THE HOLOCAUST
TEACHING LESSON 5
HANDOUT 5C
RENA: FIRST WEEKS IN AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU

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Rena (far right) with her parents, her older sister Zosia, and her younger sister Danka

We have a calendar in Birkenau. It is hunger. The emptiness in our stomachs never ceases. It is our only clock, our only way to discern what time of day it is. Morning is hunger. Afternoon is hunger. Evening is hunger. Slowly we starve until we cannot make out anything beyond the gnawing of our intestines grinding against each other.

There is only one thing that exists beyond the gates of Auschwitz-Birkenau. It lies in wait for me like a beacon of light shining through the fog. I hold it before me constantly, every second of every day. It is the only thing that keeps me going—Mama and Papa. They beckon to Danka and me from the fringes of my mind. . . . We’re here! they cry. We’re waiting for you to come home. I hear Mama’s voice comforting my troubled mind, soothing the worries of our existence. The only thing she cannot help is the hunger, but even that dulls in comparison to the knowledge that Mama and Papa are waiting for Danka and me to return to Tylicz. I frame this picture in my mind and hang it on a mental wall where I can gaze at it constantly. I know they are there. I work because they need me. I live because they are alive. . . . I wonder if I will ever wake up to turn over in a real bed again. Will I ever open my eyes without German commands and decide to sleep in because it is raining out and I don’t have to get up yet? The days are long and h ard. . . . Falling into unconsciousness, I am woken by barking, by gunshots . . . . by four A.M .

The room elders hit the girls who are still sleeping and those who aren’t quick enough to scramble off the shelves we lie on. . . . “Come on, Danka.” I shake [my sister] gently. “We have to get up and find the bathroom.” There is no toilet in the block, as we had in Auschwitz: there is a bucket. “Where’s the toilet?” I ask, ducking as the stick strikes my head. This is not a place for questions. We run outside. The kettle of tea is sitting by the door. We hold out our bowls; the ladle splashes lukewarm tea across our hands.

Standing in neat rows of five in the dark, we eat our remaining piece of bread and wait for the SS to arrive. We have noticed that the day goes better if we can eat something before we work, so Danka and I always eat only half our portion [of bread] at night, saving the rest until morning.

SS men march up and down the rows counting our heads. . . . Roll call takes at least two hours this first day at Birkenau. We are not used to standing for so long at attention; fighting the urge to shift our feet, we must not even yawn. Every few minutes [the SS man] hits someone for not looking attentive enough, for moving her feet, for no reason at all.

“Dismissed!” The orders crackle through the dawn light. We work all day and march back to the stables. . . . We should try to sleep in here.” I point to an area far enough away from the block elder’s room to give us time to get up in the morning without getting struck by her stick. We crawl onto the shelving cradling our bread and clutching our blanket between us. Silently we chew our bread, hiding the remainder in our pockets.

These first few weeks we are barely surviving. The food is less than it was which means it has gone from a crust to half a crust. The soup is so thin there is no use to wait at the end of the line for a piece of turnip or meat, and the tea is practically clear. Every morning that we wake up at least one of the girls has died on our block. There are no exceptions. We are dropping like flies.

You have to have a brain to figure out all that is going on, the tricks to being camp smart: where it’s the warmest, who’s the most dangerous, who doles out a bit more soup. The new arrivals barely have time to figure out how to survive before they die.

After roll call you don’t know anything else that’s happening. You can’t keep brooding about what is befalling you . . . because then you won’t have the energy to go on, and you have to keep going. The work you do may kill you, but if you don’t do it you will be killed.

As bad as Auschwitz was I miss it. I miss being able to wash my face. I miss the little blanket Danka and I both had. Now we must fight for just one blanket that barely covers us. In Auschwitz, the bunk beds we slept on were spacious in comparison. Now there are six women per shelf. We are crowded so close that we almost have to touch.

It is Sunday. . . . We get off our shelves. Get our tea. Eat our half piece of bread. There is a rumor that there is going to be a selection.

 “What’s a selection?” we ask among ourselves. We groom all day, pulling lice from our armpits and clothes. There is no frightening these creatures; they are everywhere. I spit on my shoes and wet the crease on my pants. It is important to look good if there is going to be a selection—whatever that means. I want to look right.

Four A.M.   “Raus! Raus!”

We grab our tea as we step outside. The guards do not count us at once. Instead they stand at one end of the camp, ignoring our neat lines and perfect rows. We wait and wait. The row at one end begins to move slightly forward slowly. We strain our eyes to see what is happening. “They are selecting us.” The whisper scurries down the rows, informing those of us who are not yet moving toward the SS. “They’re deciding who will live and who will die,” the whispers confirm. Our ranks grow silent. How can they do that? We move forward. I take Danka’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I will go in front of you,” I whisper.

 [The line moves forward as each person steps in front of a table where an SS officer sits.] An SS points for one to go left and the other right. . . . I squeeze Danka’s hand one last time before stepping in front of those who will judge me fit or unfit. Tomorrow may have no meaning for us if we do not pass this selection—and if we do pass? Tomorrow may have no meaning for us.

I hold my breath. The thumb points for me to live. Stepping forward cautiously, I wait for my sister. The thumb points for Danka to follow me. I breathe.

Four A.M.   “Raus!   Raus!”

There is another selection.

• What does Rena mean by the statement “We have a calendar in Birkenau. It is hunger.”
• What mental images does Rena use to survive in Auschwitz-Birkenau? How does having her sister with her help Rena survive?
• At what time were inmates at Auschwitz-Birkenau awakened? Describe their morning routine. What did they have to eat?   What were the eating utensils?
• What were the sleeping arrangements at Birkenau? Why does Rena miss the sleeping arrangements at Auschwitz?
• What happens at roll call? What is the punishment for not standing at attention during roll call? What other examples of random violence does Rena describe?
• What strategies does Rena use to maintain her physical strength? What are the tricks to being “camp smart”?
• What is a selection? Why do you think the Nazi guards chose people for execution in this way? How did this process dehumanize prisoners?

Published in cooperation with the North Carolina Council on the Holocaust
Copyright © 2002 by the North Carolina Council on the Holocaust. Updated 2005.
North Carolina Department of Public Instruction
http://www.ncpublicschools.org/holocaust_council/