“Why not?”
Luc stopped working, straightened up, and looked Jacob square in the eye. “Because, Jacob, my Savior is a Jew,” he replied. “A Jewish carpenter, come to think of it. The Bible teaches me to love the Jews. To bless the Jews. Haven’t you ever read the Abrahamic covenant? Didn’t God say that those who blessed the Jewish people he would bless, and those who cursed you he would curse?”
“Of course I’ve read it,” Jacob said. “I just didn’t think the goyim did.”
“Well, we do,” Luc said. “Some of us, at least. And anyway, if you ask me, the question shouldn’t be ‘Why are you, a Christian, here in a death camp, condemned for trying to save Jews?’ The real question is ‘Why aren’t all the Christians here?’”
61
On a blustery, cold day in early February, Jacob spotted a familiar face.
The morning roll call in the Birkenau camp had just finished, and he was walking to the bakery when he saw someone who looked a bit like Josef Starwolski.
Jacob told himself it couldn’t possibly be. Whoever it was appeared so emaciated and so sad, a mere shell of his former self. Yet still he resembled Jacob’s old bunkmate from Auschwitz. He even walked like Josef. Could it be? There was a time not so long ago when Jacob would have merely wondered and not shown the initiative to find out the answer. But that was changing. Everything was changing.
Jacob decided to go find out.
“Josef, is that you?” he shouted, going over to get a closer look.
Sure enough, it was him. When Josef turned, his sunken eyes lit up, and he gave Jacob a feeble hug. “How are you, my friend? I never thought I’d see you again.”
“I’m fine, Josef,” Jacob replied. “But how are you? You’ve lost so much weight.”
“I’m afraid I have,” Josef said. “I’m dying here, and I’m scared. I don’t think I can make it much longer.”
“Don’t worry,” Jacob replied. “I will help you.”
He discreetly pulled a piece of day-old bread from his pocket and quickly slipped it to Josef, who took it and devoured it greedily.
“Where did you get this?” Josef asked.
“From the bakery,” Jacob said. “I work there. I can get all the bread I want. Fresh, too. Come with me. I’ll give you more.”
Jacob knew he could get in enormous trouble for doing such a thing, or even saying it, especially out in the open. But this was Josef. This was his friend.
“I can’t, not now,” Josef replied. “I have to get to my job. But I will come when I can.”
“How long have you been here?” Jacob asked. “I had no idea you were here.”
“Two months. They’ve been hellish.”
“What happened? Why aren’t you still in the records office? I thought that was good work.”
“It was, but Von Strassen started sleeping with one of the new girls. He sleeps with all the girls in that office, you know, but unfortunately he found a new one, and he gave her my job.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So then Abby and Jean-Luc—you know, Leclerc—got me transferred here. Abby said it would be better for me here, that Luc would take care of me. But I haven’t seen him. Have you?”
“Seen him?” Jacob said. “I work with him. He’s my kapo at the bakery.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Yes, yes, I’m heading there now. Come with me.”
“I can’t today,” Josef said. “In fact, I have to go quickly now. I’m on a work detail. An outside detail. We’re shoveling the parking lots behind the administration building. We’re shoveling the walks and the driveways and—”
Josef stopped midsentence. Two guards were approaching. They had to keep moving.
“The bakery,” Jacob whispered as Josef began walking away. “Come as quickly as you can.”
– – –
Two days later, Josef finally came into the bakery.
It was a Sunday. He had the day off. Jacob, the Czechs, and Luc did not. As food service workers, they labored seven days a week, but they were eating fine and weren’t complaining.
In his arms Josef carried a big box. The moment Jacob saw him, he knew it was only for show. Josef couldn’t be seen coming into the bakery to get food for himself. He had to pretend he was making a delivery. Jacob played right along.
“Yes, yes, come in; come to the back, and we’ll get all that unloaded,” Jacob said, glancing over at Luc to see if he would give a nod of approval. He did.
Jacob took Josef to the workroom in the back, sat him down, and then brought him several slices of fresh, warm bread from a special batch they had made without wood shavings, dust, or other fillers. Jacob also made him a piping-hot cup of tea.
“Are we safe here?” Josef asked, hungrily eyeing the feast before him.
“Yes,” Jacob assured him. “We have about fifteen minutes. Eat up.”
Josef didn’t need to be asked twice.
While Josef ate, Jacob told his friend about getting transferred to Birkenau and about the work he’d had to do on the construction detail and in the fields before being moved to the bakery.
Then he shifted gears. “By the way, Josef, I’m curious about something,” he said while Josef slurped his tea. “Have you heard anything about Hungarians coming, a lot of them?”
Josef suddenly stopped drinking the tea. He looked up and straightened, catching Jacob off guard with such a reaction.
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know; just been hearing some rumors. Thought you might have too.”
“I might have,” Josef said.
“Well, don’t be shy,” Jacob said. “We don’t have all day.”
“It’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
“It’s very sensitive.”
“Why?”
“It’s all Hoess and Von Strassen talk about,” Josef said, lowering his voice to a whisper now. “But everyone’s under strict orders not to say anything.”
