Chapter 74 Chapter 73

A Jew's Journey (from Ellen Jastrow's manuscript) They want me and first-class captain Adolf.Recording Eikman's meeting was not an easy task.In a sense, I am telling the story from beginning to end, and not only this one!Everything I have written in my life now seems to have been created in a childhood dream. The material I had to write was so dangerous that I could no longer use it where I had previously hidden it.As for using codes like Yiddish, the SS here would immediately see through the poor disguise.Any one of the thousand wretches in Theresienstadt would read it all at once to have a bowl of soup or to avoid a beating.I've found a safer place.Not even Natalie would know.If I were to leave here with a deportation (which seems unlikely at the moment), the manuscripts would slowly corrode until, perhaps long after the war, workers demolishing or renovating houses let the sun shine in. When coming in the walls and crevices of the desolate old buildings in Theresienstadt.Had I survived the war, I would have rediscovered these manuscripts in my hiding place.

Epstein himself came to accompany us to SS headquarters this morning.He did his best to please us, complimenting Natalie on her looks and on the health of Louis, whom she held tightly in her arms.Epstein was in a miserable situation, a Jew turned into a tool, a puppet "mayor" carrying out the orders of the SS.Like the rest of us, he was a ragged Jew with a yellow star, though he always wore a clean, if worn, shirt and an old tie to show his superior status.His pale, puffy, worried face was a more sure sign of his false employment. We had never been inside or near SS headquarters before.A high wooden wall separates it from the Jewish people from the entire town square.After the guards let us inside the fence, we walked up a street next to a park, past a church, and into a municipal office building with offices, bulletin boards, and musty hallways that echoed with typewriters. the sound of.It was strange to step out of the eerie, squalid ghetto into a place where—except for the big portrait of Hitler in the foyer—everything belonged to the familiar old order.The mundane sight was almost reassuring, and I never imagined SS headquarters to be like this.Of course I was very, very nervous.

Lieutenant Colonel Eckerman looked surprisingly young, although the hair on his broad forehead was already balding and the rest was dark.He had the quick, brisk energy of an ambitious, rising mid-level official.When we walked into the office, he was sitting behind a large desk.Theresienstadt's SS chief, Burger, sat next to him in a wooden chair. He was a cruel, brutal man, and if you could avoid him, keep as far away as possible.Ekman didn't get up, but he was amiable, beckoned Natalie and me to the chairs in front of the desk, then tipped his head to one side and told Epstein to sit on a dirty settee. .So far, apart from Burger's relentless grimness and the black uniforms the two men were wearing, it seemed we were visiting a bank manager, trying to get a loan, or a police chief. , to report a theft.

I remember every word of the ensuing conversation in German, but I intend to note only the main points.First, Ekman asked solemnly about our health and our lives.Natalie said nothing, and she made me reply that we all felt well treated.When he looked at her, she nodded hurriedly.The child sat comfortably on her lap, looking at Aikman with wide-eyed eyes.He went on to say that the situation in Theresienstadt did not satisfy him at all.He has inspected it thoroughly.We'll see significant improvements over the next few weeks.Bugle had been ordered to treat us as very special "famous people."As soon as the situation in Theresienstadt improves, we will be the first to benefit.

Then he cleared up—as far as I think the matter could ever go—the mystery of how we came to be here.We came to his attention when I was admitted to the hospital in Paris, he said.The Italian secret police asked the German secret police to extradite us as fugitives from Italy.According to him, Werner.Baker wanted to force me to tape my radio speech before the Italian secret police took us away.He paints Werner downright horrific, probably embellishing it a bit. Anyway, our case fell into his hands.Handing us over to the Italians would probably mean our death and would complicate negotiations for an exchange of the Baden-Baden gang.However, if we were to go back to Baden-Baden, we would offend Germany's only ally in Europe if we were discovered, because Italy was still at war.It seemed the best solution to send us to Theresienstadt to "consider" the Italian demands.He ignored Werner.Those pleas that Baker forced me to speak on the radio.That's not the way to treat a famous person, even a Jew.Eckermann also said that he had always tried to be fair and humane in carrying out the Führer's strict policy towards the Jews, although frankly he completely agreed with the Führer's policies.Besides, he didn't believe those radio talks would be of any use.All in all, here we are.

