke, you know. Of all the prisoners which were working on it. So he was the head kapo, we called him.

He was the head kapo?

Yeah.

Do you remember his name?

I can't remember his name, no. He was a very nice, very nice guy. And I think he probably done it on purpose, you know. He had the right idea, which he applied, and it saved my life.

So this was going on, you know. My work, my work, uh, before that, in the P Commando, we were cleaning with wire brushes, big iron plates, about maybe ten feet long by five, six feet wide, thick, about three-quarter inch thick. They used those to build gasometers. They put them together on the edges with rivets, you know. They build up two, three stories high, big gasometers. I don't know about what they kept in there. Maybe that's what it is, gas, gasometers.

And, um, in January 12, 1945, the Russian offensive started. And you could hear, in the evening, in the barracks, we could hear the artillery, you know, going. And we were hoping they'll break through, you know, and liberate us. However, this was on the 12th, and I think it was on the 17th, they took us on the appell place, and they announced, that they were going to march out the prisoners from Auschwitz, from Buna, to Gleiwitz, which was about 70 or 90 kilometers, I'm not sure. And they gave everybody a portion of sausage about maybe a foot long, piece of sausage, like Polska kielbasa looks here. And, uh, a good slice of bread, and that's what we had to march out. They kept us til about, maybe, four o'clock, til they marched us out. And something happened. We were three friends. We kept close. One of them happened to get a swollen leg, that particular night before we marched out. And he came, ran in, and he says, I don't know what's going to happen. I can't march, and they'll probably kill me. And I agreed with him. However, I had to tell him something. So I said, don't be a fool, or why would they kill you? If they leave you alive and the Russians come in, they take away their doctor, their medicine, their nurses, their beds, which they need for their soldiers. And they have to take care of you. And their food. And if they kill you, then the Russians will find bodies, and they'll have something to claim, and show the world what the Germans did. So I'm sure that they won't do nothing to you. And, the way I said it, that's what happened. Because a few days later, after I got liberated, I came back and he was there, and he was well already.

So he went to the hospital in Buna?

In Buna.

And survived?

And he survived, yes.

November 22nd, 1995, Mr. Eli Modenstein. You were talking about, you were leaving Buna, but before you left, um, were you with this group of painters the whole time when you were in, after, after that?

Yes, we were working, the same people, for a period of, for a few months.

Would you say that the people inside the group trusted each other? Did they try to help each other?

Yes.

We were congenial, you know, cared for each other. For instance, I used to, like, Yom Kippur. I actually fast. I didn't eat. I got my portion, so I gave it to one of the people which I knew. Anyway, you know, and he was just waiting for, when is this holiday, you know, when you don't eat? So we did care for each other.

Were most of the people in this group Jewish?

No.

There were some political prisoners, Germans, and there were some Poles. Actually, there was an ex-Polish policeman, and then there was one used to sing like a Jewish song in Polish. You know, he had a nice voice. I always begged him. Why don't you sing it to me? You know. It's too bad, I don't have a voice. I would give you a couple of lines. If I remembered. You get used to a certain way of life, and, you know, you have to stick it out, and you make the best of it. One thing I have to say, that there wasn't a day in the camps that I did not believe that I'll survive. And I don't think there were too many people which believed that so strongly. And if you didn't believe, I think it was hard to take. If you believe, so, oh, I'll do it, and, you know, tomorrow will be better, or whatever. Which makes it easier to take, no matter what comes your direction. And, uh, like I said before, I was still in good health, and I wasn't sick a day all those years, which was very unusual. And that's helped me, I suppose, to survive.

Going back, about marching out. So I told you about this friend, which bid us good-bye, you know, we marched out. And it was in the late afternoon, and we marched the whole evening. We came in to Gleiwitz, late in the evening. It must be probably around midnight, when we reached the abandoned camp in, in Gleiwitz, in Polish it's Gliwice. So we got in there, and everybody found a place where to lay down and try to sleep wherever they could. And my mind at that time was, I saw what was going on. They didn't watch us, and they didn't count us. There may be a chance to sneak out from the group. Before I left Buna a few days before, they passed out some civilian coats. Me being there already from the older prisoners, I had the first choice. So I picked one, my size, a long, long gray coat. And, uh, as a matter of fact, we already, you know, felt that unconsciously that you have to look in the seams. Maybe somebody left something. I did find a women's watch, a gold watch in it. So I took this watch. I knew some people from my hometown, which worked on a, commandos which repaired shoes. And I gave him the watch, and I told him, you bring me a pair of good shoes, you know, high boots. He brought me a pair, which you used shoelaces in, you know, to close them. Then I had a sweater with long sleeves, one of the prisoners which had a bed, a bunk bed, next to mine. He was a tailor. So I asked him to make me a pair, long socks from it, which he did. So when I came to Gleiwitz, I was already wearing those long socks over my pants, which came up over my knees, and covered the striped pants, which I had, and the coat covered the rest of the legs. However, I had, painted a red cross on my back with oil paint.

