were placed. The Ukrainians wanted to shove me into a train that contained women and children, but it was already sealed. At that moment, Sholem saw me, barely able to recognize me because of the beating I endured. Slowly he inched toward me. Suddenly, the Nazis began pushing men into the trains, one hundred to a car. With lightning speed, Garfinkel pulled me into the compart- ment where he and the other young men were confined. Then the door of the car closed. I was one woman among one hundred men. The trains left, carrying us on our final journey. As the train passed Lapy, the first stop outside Bia- lystok, people jumped from the trains. It soon became evident that we were being taken to Treblinka. Almost all who had leaped from the trains were shot. Armed Nazis soldiers were positioned along the tracks to exe- cute would-be escapees. Guards standing on the roofs of the trains randomly fired into the cars. One bullet hit me in the left hand, which permanently damaged my finger. When our train arrived at Treblinka, about twenty Cars carrying women and children, the elderly and sick were separated. I can still hear the blood-chilling cries. These unfortunates were immediately taken to the gas chambers. Some of the other railroad cars, where Sho- lem, I and others were, did not enter Treblinka. We would be assigned to slave labor. After several hours, our train embarked, finally taking us to Majdanek. Throughout the entire journey, I was dressed in rags, looking more like a man than a woman. I found myself among the wounded and beaten and helped them as much as I could. Garfinkel and the other CHARLES SCHWECHER > A WALK TO DEATH: Tes still before my eyes and probably will be forever — the final moments of my father’s life, those final precious minutes that we spent together crying, talking and touch- ing for the last time. We would never see each other again now that the Nazi soldiers had entered our barracks looking for him. I walked him to the door and then he was outside on his way to meet the angel of death. We were a family of five, living in the Bialystok ghetto, in one small room. There was a closet with another door within it, leading to an even smaller room. This room was rarely used until we got word that the Nazis were going to invade the ghetto. And just days later they did. The five of us — my father, mother and their three sons — hid in the little room fora full week. Outside there was violence. We heard shooting, cries for mercy and more machine-gun fire. One dav during that week, we heard movement inthe other room. We sat still, the five of us huddled together, not daring to make a sound and 154 young men were taken to the showers for ‘“‘delousing”’ and a haircut. Later the Nazis gathered several hundred men, including shoemakers, tailors and other trades- men, and loaded them onto a train. Once again I was selected for extermination at Majdanek. But at the last moment, when the men piled into the train, my beloved Sholem pulled me into the car. Our trains later arrived at the Blyzin labor camp. There I encountered many Jewish women. Sholem Garfinkel worked in the camp as a shoemaker. After nine months, Sholem was taken to other concentration camps, after which he was liberated early in May 1945. I moved from Blyzhin to Auschwitz and then to other camps. I was freed in April 1945. Immediately after the war, I rejoined my future husband. We were married in Salzburg, Austria, and raised a fine family. From the time we arrived in Amer- ica, we enjoyed a good life. We still cannot understand how we were able to survive those terrible times. Our beloved families were exterminated by the Nazis. We are consoled by being blessed with children, who will carry on our family lines. My husband and I love them and their families. Our son Shimon is in the textile busi- ness. He and his wife, Carol, live in Plainview, Long Island with their two beautiful children. Our younger son, Steven, who married Marlene, is a bookkeeper. They live in Brooklyn, New York. Every time I remember the Holocaust and being saved by dressing as a man, I still experience much anguish. But it is important that succeeding generations know what happened to us. MY FATHER’S STORY hardly taking a breath. We knew well that the slightest sound would mean our end. The Nazis shouted, *‘Are there any Jews hiding in here?”’ We sat silent in our little room, waiting. The soldiers did not find the room where we were hidden. It was February 1943. We survived the first part of the liquidation process of the Jews of Bialystok. When the Nazis pulled out of the ghetto, my father and I left the apartment to see how our neighbors had fared during this ordeal. Some people who lived down the street from us had a similar experience to ours, though with a slightly different outcome. They had a daughter who had a little son. They too were hidden ina side room, not daring to utter a sound, lest they be found. Just then, the little boy wanted to cough. His mother motioned to him, not to make any noise. She put a towel over his face and apparently held it too long. The child suffocated to death.

The Bialystoker Memorial Book