The Auschwitz Escape

  All the responsibilities of the house—cooking, cleaning, shopping, paying the bills, and caring full-time for both his bedridden father and his reclusive mother—now fell to Jacob. He had no time for his personal studies. He had to drop his violin lessons. He never got to see Naomi Silver’s smile anymore or ride his bike with Hans or any of his other friends.

  And then came news that Berlin had decreed all Jews in Germany and Austria must obtain special government-issued identity papers marking them as Jews and have those papers with them at all times whenever they left their homes.

  By early February, Uncle Avi had found a young doctor he trusted and brought him from Cologne. When his examination was complete, Dr. Eisenberg gave his diagnosis: pleurisy, which he explained involved an inflammation of the lining of the lungs and chest. Jacob had never heard of such an ailment, but it wasn’t difficult to see by Eisenberg’s body language and how he was talking in such hushed tones with Uncle Avi that this was very serious indeed. The doctor prescribed medicine that couldn’t be purchased by Jews—not through normal pharmacies, anyway. But within days, Avi miraculously found a way to get a small bottle of pills from a friend of his.

  For the next few weeks, Jacob cared for his grieving, shut-in parents. He made sure his father took his pills. He cleaned his bedpan. He helped him take sponge baths and did all the laundry and even brought an occasional treat from Herr Mueller at the bakery.

  And bit by bit, day by day, his father began to recover. Even his mother began to emerge from seclusion. There were bad days, to be sure, and setbacks aplenty, but by the middle of March, Jacob could clearly see rays of hope. His father and mother were sleeping in the same room again. They were taking their meals together. They were sitting by the fire and letting Jacob read to them, sometimes from Kafka, sometimes from Dickens.

  And then, without warning, life went from hard to catastrophic.

  13

  MARCH 15, 1939

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  William Barrett set down the phone and stared out the window.

  It was an unseasonable, bitterly cold day in Washington. A light snow was falling, and the heater in Barrett’s small office at the State Department was not working. He had asked his secretary to ring for someone to come fix it, but so far, no one from engineering had shown up. Barrett, therefore, was working in his overcoat and gloves. But today these were the least of his worries. He stood, swallowed the last drop of cooling coffee from his mug, and knocked on the door of the adjacent office.

  “Come in.”

  Barrett opened the door and stepped into the large, spacious corner office of Cordell Hull, the U.S. secretary of state.

  “What’s the matter, Bill?” Hull asked, looking up from the stack of papers on his large oak desk. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “It’s the Czechs, sir,” Barrett said.

  “What about them?”

  “Hitler’s forces just crossed their border.”

  Hull was aghast. “Germany has invaded Czechoslovakia?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  “This is confirmed?”

  Barrett nodded.

  “Very well,” Hull said. “Get the White House on the line. I need to see the president.”

  14

  MARCH 15, 1939

  SIEGEN, GERMANY

  It was Avi who brought the news.

  Germany had just invaded Czechoslovakia. Would the Allied powers retaliate? If so, war was coming, and with it, changes none of them could contemplate.

  Avi rarely came on a weeknight, but he was in Siegen to check on the small factory he owned, the metalworking shop his brother was still too ill to manage. This time, however, he did not provoke a fight over politics. Rather, after bringing a fresh bottle of pills, he politely asked if he could “borrow” Jacob for a few hours and was granted permission.

  Jacob climbed into the Adler. “Where are we going, Uncle?” he asked.

  “Where do you think?”

  The roads were largely deserted but for seemingly endless caravans of military vehicles transporting troops and equipment presumably toward Prague.

  Soon they broke off the main road and headed up into the mountains, arriving at Avi’s little cabin under a full moon.

  Jacob chopped firewood out back while Avi warmed some beef stew from scratch and baked some fresh bread. Then Jacob built a roaring fire, and the two pulled up chairs and ate in silence by the stone fireplace, listening to the crackling flames and watching the sparks pop and settle like fireworks.

  In time, Avi turned to his nephew and dropped a bomb. “The Resistance could use a young man like you.”