The Germans had painted it?

Yes. Before they gave us those coats, they were painted by somebody. So, uh, I looked around, and somebody had a vest with those sleeves. And those vests people received, which were working during the winter outside, because it was tremendous cold, you know. If they worked on, uh, electric lines, you know, you stay almost in one place, and the wind gets you. So they used to give them vests like that. I noticed somebody has a vest in Gleiwitz, the night when we stayed over.

I gave him, I made a deal with him, gave him a piece of the sausage I had received. And I got this vest from him. Then I needed a hat, and I found that, too. Another fellow had a hat.

I exchanged my hat, which was with stripes. He gave me his, you know. And I gave him also a piece of bread and a piece of sausage, and I was dressed.

So in the morning, they opened the gates. They didn't feed us, nothing. And they called Buna, which means the people from Buna, raus, get out. And we start walking, not marching, walking, you know. Middle of the street with SS people, soldiers on the sides watching us. And we can't march. We walked without any step, not any rhythm. Just walk. And I noticed people on the sidewalk from the city, stood on the sidewalk, you know, looking out on the marching prisoners. And I got an idea, if I could sneak out on the sidewalk, and just pretend I'm from the people watching. And that's what I did. I sneaked out on the sidewalk, and stood there while they marched by, and took off. And I took off to a side street. I noticed that two older women looked after me, you know. And I didn't know what, do they recognize that I'm a prisoner? You know, I'm in civilian clothes. However, it dawned on me, when I walked, my long coat had a split in the back. And the split opened up. They could see the striped pants. So, here I marched back into the group, and go on and ask around if anybody has a thread and needle.

Was it dangerous to try to get back into the group?

It was as dangerous as to get out, you know. I watched. There was a time I could get in. I got in, and here I am, you know, walking in. And, uh, a fellow from my hometown, I asked him, he said, yes, I have a needle and thread. And he gave me a needle and thread. And when I was walking, I sewed it up. Did the same thing again after a few minutes, and got out and got away.

So you, you left the group, and you came back, and you left again a few minutes later?

That's right. I came back, I sewed it up, said goodbye to this fellow, you know, and took off.

Did you give him anything for the needle and thread?

No, I didn't give him anything. Uh, he didn't ask. And I didn't have too much at that time anymore either, you know. I didn't know for how long this has to last, whatever I had. He had the same portion as I had. Maybe more because he didn't give away anybody. So, uh, [coughs] anyway, I took off. My, uh, idea was to go back to Buna because I knew every nook over there, you know, being there a few years. I knew where I could find shelter and where I could find food. So, uh, I started out back. I found a, a fellow with a horse and buggy, and I stopped him. I asked him in which direction he goes. He told me, you know, that way. So, uh, he took me for a few miles. And then, uh, I got off and started walking, and, uh, the night came along, and I figured I better lay down someplace. I found an abandoned house. I got there, and there was an oven where they baked bread, which was in the cellar. And there was maybe three feet between the top of the oven and the ceiling, I can slide into there. I laid for a few hours and, uh, figure maybe it isn't safe to be there. Got back out, marched again a few miles. I came to a point. I noticed German artillery dug in on both sides of the highway. However, there were some horse and buggy soldiers, with buggies coming in my direction, pulling back, so I can mingle in between them, you know, between the, the buggies, and I marched back. I got then into a house. I knocked on the door, and I asked if they could give me something to eat, you know. And they gave me something to eat, and they kept a conversation going between them. I realized that a brother-in-law of theirs is a Volksdeutsche, which means he's a German, and that he's supposed to come by. So I bid them goodbye quick, kind of, and marched out again. The evening started getting close, and dark, and I was afraid to go any other place. I noticed some bushes in the back in the field, and I thought if I can get to those bushes, maybe I can lay there in the bushes, which I did.

