Treblinka Survivor: The Life and Death of Hershl Sperling (14 page)

In February 1947, Rajzman told the 69th sitting of the Nuremberg trials:

So it emerged that while Rajzman helped and protected Hershl, as far as was possible in a place like Treblinka, Rajzman himself was helped and protected by his friend Galewski, the camp elder. In turn, Galewski was most likely protected to a degree by Franz Stangl, the omnipotent commander of Treblinka. Galewski, the tall, aristocratic professional from Warsaw, spoke impeccable German and his leadership qualities would have been difficult to replace, given Stangl’s desire for Treblinka to run smoothly.

Like Rajzman, Hershl also possessed considerable language skills. He spoke good Polish, Hebrew, Yiddish, German as well as some Russian and a smattering of other Slavic languages. Apart from the obvious benefit of understanding German – especially the words spoken to him at the door of the
Himmelstrasse
– he may have been kept alive for a purpose unknown even to Hershl himself. Treblinka’s initial purpose, as part of Operation Reinhard, was the extermination of Jews who lived within the General Government of Nazi-occupied Poland. However, plans had also been drawn up for Jews to be brought there from Holland, France, Greece, Yugoslavia, Germany, the Soviet Union, and perhaps Great Britain. From the perspective of the camp masters, languages would become crucial for getting foreign Jews off the trains and into the gas chambers.

Nonetheless, it was Rajzman who took Hershl under his wing in those first few hours, and confirmed to him that everything that had been rumoured was true. This was an efficient, top of the line death factory, operated by Jews and specifically designed for the mass murder of Jews. He had descended into a brutal and vicious underworld, where his people were slaughtered each day in enormous numbers and the Nazis grew rich on murder and plunder. In this place, Jews were stuffed naked into gas chambers and suffocated, and the world did not care. Hershl’s mother, father and little sister, like Rajzman’s own family, were already dead. He must accept this; and somehow he must hold on to his life.

Hershl’s testimony tells us that he was immediately assigned to a work group called the
Lumpenkommando
. His job was to sort the mountains of clothes left by the victims. As Hershl worked, Rajzman began teaching him how to survive. It was Rajzman, Hershl said later, who had taught him the crucial ‘how to look, but not look’ at the SS. From the clothes of the dead, Rajzman also provided Hershl that day with his first cap, the most essential item a Jew could possess in Treblinka. In this perverse world, possession of a cap was a matter of life and death. Without one, a prisoner stood out and was thus marked to die in the daily ritual of murder. Treblinka survivor Samuel Willenberg wrote eloquently about the lethal cap games played by the SS and Ukrainian guards at the camp. Willenberg writes of his first day at the camp in his book,
Revolt in Treblinka
:

Hershl learned the fundamentals quickly. If he had not learned quickly he would not have survived long. Hershl also learned that each cap infringement equalled punishment, and could mean a beating or even immediate death. Caps had to be removed whenever an SS man passed and when the block commander reported the headcount at roll call each day. The guards would shout ‘
Muetzen ab
’ – ‘hats off’ repeatedly during the line-ups and over the course of the day. The Germans also insisted that during line-ups all caps were removed with the right hand only and with the synchronised motion of all prisoners together. Moreover, when removed, all caps had to slap the thigh to emit a specific type of thud. If the sound produced was not just as the Germans desired, it would have to be repeated, sometimes for hours, and always with brutal consequences. Only Galewski was exempt from this bizarre ritual. Instead, even more peculiarly, Galewski had to press his cap tightly to his left shoulder when in the presence of the SS. He also had to hold up his whip in a certain way. The Germans had issued him this whip as a mark of his authority – but, according to witnesses, he never used it.

That first night, Rajzman showed Hershl where to sleep, how to arrange the pile of multicoloured rags into a bed and he told him how best to avoid blows to the face – because to be ‘marked’ meant being noticed by the SS and therefore murdered shortly afterwards. Prisoners in Treblinka were permitted to take what they needed in terms of food and clothing from the belongings of the murdered, but the Ukrainians often prevented this. Nor were heads shaved here, except among the women in the moments before death, and there were no striped pyjama-style uniforms, as in concentration camps and work camps. The
Sonderkommando
slaves of Treblinka had but one purpose: to assist with the genocide of their own people. Then they themselves would be killed when their usefulness had expired. It did not matter whether they had hair on their heads or not.