  Jacob nearly choked on a piece of bread. “What?”

  “You heard me,” Avi said quietly. “About a year ago, a dear friend of mine asked me to join. He could see war was coming. He knew I had contacts and resources, and he asked for my help. I said yes immediately.”

  “Why?”

  “If he isn’t stopped, Herr Hitler is going to destroy this country, Jacob,” Avi said without emotion. “He’s dragging us into a war we can’t afford and can’t win. First the Czechs. Then the Poles. Then the rest of Europe and the world. You mark my words. This is going to be the death of our nation.”

  Jacob said nothing. But in his heart he knew his uncle was right.

  “For the past year, I’ve been stockpiling rifles and ammunition,” Avi continued.

  “But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “But . . . you’re . . .”

  “I’m what—a Jew?” Avi asked.

  “Yes, of course a Jew,” Jacob whispered, glancing toward the door, though he knew there wasn’t another soul for miles.

  “And?”

  “And Jews can’t own guns,” Jacob whispered again. “It’s forbidden. You could go to prison. Or worse, you could be sent to one of those slave camps you keep telling us about. Is that what you want?”

  “Why can’t Jews own guns?” Avi asked.

  “Because der Führer forbade it.”

  “Yes, but why?” Avi pressed.

  Jacob had no answer. Avi did.

  “To make us passive, Jacob. To make us helpless. How can we resist Herr Hitler and the SS and the Gestapo if we cannot fight back? And how can we fight back without weapons and ammunition?”

  Jacob was silent.

  “Last time you were here, I had five rifles,” Avi said. “Now, under these very floorboards, I have almost a hundred. For the past few months, I’ve been recruiting a network of trusted operatives—men of various ages, professions, and skills. Quietly, in the shadows, we’ve been training. Now that Hitler is on the move, we’re going to begin to move as well. I’m asking you to join us.”

  “Me?” Jacob asked, genuinely stunned. “What could I do? You’ve seen me shoot. I’m terrible.”

  “You’ll get better—I guarantee it,” his uncle replied. “You’re a natural. It’s in your blood. But more important, you’re strong and fast and smart and discreet. You remember everything I tell you. I know when I tell you to do something, you’ll do it quickly and completely without me having to worry about it again. And somehow when you’re in a room, you have a way of not being noticed.”

  “I don’t think of that as a positive, Uncle,” Jacob said softly.

  “Well, I do,” Avi replied. “In intelligence work, that can come in very handy.”

  For the next half hour, they discussed the nature of the underground resistance movement that was growing in Germany, its goals and objectives and the risks of joining. Avi mentioned no specific names or places or operations. He spoke in generalities but made it clear to Jacob that this very conversation—the same he’d had with dozens of men, and a few women, throughout the country—was punishable by hanging or by a firing squad.

  “I’m not asking you to join because it’s going to be fun,” Avi said somberly as their fire began to die down. “I’m asking you because Hitler is coming for us. He’s coming for the Jews. Kri
stallnacht was just the start. It’s going to get very ugly from here on in. You and I don’t have a choice. It’s fight or perish—what do you say?”

  “Fight?” Jacob asked. “I thought you wanted us to flee. You keep telling Papa we must leave Germany. We must go to England before it’s too late. You’ve been knocking heads with him for months.”

  “I have,” Avi conceded. “That’s true. But the door is closing, my son. Indeed, it may already be closed. Jews can no longer get on a train or plane and leave the country. The only way out is to escape secretly. I myself considered fleeing in January, but your mother was . . . well, you know . . . and then your father fell ill.”

  “So joining the underground was plan B.”

  “It’s become plan A.”

  “Because you really think we can’t get out? You really believe we’ve missed our chance?”

  “I do,” Avi said softly. “That’s why I brought you here. Your parents are on their feet again. They can’t run. But soon they’ll be able to function on their own. That will free up time for you. Now is your moment, Jacob. The Resistance needs you. I need you. What do you say?”