I took off this jacket I had, put it on the bushes, and laid down, you know, on the snow, on the bushes. The mistake I made is taking off the shoes. I must've laid there, maybe two, three hours, and I felt a cold, and I felt that I better get up and start walking, or I'll freeze to death, you know. Then I wanted to put my shoes on, they were frozen stiff. I couldn't put them on. And, and you sit there and not knowing, what do you do?

You can't even, if you have a match, you can't even light a match, you know. So I thought I'll take a shoe, put it between my legs, you know, and kind of rub that, rub that, warmed it up a little bit. I could put them on. And same thing with the other. And I started out, you know, quickly on the road to get out of the field, in case somebody comes along. This must have been maybe three o'clock in the morning. And I walked, and each, each step was cutting in my legs. Finally, I came to a little village. I knocked on the door, and there was an old lady there, and I said, could I warm up here? I'm frozen stiff and hungry. She let me in, and there was a little house with two rooms. One half, she had a cow, and she lived in the other, on the other side. And she was so good to me, she gave me bread and milk, you know, and I said, my feet are killing me. Must be frozen. And she says, oh, I'll warm up some water for you. And I knew that's no good for frozen feet. However, she was so good to me, that she persuaded me to do it. I put my feet in for a moment, I was good. Ah, you know. And then a few seconds, I felt like I'm going, fall over, you know. So I, I'm telling her, I don't feel good. She made a bed, let me into the bed, you know. And here I lay in the bed, nice and warm and cozy. And her husband comes, old man. Must have been maybe 75, 80 at that time. And he asked her, who is it? And she tells her what I told her. I was a prisoner, and they told me to go home. I didn't tell them I'm Jewish. I told them I'm Polish. And he says, does he have any documents to show that they freed him? And I say, no, I, I didn't wait for them to give me documents. I was glad to tell me, they told me to go, so I took off. And, uh, he wasn't happy with that. He was afraid to stay in the house. He went to sleep with a daughter. And I stayed overnight with this lady and a young girl. And the morning came, maybe about seven in the morning, somebody knocked on the door. So I told somebody's coming in, and I hid behind a curtain. A fellow came in, and she called him Carl. And he tells her that nearby is a place where they bake chalk. In Poland, there are big pieces of chalk.

Chalk?

Chalk. You know, like you write on a blackboard, only big pieces. And what they do with it, they, um [coughs] work it through with water. They boil it. They put water over it then it boils, and it makes into like a clay. They use it, they mix it with, um, sand, and they make a mortar out of it. It's to build, you know, for bricks. So he told her, I prepared straw in this place, which was about 30 feet long, and maybe 12, 15 feet wide. And you went down. There was an opening with a metal cover, like you see in the street sometimes, on the sewer. And, uh, so after he left, I walked around, walked around. And it dawned on me, maybe I should have tried this place. So I walked up to it, because there was a big tall chimney, it was easy to find. Moved away- it was already dark. Moved away the cover. And there were hooks in the walls. I climbed down, and they had hay, you know, in the place. And I kind of walked through the whole length. And then on the opposite side, there were hooks again. I walked up on the hooks. And there were two big, uh, trenches on both sides, a trench, which was for the ashes from the coals, which they were burning there or wherever. So I stayed downstairs. Only a day later, people start coming in, because the front moved closer.

So they moved into this place. And when they moved in, I got up and hid in those, you know, places. And I was laying there for a few days. I hardly had anything to eat at that time already. One day, all of a sudden, there were the, I was laying. There was the wall there, two ended. And there were the hooks, I told you. There was also a cover, an iron cover on the top. This cover opened up, I didn't know that. And a fellow goes down on those hooks. And he didn't saw me. I was, you know, in the ashes. And I recognized him. This is the Carl, you know. So I say, Carl? And he says, yeah, he looks at me. Who is this guy? He called me by my name, you know. So he took me, I think, for a Russian spy. And he want to have favors for the Russians. They're going to come in any minute, you know. So he started bringing me food, you know. He didn't tell anybody. He brought me food, milk, and bread, and butter, you know. For a couple days, I think, maybe three days. And I was laying there, til one, uh, morning. I heard a big commotion from the people down there. I didn't know what was going on. And then somebody crawled up on those hooks. So I asked, what's going on? And he says, better get out of here. They're going, uh, dynamite, the chimney, because the chimney shows the Russians where, which direction, you know, uh, to fire.