Hershl barely moved during his first night in the Treblinka barracks, atop his bed of rags, as though the realisation had now struck him that the important thing in this extermination camp was not to be noticed. In his sorrow and loss, did he already understand that if he were to stand out in this place he would almost certainly be killed? I remembered him sitting in a maroon easy chair in his home in Glasgow. The television was on, but he was not watching it. He sat so still and quiet, as if deep in a trance. As I sat sipping a beer in old Warsaw, I wondered if he thought then that he would not be killed if he did not move.

Some time that first evening before the ‘lights-out’ command at 9.00pm, word came from a prisoner who had been asked to pass on a message to a fifteen-year-old new arrival named Hershl Szperling. His father had been recognised, probably by one of the Częstochowa Jews pulled from the transports in the preceding weeks, in the moments before he was driven into the gas chamber. Now, in this twilight world of suffering, the prisoner entered the barracks.

‘Your father is dead,’ the prisoner said. ‘He asked that you say Kaddish for him.’

This message was, in turn, passed on by Hershl to his children. I thought about it for a long time after Sam told me the story. They were a religious family, so of course Hershl would say Kaddish for his dead father. It seemed a peculiar last request, because he was stating the obvious. Then it occurred to me that what he was really saying was ‘Remember me.’

But there was no time to grieve. All Hershl’s strength was now focused on survival.

It is late November and a typical Treblinka day begins. A persistent drizzle falls in the early-morning darkness. Hershl has been in the camp for almost two months. He lies half-awake as usual in a part of the camp called the ghetto – a fenced-in section comprising a large, wooden horseshoe-shaped barracks, a few workshops and the
Appelplatz,
or Roll Call Square, just north of Reception Square, where the human transports are unloaded from the trains. We cannot know precisely what Hershl – this fifteen-year-old boy – feels about all he experiences here, but we know it will traumatise him for the rest of his life. The psychological wounds gouged by Treblinka are deeper than anything else the Nazis could ever force him to endure.

The lingering smell of death hangs in the air like a poisonous cloud. For weeks on end, wagonloads of victims have been arriving in enormous numbers – sometimes two and three trains each day. The November air is cold and damp. This is where Hershl’s most horrific nightmares begin, scenes he will return to again and again. Terrible and violent images from this place will mutilate his sleep for the rest of his life. Bizarrely, he is probably clothed in silk, the night-time attire of choice in Treblinka, because it is said that lice find it more difficult to grip the smooth fabric. The silk is pilfered from the belongings of the dead. Yet, each morning, the prisoners’ clothing is covered with blood spots. Infected bites turn into angry pustules, and boils cover their bodies.

Now a screaming Ukrainian auxiliary guard, one of around 150 recruited by the SS, throws open the barracks door and rushes at the prisoners with his whip. It is a morning ritual. This Ukrainian is probably around twenty years old and most likely a former prisoner of war from the Soviet Army. Cruelty can be discerned in his eyes. Copious supplies of vodka exacerbate his brutality. Like all his compatriots in Treblinka, he is despised by the Jews and the SS alike. He does not care. Not in his wildest dreams can he have imagined himself knee-deep in so much free food, vodka, money and women – and all for simply killing and beating Jews. As he enters, most of the prisoners jump to their feet, terrified.

The prisoners’ tin bowls clatter loudly. Tired and miserable, they rush into the
Appelplatz
and at the same time try to avoid blows and whiplashes from the Ukrainians and the kapos – prisoners who have been appointed to positions of authority by the Germans. The urination and excrement buckets are taken at a run to be emptied. In Treblinka, everything is done on the run. During this morning’s turmoil, a voice rings out in an exchange between two prisoners: ‘
Henick, prosze ciebie’
– ‘I beg you, get up, you’ve got to get hold of yourself.’

I am back at my desk in Scotland, trying to understand Hershl in Treblinka, when I find these words. I discover them buried in the memoir of another Treblinka survivor, Richard Glazar, who recalls one winter’s early morning in the same barracks, at the same time Hershl is there. I am struck by the possibility that this remembered slice of life might be an exchange between Hershl – Heniek in Polish – and a pleading, fatherly Samuel Rajzman. The words are an entreaty from one comrade to another. It strikes me also that the appeal comes in Polish, but the response is in Yiddish, before it is ‘swallowed up by other voices’, Glazer writes. I immediately call my friend Sam.

‘It seems to fit,’ I say. ‘Rajzman, of course, would have spoken and understood Yiddish as part of his culture, but Polish was the language of sophisticated, multicultural Warsaw, where Rajzman had spent much of his life. It seems appropriate that he should make his plea in Polish but that the response should come in Yiddish, Hershl’s mother tongue.’