“Why? What have you heard?”
“Nothing while I was in the records office. Well, not nothing. There were whispers that a whole lot of Hungarians were coming, but that’s all they were—whispers. No paperwork. Nothing on the record. But a few days ago—just before I saw you, actually—I met a guy whose sister worked with me. He hates Von Strassen. Wants to kill the man for how horribly he’s treating his sister. But anyway, he said he was on an errand back at the main camp. He got a chance to see his sister. Said she looks terrible. Sad, lost, hollow. It’s so bad that he’s afraid she might harm herself. Anyway, she told him that she overheard a couple of Von Strassen’s deputies talking. They were griping about how Hoess was so obsessed with speeding up construction that he’s driving everyone crazy. When one of them asked why Hoess was making such a fuss and working them so hard, the other said they had to be ready to absorb half a million Hungarian Jews by sometime this spring.”
“Half a million?” Jacob could hardly believe what he had just heard.
“That’s why Hoess has been spending so much money expanding everything.”
“You’re saying they’re getting ready to bring five hundred thousand Jews from Hungary here to Auschwitz?” Jacob asked.
“Well, to Birkenau, to be precise,” Josef said. “And it may not be half a million. It may actually be more. That’s why everything is supposed to be ready, and soon.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to kill them—all at once.”
The hair on the back of Jacob’s neck stood on end. He suddenly found it hard to breathe, as though someone were pressing against his chest.
“You’re sure about this?” Jacob asked.
“I’d trust this guy with my life,” Josef said.
“Have you told anyone else?”
“No, you’re the first.”
“You’re certain?”
“Who would I tell?” Josef asked. “I don’t know anyone else here. I kept expecting Luc to find me, but no one ever made c
ontact until I saw you the other day.”
“Okay,” Jacob said. “Look, we need to get you out of here. Put this extra bread in your pocket, and this orange, and then head out the back door. I’ll give you more food every morning after roll call. But for now, don’t tell anyone you know me. And don’t come back here. It’s too dangerous. Got it?”
“Okay, my friend, whatever you say,” Josef said. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Jacob said. “But just leave that to me.”
Josef stood, gave Jacob another hug, and fled out the back door.
Jacob just sat in the back room for a moment. He had to inform Otto and Abe, and they had to get word to the chief rabbi of Budapest. They had to warn him and all the Jews of Hungary what Hitler was planning. He had to make sure the Jews never set foot on those trains.
Jacob pulled Luc into the back room.
“How’s Josef?” Luc asked when he had shut the door behind him.
“Not good,” Jacob said, then quickly changed the subject. “Look, have you picked up any intel on the Hungarians yet?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Luc replied. “I’ve asked a number of sources, but no one’s heard a thing. Why? Have you heard something?”
Jacob quickly told him what Josef had passed along. “I can’t wait any longer. I need to meet with Otto and Abe—tonight. It’s urgent. If not them, then someone else who’s running the show. We need to take this information and pass it up the line to whoever is in charge of the underground. Someone has to warn the Hungarian Jews not to get on those trains. I can’t do it. I know that. But someone has to, Luc, and fast.”
Luc promised to take the information and get it into the right hands. For this Jacob was grateful, but he could hardly rest peacefully. So many Jews had perished at the hands of the Nazis. But now half a million or more could soon be on their way to this death camp. He couldn’t bear the thought. They had to get word to the leaders of the Jewish community in Hungary and to the Allies. And Jacob couldn’t rest until they all were safe.
That night the barracks where Jacob normally slept were being disinfected, deloused, and scrubbed down from top to bottom. So were about a dozen other barracks. So Jacob and several hundred other men had to sleep on the floor in the dining hall.
Jacob tossed and turned. He tuned out the cacophony of men talking and groaning and snoring and even dying. His thoughts were elsewhere. They were all about escape.
If Steinberger and Frenkel were still alive and ready to go, Jacob would do everything in his power, take any risk, to help them. But he would not just help them get their freedom. They would have to have a plan to get to the Jewish leaders in Hungary and tell them what was happening in Auschwitz, what their people were facing. They had to persuade the Jews of Hungary to revolt. What would the Nazis do if half a million Jews rose up and attacked them? Would the Nazis kill them all? Maybe they would. But they would pay a high price. They would have to kill the Jews in the open, with the whole world watching, and then the world would know who Hitler really was. Churchill and Roosevelt and the rest of the leaders of the free world would no longer be ignorant of the evil being done in the darkness. It would all come to light.
Then they would come and liberate the camps. Not just Auschwitz-Birkenau. But all the camps.
They would have to. What other choice would they have?
62
The meeting didn’t happen that night or the next.
But three days later, just as the gong signifying the end of the workday was being sounded and they had just stepped out of the bakery, Luc passed a note to Jacob.
Jacob looked down and unrolled the little piece of paper. It read simply, Table nine. Jacob looked up again, but Luc was gone. So were the Czechs. But wasting no time, Jacob walked quickly for the dining hall.