So I got out and ran with all the rest of them, and ran into a little brick house, a one-story house, which had a big basement. And the floor from the house, in the basement, was a real thick cement floor, which was safe for bombs. Um, [coughs] and we were there the whole morning, about noon time. And the people were afraid that if the Russians, you know, break in, they wouldn't know who it is. They'll think there are Germans, and might throw grenades in, in the basement. And I realized, uh, that could happen. So I stood right in front of the steps, which took up to the first floor. And all of a sudden, I hear one Russian soldier says to the other, in Russian, you know, see if there are any Germans here, you know. They say, [Russian speech]. And, um, as I heard that, I just slipped up the step, like a cat, you know, probably, on two ste- two, uh, steps, and with my hands up, you know, and I told them I'm a prisoner, and I'm hiding out here, and they put down their, you know, lower down. And we were liberated. We went back down to the people and those women were happy, you know, that I maybe saved their lives. And then we, the Russians, started coming in, moving into the house. I went up with them, and they, right away, you know, they have, uh, accordions, and they play, the soldiers, they play, and, uh, life is going on. I was with them overnight. Next day, I asked them, did you came by this camp, you know, Buna? Are there any people left there? Because I left my friend over there. He says, yeah, there are some people there, some prisoners. They were sick. So I realized that I was right. So I took off back to Buna, which wasn't too far anymore. And I came there, and I found my friend. And there I stayed, in Buna, at that time. My feet were half frozen, you know, and, [coughs] I laid in bed for a few days til I recuperated. And then we started out back for my hometown.

And on the way back, I got arrested a couple times, from the Russian patrols. I didn't have any documents or anything. So they arrest you. They don't ask you for anything. Throw you in jail, and the next day they ask you, which they could have asked you right away. So anyway, I told them, uh, that I was a prisoner, and I'm on the way back home, and, um, [coughs] he let me go. I go up, uh, maybe a few blocks, tried to catch a truck, you know, a military truck, which goes in the direction I want to go. And, uh, the same thing happened. I was arrested again. I was arrested twice, and they let me go. Next day, the second time they kept me for about an hour. So, uh, then I came on a little town. There were some Jewish people already, and I stayed with them. One gave me some money. He had a flour mill, which he took back, you know.

When was this? When did you, when did you go back?

When I went back, on the way back to my hometown, I stopped in a little town. Uh, I don't remember the name anymore. And, uh, there I stayed, and then I asked him if he could check with the police over there if they could give me some kind of a document, that I wouldn't be stopped again, you know. Which they gave me. And I continued my march home. Actually, what consists of is catching a train, which was going in this direction. See, the war was still going on in East Germany at that time. Uh, [coughs] so, uh, the trains with soldiers, with machinery, were still going to the front, and, uh, only they let us ride along. Only, you never know when they're going to stop. They had, the Russian trains had a different width, and they have laid their own rails, so they can accommodate their, uh, trains. The Polish trains did not, rails did not fit for their wagons, and same thing with the Germans. So in some cases, when they were on a line, another train was coming from the other side. So they had to find a middle point where they could get off to a side line, let others through, go back, and go on. So a trip like this could take quite a few days.

So anyway, when I was liberated, it was January 21st, and so happened to be, it was the same day as Ann was liberated, only in different parts of the country, we were about 600 kilometers apart. And finally, I arrived in my hometown, and it's a funny feeling, you get off the train, which was about two miles from the city. You don't know if your house is there or not, there was a war going on, and whom will you find over there, you know? Is there anybody left? So, uh, finally I came, I saw the house, and I walk up, I see people living there, so, what are you going to do, knock on the door, say I'm here? I walked back to the police office, and I told them who I am, and I asked them if they had any Jewish people returned already, and they gave me the address of some people, which were there already. So I just let my house alone, and went to stay with the people for a while.

November 22nd, 1995, with Eli Modenstein. So you went back to Mława, and what happened then?