Now, he said, he let Mr. Epstein move on. The "mayor" sat hunched over on the sofa, talking in a monotonous voice.He occasionally looked at me and Eckerman, but often stared at him uneasily at Buggle.He said the council of elders recently voted to separate the culture section from the education section.Cultural activities have increased considerably, which is the pride of Theresienstadt, but these activities are not properly managed and coordinated.The committee wants to appoint me as an elder to head the new cultural department.My about Byzantium, Martin.Luther's and St. Paul's speeches were celebrated throughout the city.As an American writer and scholar, I command respect.There is no doubt that during my college career I studied administration.Speaking of this, Epstein suddenly stopped, looked straight at me, and smiled stiffly.The so-called smile is no more than a slight lift of the upper lip from the yellow front teeth.

The only possible motive for me to accept this commission is compassion for this man.Obviously, he was acting on orders.It was Ekman who, for some reason, wanted me to run this new "Cultural Section." I don't know where I got the courage to give the answer I gave then.Here is almost exactly what I said then: "Monsieur Captain, I am your prisoner here and have to obey. However, I would venture to say that I don't speak German very well and I am very weak. .I know almost nothing about music, which is the main program of cultural activities in Theresienstadt. My favorite library work takes up all my time. I don't refuse the honor, but I really can't Competent. Do I have a choice in this matter?"

"If you don't have a choice, Dr. Jastrow," Eckerman replied briskly, without getting angry, "then this conversation is pointless. I'm a busy man. Squadron Captain Bugle could have been I gave you an order. However, I think it's a good job for you." But the thought of being one of those hapless elders gave me chills.For several pitiful privileges—most of which I have already enjoyed—they burdened their consciences with the heavy burden of the ghetto, conveying to the Jews the harsh orders of the SS and carrying them out.It meant giving up my obscure but at least passable lifestyle and becoming a member of high-profile committees, dealing with the SS all day long, obsessing endlessly with dire problems that never got properly resolved among.I mustered up my courage and tried my best to decline again.

"Then, if it is possible, Monsieur Captain, and only with your permission, I would not take the job." "Of course. We're not going to talk about that anymore. We've got another thing to talk about." He turned to Natalie, who had been sitting blankly aside all this time, hugging her tightly. live with that child.Louis acted almost like an angel.I think he undoubtedly felt his mother's fear too, and was trying to assuage it. "But we're preventing you from going to work. You work in a mica factory, don't you?" Natalie nodded. "Do you still like that job?"

She could only speak, her voice hoarse and hollow. "I would love to work there." "Your son looks fine, so it looks like the Theresienstadt children are being well looked after." "he's good." Lieutenant Colonel Aikman stood up, gestured to Natalie, and led her to the door of the room.There he said something casually to an SS soldier in the corridor, who took her away.Ekman closed the door and walked to his seat behind the desk.His thin lips, his long thin nose, his narrow eyes, and his sharp chin made him unattractive, but at this moment he became very ugly.His mouth twitched to one side.Suddenly, he let out a terrible howl: "What do you think you are? Where the hell do you think you are?"