Upon arriving, he scanned the hundreds of faces but saw no evidence of Steinberger or Frenkel. He waited in line, got his half bowl of soup and piece of bread, and found table nine. There was no one there he knew, but he began to eat slowly and forced himself not to look around, not to look anxious, not to do anything that would draw attention. He stalled as long as he could, but more and more prisoners were coming into the hall. He couldn’t hold the seat much longer. The soup was stone cold, but he finally took the last spoonful. When he put the final scrap of bread in his mouth, he decided to give up and go back to his barracks. But just then someone came up behind him and whispered, “Follow me.”
Startled, he turned and watched the figure move away from him, through the crowd. Afraid of losing him, Jacob jumped from his seat and tried to catch up. When he finally made it out of the hall, he saw the man going west along a row of barracks and then around a corner. Jacob moved quickly to follow him but didn’t dare break out running.
As he rounded the corner, the man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a doorway. Whispering, the man told him to exit through the other side of the barracks.
Jacob did as he was told, and six minutes later he was in Camp D and entering another barracks.
The building was empty, save two men.
“Master Weisz, so good to see you again,” Otto Steinberger said, vigorously shaking Jacob’s hand. “I hope you remember me. I’m Otto, and this is Abe Frenkel.”
“Yes, of course, I remember you both,” Jacob said a bit warily. “But I thought you had forgotten about me.”
“Forgotten? Not at all,” Otto assured him. “Come, sit down and have tea with us. And apples and honey. Please sit.”
“Apples and honey?” Jacob asked. “Is it Rosh Hashanah?”
“Not for everybody,” Abe replied. “But for us, yes. It’s the start of an entirely new year, and it’s time to make you an active part of it.”
Jacob sat down. Otto handed him a slice of apple. Abe offered him a small bowl of honey. Jacob dipped his apple, as did they all, and they ate them together.
“Shana tova!” Otto said.
“Shana tova,” Jacob said less enthusiastically, not sure how it could possibly be a good year with the lives of half a million or more Jews hanging by a thread.
Jacob was having mixed emotions being with these two. On the one hand, he was eager to get down to business and tell them what he knew and find out their plans and how he could help. But seeing them so happy and so healthy annoyed him. Where had they been? And why had they seemingly cut him loose?
“I was told I was coming here to help you,” he said cautiously. “Why haven’t you contacted me before now?”
“We were testing you,” Otto said. “We needed to see what you were made of.”
“Leszek trusted me,” Jacob said.
“Piotr liked you, yes, but he didn’t trust you,” Otto replied. “There’s a difference.”
“What do you mean?” Jacob asked, growing defensive.
“If he’d trusted you, you would have been part of the team that helped him escape,” Abe noted. “Don’t get us wrong. Piotr did like you very much, and he thought you might prove useful in a larger way. But he wasn’t entirely sure. You were too new. So he eased you into the mix, just enough to let Max assess you, and Abby and us. We all liked what we saw. We just needed to see more.”
“But that wasn’t all,” Otto said.
“What else?”
“As Luc no doubt told you, you were being watched,” Otto said, sipping his tea. “Because you’d worked for Piotr, Von Strassen and his men suspected you might know as much as Max. They took it easy on you at first. But they were watching you like a hawk. They hoped you would lead them to others in the Resistance. But you didn’t.”
“Because I couldn’t,” Jacob said.
“Precisely.” Otto dipped another slice of apple in the honey. “And now they’ve arrested and executed three petty criminals back at Auschwitz. They think they’ve rolled up a good chunk of the conspiracy. Which is good for us. Throws them off the trail. So we waited a little longer, just to be absolutely certain it wasn’t a trick. And in the meantime we tol
d Luc to make sure you had plenty to eat in the bakery.”
“To fatten me up for the slaughter?”
“To get you ready to escape.”
The words hung in the air. Jacob could hardly believe he’d heard them. They nearly sucked the breath right out of his lungs. “Pardon?” he stammered. “Would you repeat that?”
“You heard him,” Abe said. “Otto and I are going to go very soon. But we learned a lesson from what happened with Piotr and his team. We can’t just help one group get out. We need to prepare several teams at once. That way if a month goes by and nothing changes, if no one comes to liberate the camp, then the next team is fully ready to go. And if the camp isn’t liberated in another month, the next team leaves. We want you on one of those teams.”
Jacob felt his spirits suddenly lifting.
“You’ve proven a very hardworking and faithful young man,” Otto said. “Sharp. Clever. Resourceful. And quiet. And we had the highest respect for your uncle.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it,” Abe said. “This is based on merit. Everyone in this camp would love to escape. Obviously. But not everyone can pull it off.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
Jacob nodded. “I think so.”
“You’d better think again. We give ourselves no better than a one in four chance of making it out and to the Allies alive. We think your chances are even lower. Maybe one in five or one in six.”
“That low?”
“That high!” Otto said. “Most men in this camp wouldn’t have as much as a one in twenty chance of survival.”
“Five percent?”
“If that,” Otto insisted. “In the grand scheme of things, we think you and your team have a half-decent shot.”
“How many on each team?” Jacob asked.
“We think two is best,” Abe said. “Three can be unwieldy.”
“Can I choose my own partner?”
“No, we’ll assign you someone.”
“Why?”