Now, I, uh, noticed that my house was still standing there. However, I didn't want to go in, because some people were living there, which I didn't know. I didn't felt like knocking the door, and telling, I'm so-and-so and I'm back. I went to the police and asked them if there are any Jewish people returned, after the war, and they told me there is a brother and sister, uh, Rosenberg, which I knew. She had a little girl. Uh, [coughs] so I went and stayed with them, and I found out from them that a cousin of mine is back, too. And he had another cousin, which was not a cousin of mine, from his father's side. Uh, [coughs] so I stayed with them, for a little while, until I was able to get my house back. The people moved out, and I got it back. And, uh, in a short while, I don't remember how long it took, a few friends from Auschwitz came back, from my hometown. Uh, they were younger than me, a few years. I knew who they are. One's brother was a friend of mine, only he was not alive. So I knew the family well, and I took them in. And there were three boys and two girls, which they were not from our hometown. And we all moved in and lived together in my house. Um, [coughs] I, uh, got to be managing a little oil factory, due to the fact that I knew this, uh, trade. And after a while, the NKVD, the Polish NKVD, secret police, I mean, you call it. tried to get me to work for them to listen on what people come in to buy things, what they say about the government or whatever. And I thought, it's a bad deal. I better get away from here. So I told them that all my friends are moving to Danzig, and I'd like to go with them. And please give me a commendation that when I get there, I can ask the police over there that I can, if I can work for them, you know. It was just a way to get away from them. And we moved to Danzig. Uh, Ann was already, I have to go back.

I was, at that time, I met, uh, Ann, and we were married in May that year, '45. And also, she was afraid to be so close to the place where she ran away from, when she worked for the Russian. And we were about, actually, maybe eight miles from there. So this, and that, made us leave Mława. We went to Danzig, and then we were quite a few friends who lived in a big apartment, all through the summer. And then we heard that the Polish, um, they call them AK, which were against the government, start killing Jews. And they had killed a couple of girls which we knew in a little nearby town from Mława. And all together, we figured there's no future for us to stay in Danzig. And we heard that if you get to Germany, in the American zone, then you have a chance to go to Israel.

And that's what was our, uh, dream, to go to West Germany so we can go to Israel. And, uh, we started out from there through Czechoslovakia. We were arrested, and kept for a few days. And we got out from there and proceed to, um, Vienna, where I was sick. I had some infection in one of my arms. I think on the right, I can't remember, which is a good thing. [laughs] That means that they're all right. Over there, some of our friends, which we were together, didn't want to stay on with us until I recuperated, and they took off. Only one, I think, stayed with us. And, um, we proceeded from there through Germany.

We got into a displaced person camp, Föhrenwald, by Wolfratshausen, which was about 20 miles from Wolfratshausen, a small little town, which was built originally for, uh, civil workers, which worked there in, in factories, I think. And, uh, there we had a few thousand people. I don't remember exactly how many. And, uh, over there, I learned to be a projectionist. And I got some big runs in filmmaking, editing. So, uh, after a while, I was working in a theater over there, as a motion picture mechanic. Til, uh, and people at that time started getting affidavits to go to the United States, and some people went to Israel. Uh, I had an uncle in Lincoln, and, uh, I had a cousin in New York, which I remembered his address from way before the war. You know, sometimes things on your mind, you try to remember. I couldn't do it today. [laughs] We wrote him, and, uh, he contacted Ann's family, which were in New York too. And, uh, our uncle in Lincoln made papers for us, because he had a place to live for us. They did.

And that was a funny thing happened. And, here, we're waiting for the papers from my uncle from Lincoln. And we go each day. We go to the, uh, office over there to find out, did anything arrive?

No. One day, I notice a notice on the wall, there are affidavits from Elisha Modenstein for Alex Bernstein. They, you know, switched it around, instead from him to me, they made it for me to him, so they didn't know. That's for me. Now go explain it to whom? So I had to go to the American office someplace in Munich. And I came up, and they must have had hundreds of people bothering them with different things, and they didn't believe me either. They thought somebody came, you know, to bother them. And I say, just do me one favor. I say, take a look if you have an affidavit- I didn't have nothing- from Eli Modenstein, you know, to, for Bernstein. And they came back, yes. So I told them, Eli Modenstein is me. And Bernstein is the man in Lincoln, Nebraska. So they straightened that out, and pretty soon afterwards we did go.

We managed to go through Bremen, and we came to the United States. And we came, we stayed in New York for a few days with a cousin, and then they shipped us off to Lincoln. And Lincoln, after, I think, two, third day, I didn't have any money at all. Uh, I heard some background in iron metal. I knew the metals. I found out there was a place, a Jewish place, Hill and Nieden. So I, uh, looked them up and introduced myself, told them, and at that time in, in 1949, you know, there weren't too many jobs, lots of unemployment. And he said, I have so many people, I'll have one more, you know gave me a job. And they started me with 70 cents an hour, you know, in 1949.