As soon as he yelled, Bougle jumped up and came straight at me, and gave me a mouthful that made my ears ring.I stepped aside when he raised his hand, so the blow knocked me off my chair.I fell to my knees heavily.My glasses were off too, so I only saw dimly what happened next.Bugle kicked me with his boot, or rather kicked me, and I fell to the ground.Then he kicked me in the stomach, and though it made me sick to my stomach, he didn't use all his strength, just a very contemptuous kick, like a dog. "I'll tell you what you are," Bugle yelled at me. "You're just a bunch of nasty old jewish shit! Did you hear that? Hey, you stinking old shit, you think you're still in America, don't you?" He circled me I could hardly see the moving black leather boots.Then he kicked me hard in the butt. "You're in Theresienstadt! Do you understand? If you don't know that, you're not worth your shit!" he yelled, kicking hard I hit it, it was kicking on my spine.I just felt a burning pain all over my body.I lay there bewildered, black-eyed, and in agony, stupefied.I heard him walk away and say, "Get up and kneel." Trembling all over, I did so. "Now tell me what you are." My throat constricted, and I was too scared to speak. "Haven't you had enough? Tell me what you are!" May God forgive me for not allowing him to kill me.A thought flashed through my mind in that stupor of panic: Natalie and Louise would be in greater danger if I were dead now. I stammered, "I'm a bunch of nasty old Jewish shit." "Louder, I can't hear you." I said it again. "Scream, shit pile! Shout for your life! Or I'll kick you again, you Jewish pig, till you scream!" "I'm a bunch of nasty old Jewish shit!" "Give him his glasses," Eckerman said as if nothing had happened. "Okay, stand up." As I struggled to my feet, a hand grabbed my elbow and steadied me.Someone put glasses on for me.Only then did I see Epstein's face.In that pale face, in those bewildered brown eyes, were the scars of two thousand years of Jewish history. "Sit down, Dr. Jastrow," Eckerman said.He sat behind his desk and smoked, looking as composed as a bank manager. "Now. Let's actually talk." Bougle sat down beside him, grinning triumphantly. What happened after that, I don't remember very clearly, because I was dizzy and in pain.Eckerman's tone of voice was still businesslike, but with a touch of coconut elm.His words were almost as disturbing as the beating.The SS knew that I was teaching the Talmud, and subjects about the Jews were forbidden, so I could be sent to the horrible cells of the Kleinburg, from which very few people survived.Even more shocking, he revealed that Natalie had participated in a nasty underground show satirizing the Führer.She could therefore be arrested and summarily executed.Natalie never talked to me about it.All I know is that she put on puppet shows for children. Apparently, Eckerman told me these things in order to reinforce the lessons of Burger's savage beating.That is, our rights as Americans, or rather, as Western civilized people, no longer exist. We have crossed the line.Because of the crimes we have committed, we have no right to claim reinstatement in Baden-Baden, and our lives are in danger at any moment.With a particularly biting frankness he added: "We don't really care how you Jews make fun of yourself!" It would only be more difficult for the two of us, because I couldn't tell her what happened after she left SS headquarters.I must never confide half a word to anyone.If I confided, he would know for sure, and that would be too bad.He said that Epstein would explain to me the procedures for me to become an elder, and then he waved his hand curtly and told me to leave.I could barely get up from the chair.Epstein had no choice but to help me walk out with a limp.Behind us we could hear the two Germans cracking jokes and laughing. We left SS headquarters together, and Epstein never said a word.When I passed the guard over the wall, I forced myself to walk as usual.I found that if I straightened up and took a long walk, the pain was less severe.Epstein took me to the barber shop and had my hair cut and my beard trimmed.We went back to the committee room.A photographer was there preparing to take news photos of the assembled elders.There was a reporter, a rather handsome young German woman in a fur coat, who was asking questions and taking notes.I posed with the elders and took another photo alone.The reporter talked to me and to other people.These two must have been real journalists, I believed, and they would have come away with a convincing report—a report they would have believed themselves about the Jewish Committee that ran the Jewish Paradise.The committee was a serene, well-dressed cast of fine men, including the famous Ellen, author of "A Jew's Jesus."Dr Jastrow. This public use of my name and exposure made it clear that Natalie and I were beyond diplomatic means of rescue.Even if the report was intended for Europeans, the Americans would surely hear about it by and by.The little honor I have done to Theresienstadt seems to have outweighed the trouble the State Department could do to the Germans in our case.The back and forth of official documents can drag on for several years.Before this futile process can achieve any results, our fate is sealed. Before I get to the event that counterbalances all these horrors, pains, and humiliations—the near escape of my cousin Ben Reel, I would like to write a few words on the above. In my sixty-five years of life, I have hardly received any brutal corporal punishment.In fact, the most recent instance I can recall was when Rabbi Lysar slapped me at the Rabbi school in Auschwitz.That time, Rabbi Lyssar knocked me out of my Jewish identity, so to speak, and this time an SS officer kicked me back.What I did when I got back to my room probably meant nothing to anyone but myself.Since the moment I left Siena, I have carried a well-hidden emergency little purse containing diamonds and photographs of the papers of my boyhood conversion to Catholicism.Thank God we haven't been frisked since we're considered "well-known".I took out these tatteredly folded documents, dated 1900, and tore them to shreds.This morning, for the first time in about 50 years, I put on my Jingli.I borrowed it from a pious old man next door.I intend to keep wearing them for the rest of my life in this troubled world. Is this a reconversion to the old Jewish God?Never mind that.I teach the Talmud, of course not for that.I taught it unconsciously.The young man in the library asked me some questions.The questioners gradually formed a small group, and I found myself enjoying the old trick of elegant logic, and it slowly