  Jacob suddenly stood. He did not answer but rather cleared their dishes and washed them in the sink.

  “Your father doesn’t see what we see,” Avi said after a long silence, as if he knew exactly what Jacob was thinking. “You know that. You’ve heard us arguing. You’ve heard what he’s said. He doesn’t see it. That breaks my heart. But there’s nothing more I can do about it. If he won’t save himself, we’re going to have to take matters into our own hands.”

  “But if I join you, what will happen to them?”

  “I can’t give you answers, Jacob,” Avi replied. “I can’t promise you they’ll be safe. I hope they will be. But I don’t really know. All I can do is tell you the truth, which is this: the moment of reckoning is at hand. I’ve made my choice. Now you must make yours.”

  “But really, Uncle, what about them?” Jacob pressed. “You said fight or perish. Mama and Papa cannot fight. They haven’t the notion or the strength. Are they just going to perish?”

  Avi said nothing.

  Jacob grabbed a dish towel and wiped his hands dry. “No,” he said firmly, turning to face Avi. “I can’t just leave them. I’m all they have. They’ve been through so much. They need me.”

  “They don’t have to know,” Avi said. “In fact, it would be better if they didn’t.”

  “You want me to put their lives in grave danger without even telling them?” Jacob retorted. “That’s even worse.”

  “Jacob, listen to me—they’re already in grave danger,” Avi said. “They’re Jews. So are you. So am I. We’re marked men, Jacob. We’re going to be arrested. We’re going to be imprisoned. We’re going to be sent to slave-labor camps. We’re going to disappear, and no one will care. If we do nothing, that’s our fate. There’s no way around it. The only question is whether we decide to fight back or be like lambs to the slaughter. I’m not afraid to die, Jacob. But I’m not going down without a fight. Are you?”

  15

  SEPTEMBER 1, 1939

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  The Nazis invaded Poland on a Friday.

  At 2:50 a.m., President Roosevelt was awakened at the White House residence by a phone call from William Bullitt, the U.S. ambassador in Paris, with news that German planes were bombing Warsaw and that German panzer divisions had punctured the borders.

  “Well, Bill, it’s come at last,” the president said. “God help us all.”

  A few hours later, the president met in the Oval Office with Secretary Hull, Undersecretary Sumner Welles, Secretary of War Henry Stimson, and Harry Hopkins, the commerce secretary and one of Roosevelt’s closest confidants. William Barrett, Hull’s senior advisor, sat in on the meeting to take notes.

  “What’s Chamberlain saying?” the president asked.

  “I’m afraid he’s dithering, Mr. President,” Hull replied. “Downing Street is in a panic. Churchill is pushing the PM to declare war, but Chamberlain won’t do it.”

  “Good heaven—the man has no spine,” Roosevelt snapped. “Is he just going to let the Nazis take over all of Europe? Is that his plan? What about the French? Will they declare war?”

  “Not without the British,” Welles said. “Paris doesn’t want to be out there all by themselves.”

  “Are the French even ready for war?” the president asked.

  “They say they’re ready to defend themselves,” Stimson replied. “They’ve built their Maginot Line—at considerable cost. But to launch an offensive war against Hitler at this point? I’d say it’s doubtful at best.”

  A disaster was brewing in Europe. They could all see it. As to what they should do about it, that was a different matter altogether.

  16

  SEPTEMBER 1, 1939

  SIEGEN, GERMANY

  All of Siegen was buzzing.

  War had finally come. But what did this mean for them? Where would it lead? How would it end? For the Gentiles of the town, the news brought a somber mood that settled over them. But the Jews of Siegen were gripped by a spirit of fear. Jacob’s mother wept on and off throughout the day. His father sat alone in the living room, in his favorite chair, smoking a pipe and reading a novel, and spoke not a word.

  Jacob waited for Uncle Avi to come. He would bring news and words of comfort. Yet to Jacob’s surprise and deep disappointment, Uncle Avi did not come for Shabbat dinner. Was he ill? Was he safe? Jacob had a thousand questions. His parents, however, had no answers, or at least they kept them to themselves.