That was enough, you could live on it, actually. We did it even better. I even saved some money. Ann's sister was in Germany, and we used to send her a few dollars from time to time, too. And then we brought her down. Um, [coughs] then I switched jobs to a larger place, also iron metal. I worked three years over there. And we managed to buy a home, an old house we bought. The owner, I worked for, he loaned me some money, no interest, for down payment. [coughs]

And one day I saw in the paper that they're going to build a television station, and that they're going to need a projectionist. So I took off from work. Actually, at that time, I was painting. I quit my job at the iron metal company, and I was painting for a while. So I took off a day, and I thought, let me go down and see if I can find out anything about the job. And they interviewed me, and they let me know. A day later in the evening, they called me up and they say, if you accept $350, you can start with us. You know, I was making like $35 a week, working like a slave in the iron metal company, all night in the junkyard. It looked to me like I hit a million dollar mark. And, uh, at that time, they were building the building, so the work wasn't yet there. So I used to go up in the office, and I knew they gave me a job, only I didn't have a job, because it took a while to build the building. Now, after the building was done, I started out, and my job actually changed to film editing. And also, in the beginning, I showed the engineers how to load the projectors, which we used for showing films. And then they promoted me to film director, I worked for them 34 years and four months. In the meantime, in 1962, I also started, uh, and I got a real estate license as a broker. So I could work both ends. They permitted me to do it on the television station. He says, so long, you have your work done, you can do whatever you want. Which helped me a lot, and, uh, to this day, I still carry my license. I'm retired, and I still do it from time to time. A little bit of real estate.

And that's about- I suppose my wife told you about our family, that we had two daughters, which we have. One lives in New York, the younger one, which is 41. Going on 42. And the older one is already 49. She lives in Santa Cruz.

And what are your daughter's names?

Uh, the younger one is Susan Alice. And she works for the visual school in New York. And she is, uh, finding jobs for the people which graduate. So she finds jobs for them. The other one is kind of artist. She is painting, sculpturing, all manner of things. Poor artists. We see each other as often as we can. We travel quite a bit. So we meet occasionally, here and there. And, uh, we're getting older. And it kind of strikes me, I can't say funny, hurts me actually, that some people come out and tell you that the whole thing never happened.

You mean the Holocaust never happened?

The Holocaust never happened. That somebody, a Zionist imagination, you know. And it really burns you up, because you are the one which went through all that. And as a matter of fact, last year I went back to Poland. And I went through Majdanek. Over there they still have one of the gas chambers. Intact.

And I took my younger daughter along, you know. And it shows exactly, you know, how they took the people in. And actually, right by the door, it was built from cement like a big kettle, you know. And if they suspected that anybody hid anything in his rectum maybe, some gold piece or whatever, they made him step into this tub which was filled with some solution that everything slipped out. This was right in the room of the gas chamber. You know, right by the door, you walked out from there, you walked under the so-called, uh, shower heads. Only there were no shower heads, there were gas coming out of them. They locked the doors. In a few minutes you were dead. There was something which I saw with my own eyes. And then from there, I walked up about maybe half a mile in the same camp. On the way there are different barracks, you can see with shoes and clothing, there are mountains of shoes. You walk in into the crematoriums where they have the ovens where they burn the bodies, and the ashes had fell on the ground. And after the war, the Polish government gathered all the ashes, and there is a mountain, they say, about 30 tons, and they build around blocks kind of around it. And that's what they say, it's about 30 tons of blocks, and it's an overhang, which it's, it's gruesome when you look at the stains. And those are ashes from people, thousands and hundreds of thousands of people. And they had a lot of places like that. Anything else?

Do you think about that time often, about your time in the camps?

I'll tell you, the first years, I would say the first maybe 15 years, we used to have nightmares, the middle of the night, you know. You woke up screaming, you know. And we knew already, you know, one calmed down the other. I knew what she probably dreamed about something, and my wife knew that I probably went through something. And usually, you know how dreams go, they'll take some reality and mix in something from before the war and something from after the war, and you have a mixture of everything, or your own dream, and thereafter you are in a tight spot, and you don't know how to get out. You know. And you live through it.