became the norm.The phylacteries, those old, stained leather cases containing the sayings of Moses, bound my head and hands, did not intellectually or spiritually uplift me.In fact, even though I was successful alone, I still felt like I was putting on airs and being silly.But I'm going to do it anyway.So I answered Eckerman.As for the old Jewish God, he and I have a score to settle, and if I have to account for my apostasy, he has to account for Theresienstadt.Jeremiah, Job, and Lamentations all teach that we, the Jews, will rise up to meet the catastrophe.So wear a phylactery.Just let it go. It just speaks to human nature—at least to my own stupidity, because for years I refused to believe reports of Nazi persecution of Jews, or even what I saw with my own eyes, but now I am convinced that the most horrific All reports are true.How could there be such a big change?What could be more convincing than this meeting I had with Eckerman and Burger? After all, I've seen quite a bit of German brutality here.I have seen an SS man beat an old woman to her knees in the snow with a stick just because he caught her selling cigarette butts.I've heard of children being hanged in little forts for stealing food.And then there's that census.Three weeks ago, the SS took the entire ghetto out into the fields, burned us over and over again in the freezing wind for twelve hours, and on that rainy night four More than ten thousand people stood in the open air.In that great crowd of hungry and cold people, rumors were circulating that they were going to machine gun us all in the dark.So many people rushed towards the city gate.Natalie and I escaped the crowds and returned safely, but we heard that the next morning the fields were full of trampled dead old people and children covered in rain and snow. However, none of this made me see the truth.My meeting with Ekman made it clear to me.What is the reason for this?This, I think, is due to that oldest psychological fact; that one cannot actually feel another's suffering.Worse, let me, at least once in my life, face the stark truth that the suffering of others is a blessing, a relief, in having escaped it himself. Aikman is not a lowly police brute.Nor is he a mediocre bureaucrat, although when asked to play such a role, he plays it brilliantly.The pragmatic Berlin official was a far more terrifying figure than the bombastic lunatic Hitler.Such figures haunted the twentieth century and contributed to two wars.He's a reasonable, knowledgeable, animated, even amiable guy.He is one of us, a civilized man in the West.Yet in an instant he could order a terrible atrocity against an emaciated old man, while he watched peacefully by clapping his hands; He didn't feel capricious in doing so, and even responded with a sarcastic sneer at the bewildered look of the victim who couldn't understand this manifestation of human nature.Like Hitler, he was an Austrian.Like him, he was a typical German in this terrible century. I finally figured out this difficult truth.In any case, I would not like to condemn a whole nation to the end of my life.For this matter, we Jews have had enough.I will think of that historian Karl.Frisch, who came from Heidelberg to Yale, was a German through and through, a gentle, open-minded, knowledgeable man with a great sense of humor.I think of the amazing development of art and thought in Berlin in the twenties.I will also think of the Hergesheimers, who I lived in for six months in Munich, were first-rate good people - I can swear on that - at a time when anti-Semitism is rampant politically , they are not anti-Semitic at all.There are still such Germans, and there are not a few of them.They must have created German beauty, as well as German art, philosophy, and science: this is what is called "German culture," created long before it became a cursed and horrible term. I don't understand Germans.Attila, Alaric, Genghis Khan, and Tamaran wiped out all those who resisted them in their fanatical expansion of territory.During the World Wars, the Muslim Turks slaughtered the Christian Armenians, but the Armenians had defected to their enemy, Tsarist Russia, and this happened in Asia Minor. Germans are part of Christian Europe.Jews once passionately embraced and enriched German culture, art and science.The blind loyalty of German Jews to the Kaiser during the World Wars was well documented.No, such a thing is unprecedented.We are caught in the agony of a mysterious, gigantic historical process, the birth of a new era.We are destined to be at the center of this upheaval, and to bear the brunt of it, as was the case with the birth of Oneness and Christianity. The agnostic humanitarian views I have held academically all my life are really good.My books on Christianity are not without merit.But generally speaking, I have spent my life on the go.Now, I just turned around and stood still.I am a Jew.There is a popular saying in the market: "All that man needs is a kick in the ass." This sentence seems to speak for my life's experience. Barrell.Jastrow is in Prague. That's pretty much all I know: he's been working underground in a concentration camp since he escaped from it.He sent me a message through a Communist network linking Prague to Theresienstadt.To prove it was really him, he used a Hebrew phrase that was almost unintelligible to non-Jews (the Czech gendarmerie was the main liaison).However, I figured out what it meant: azak, emats, that is: "Be strong, have courage." It is astonishing that my cousin, this man of iron will and resourcefulness, should be alive and near, and know that I am imprisoned here.But the Germans created a great upheaval in Europe, and in the midst of this chaos, nothing came as a surprise.I hadn't seen Ben Real in fifty years, but Natalie's portrayal of him made a deep impression on me.It is unlikely, however, that he could be of much use to us.My health is no longer capable of an attempt at escape, even if given the opportunity.Natalie can't take that risk with a baby by her side". So what is there to say? My hope is the same as that of all the Jews trapped here: that the Americans and the British will soon It will land in France, and National Socialist Germany will collapse under the attack of the East and the West, so that we can be rescued in time. Still, Banrell was an unexpectedly good thing in Prague.Natalie had seen him for the last time four years ago, just as Warsaw was about to fall; what an odyssey he must have lived in all those long years since then!It must have been a miracle that I survived; it was another miracle that he was so close to us.Stuff like this gave me hope, in fact, made me "strong", gave me "courage".