  When it came time to share the dinner Jacob had prepared, his mother refused to come out of her room. His father dutifully lit the evening candles, but they did not pray or read any Scriptures. The only prayer that night was the silent and recurring Why? that Jacob kept asking God. They ate without speaking.

  Saturday was eerily quiet in the Weisz home, even as trucks filled with soldiers roared through the streets, presumably on the way to the front or to reinforce other borders.

  Sunday, September 3, was quiet too. Jacob tried to study but had a difficult time concentrating. He tried to read one of his father’s novels but had little interest in anything but the crisis now at hand. He cooked for his family and cleaned the kitchen after each meal and straightened the house and tried to stay busy.

  Around nine o’clock, he and his father turned out the lights, said good night to each other, and went to their bedrooms.

  Jacob had not changed into his nightclothes yet. He wasn’t tired. He had no interest in sleeping. He had too much on his mind. He wanted to talk to someone. Anyone. The world around them was collapsing. Everything they knew was being ripped away. Shouldn’t they do something? Shouldn’t they go somewhere? Shouldn’t they at least try to leave Germany? What was the worst that could happen?

  He finally kicked off his shoes, lay down on the bed in his clothes, and stared up at the ceiling. Where was Uncle Avi? Was he in trouble? Had he been captured? Was he even still alive?

  What was the Meyer family doing tonight? Was Hans all right? Were they really planning to flee the country? Hans had confided in Jacob that his parents were seriously considering going to Palestine. Lots of Jews were going there, Hans said, to escape from Herr Hitler and to build a new Jewish homeland. Hans had sworn Jacob to secrecy. Even to utter such things could get a Jew arrested these days, Hans had reminded him. But Hans need not have worried. Jacob was as silent as the mountains, and his word was his bond. Jacob would take Hans’s secrets to the grave if need be. Yet somewhere deep in his heart, Jacob actually contemplated the idea of running away with the Meyers, be it to Palestine or anywhere else. To stay in Germany was becoming more foolish with each and every passing day, Jacob could see. Why could his father not see it too?

  A selfish thought suddenly popped into Jacob’s mind. If Hans and his family did leave, Jacob would miss them very much. But then again, Hans would no longer be in a position to court Naomi Silver. Jac
ob pondered that for a moment. Maybe in such times he should not let himself be so shy. If time was running out, maybe he should talk to Naomi. Maybe he should even bring her a gift. Perhaps even tell her his feelings for her. What if events continued to go from bad to worse? What if he never talked to her and then never had the chance to? What a waste that would be, and how bad he would feel. What’s the worst that could happen if he started to smile back at her when she smiled at him—or talked to her before violin class?

  But then another thought entered his heart. What if the Silvers were planning to leave as well? What if one night they just up and disappeared? Wasn’t that possible? That got Jacob wondering how they were taking the news of the German invasion of Poland. What did it mean to them? What were they going to do? He wondered, too, what Naomi was doing at that very hour. What was she thinking about? Was she able to sleep? Or was she tossing and turning and staring at her ceiling too? Was there any chance she was thinking of him?

  Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the front door. Startled, Jacob sat up and glanced at the clock. It was just before ten. He quickly put his shoes back on and was prepared to head downstairs when he heard his father get up and answer the door. Then, to his surprise, he heard his mother get up and head to the front door as well. Quietly, he crept down the stairs and crouched on the second-floor landing.

  “Who is it?” his father asked.

  “It’s me; open up,” came the urgent reply.

  The voice was unmistakable. It was Uncle Avi.

  They let him in and shut and locked the door quickly behind him.

  “What is it, Avi?” Jacob’s mother asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “We must go,” Avi said. “All of us. We must go now.”

  “Not this again,” Dr. Weisz said. “Avi, I told you—”

  But Avi persisted. “Reuben, listen to me. My friends in the underground say thousands of Jews are being rounded up, all over the country. This is it. They’re being sent to labor camps. We’ve run out of time.”