From time to time, they'll ask us to talk about in the schools when they go through the Holocaust, and it's more likely to go to speak about, uh, my accent. I don't know, it's a little heavy. And I can't express myself as good as she can, so I said that. I hope I did good enough that whoever watches it in the future will understand. And, well, what I can say, this has just touched on certain thing. You can't, in a couple hours, bring out daily life, daily experience, daily thoughts, and thoughts which people exchange between themselves in those conditions. It's just hard to imagine what a person feels in these situations, not knowing the next step, maybe they'll pick you out. You never know.

I had two brothers with me, and they were picked out. They were just as smart as I am, and, uh, it seems like their time was up. As a matter of fact, one older brother was shot one day before his group was liberated. He was in a cattle car, and they pushed him around in Germany, from one place to the other, and there was a locomotive going by, and he looked through the window and they shot him. The next day, I talked with people who were with him in the group. They actually warned him, go away from the window. He said, if they'll shoot, they'll shoot me, you know. That's talk. They don't mean it. And that's what happened. If he wouldn't be there, he probably would be alive today. So.

Do you have any message for, uh, the future generations?

I would say to anybody that we have to learn to get along, no matter what nationality, what race, what color, because that talk, pointing fingers, brings to situations that somebody picks up the wrong signal and somebody shoots somebody. And then also, who knows, we saw with what's going on in Yugoslavia. The same thing. They pick out, uh, one faith against the other, and they kill each other, try to eliminate each other. And looking back just a year before, they were one country, and they were, you know, going out and having intermarriage and everything else. And then all of a sudden, somebody comes along with an idea. We want our race to be separate, you know. And then the things start out. This land belongs to us, and this piece land belongs to us. And you have a war going, and people get killed. So we have to learn that everybody's got the same right to live on this earth. Life is short enough not to make it hard on each other. We should learn to get along the best way we can, because life is short.

Thank you very much for participating and sharing your story.

You're welcome. I think I'm happy, actually, after so many years, which really you forget a lot after 50 years or more, that I have a chance to tell a little bit about my life and about the war, about the ghettos, about the camps. Maybe they'll help in some way.

Thank you.

My number in Auschwitz was 76470. Which I received. My two brothers, one was 76469, and one was 76471, only they did not survive.

Here's a picture of my family. As I can see, I'm the youngest here, and I must have been between two and three years old. Judging by just being born in 1918, so this picture must have been taken in 1920, or maybe '21, something there. From left, there's my sister Motel, standing up, uh, and over her, higher up, is my brother Avraham. Sitting down next to mother is my sister Shaynell, mother, and then is up on the upper row, my sister Esther, my brother Hirsch Meyer, and Chaim, the oldest. Then my father is sitting there, and I'm in the middle between my father and mother.

And, was there anyone who wasn't in the picture?

Yes. They're still missing three girls, which came after me in the '20s. Um, I think later, in '20- must have been in '22, one, and '26, and then '31, something like that.

And where was the picture taken?

This picture was taken in my hometown, Mława, Poland. This is a picture of me and my brother Hirsch Meyer. Taken also in Mława, probably around 1937, 1938.

And which one are you?

I am the one standing up.

This is a picture showing us a few months, or maybe weeks, after the liberation in my hometown, in front of my house, you can see in the background a Russian soldier, watching us, and we are wearing uniforms from the Auschwitz camps.

Why did you still have the uniforms?

We were liberated in them, and we brought them home. I, I feel bad that we got rid of them, actually. I should have kept them.

And which one are you?

I'm the middle one.

This is a group of friends. We met in Mława a few months after the liberation. And like you can see, everybody is already dressed. Uh, there were a few from my hometown, and there are one, two, three, which came from neighboring town, into the Mława ghetto. And then they were sent to Auschwitz, and they survived also, and we meet after the war in my hometown, and we took the picture.

And where are you?

I'm sitting. I'm the one sitting from, to, to the right.

At that time, that's me and my wife. I was working at that time in the junkyard. I was making 70 cents an hour. And we managed to buy, for my wife, the first dress, which we paid $7 for it. Which was a lot of money.

And where was it taken?

It was taken here in Lincoln, Nebraska.

This is a group from my hometown, Mława ghetto, and we met in Israel in 1993. And all, each of them had the number 76000, which is very important. Uh, it's amazing that we could meet at one spot at the same time.

And where are you in the picture?

Oh, let me find myself. I'm with a white hat in the first, in the upper row.

This is a picture of our family. Left is our older daughter Faye. That's me, the man in the family, my wife Ann, and Susan, which lives in New York.

When was the picture taken?

I think it was taken about seven years ago, which would make it '88 in Lincoln.