‘It’s within the realms of possibility,’ Sam says. ‘Rajzman was the closest thing he had to a father.’ After a long moment, he adds, ‘It’s strange and upsetting to imagine him there. But we’ll never know for sure if this is him.’

Rajzman died in 1979, and Glazar, a Czech Jew who, like Hershl, was also pulled from the door of the
Himmelstrasse
for his language skills, committed suicide in 1997. However, if it really is Hershl, this moment must mark his turning point, the threshold across which he pushes. All his instincts are honed on one thing – survival. This is Hershl’s coming of age in the kingdom of death.

I ask Sam one more question on this day – it is a recurring question that always produces the same answer – ‘What do you think he felt during his time in Treblinka?’

‘Mostly, he was frightened, I think,’ he says.

The Ukrainian auxiliary has now completed his morning routine of bullying and a meagre breakfast of lukewarm ersatz coffee and stale bread is consumed by the prisoners before roll call at 6.00am. The prisoners are divided into work groups and as this November day breaks, another nightmare begins. They toil for twelve hours a day, with a half-hour break at noon. It is long and hard physical labour, and emotionally tormenting. Not only does Hershl witness daily mass murder, but also its aftermath.

Between early September and mid-December 1942, the camp’s peak period of activity, more than 400,000 Jews are annihilated. At the same time, the number of Treblinka’s Jewish
Sonderkommando
swells to around 1,200. Many in the
Sonderkommando
are former residents of the Częstochowa ghetto because, as it happens, this new, semi-permanent group of slave workers is still in the process of being established when more than 35,000 Częstochowa Jews are dumped in the camp. This blind, random bit of luck increases Hershl’s chances of survival, statistically. Had he arrived from the city of Radomsko a few days later, for example, he would have been sent directly to the gas chambers. Among those selected from the Częstochowa transport, aside from the young and relatively strong, like Hershl, are carpenters and architects to design, construct and repair camp buildings, dentists to extract gold teeth from the dead, saddle makers to produce the fearsome Treblinka whips, tailors to sew suits and uniforms for the SS, cobblers to make boots, physicians to tend the Nazis’ ailments, bakers for fresh bread, goldsmiths to value and sort the gold and precious stones after the victims were murdered and young boys – known as
putzer
, from the Yiddish and German verb ‘to polish’ – to work as personal servants and shoe shiners. A few women, mostly the young and attractive plucked from the death trains, are also included in the permanent
Sonderkommando
to do laundry and work in the kitchens.

To the crack of whips, Hershl and the rest of the
Lumpenkommando
run to the sorting yard. What lies before them is a familiar sight – towering, multi-coloured mountains of clothing and other plundered belongings in parallel rows, tens of metres long. Jewish slaves run between the mountains, climb upon them and toil like devils. There are separate piles for shirts, underwear, vests, towels, shoes, glasses and suitcases. Each suitcase bears the name of its murdered owner painted on the lid. They contain shaving brushes, fountain pens, tablecloths, gloves, family photographs, medical syringes, keys, tradesmen’s tools, children’s toys and every other conceivable item considered essential for life in the east. Long human chains soon carry bundles between the sorting yard and the storeroom. I see Hershl among them in the chain, running, working, looking but not looking, trying not to be noticed, trying to survive. The enforced rapid movement is accompanied by thunderous shouts, beatings and murders by the SS and work group leaders. Jewish kapos lash their whips to demonstrate their enthusiasm to their German masters. The speed at which the prisoners are compelled to work is part of the brutality. Hershl writes:

This peak period of extermination is also the most dangerous and fearful for the
Sonderkommando
. The SS vie with each other. They often kill members of each other’s work groups in acts of spite and petty revenge. At the same time, sadistic SS officers tour the camp seeking victims. Murders are arbitrary, random and whimsical.

The Jews have codenames for the cruellest of the SS – the ‘three pillars of Treblinka’ – which they use to warn one another when the deadliest SS are approaching. Hershl identifies Sergeant August Miete as one of them. Hershl refers to him as ‘
Mütter
’ – the names of the SS are only ever heard, and never seen written down. Miete’s domain is the Lazarett, the execution pit and fire disguised as a field hospital, where the sick and the troublesome are led. Miete carries out most of the killings in this sham hospital personally. The Jews know him as the Angel of Death.

Another ‘pillar’ is Kurt Küttner, known as ‘Kiewe’, who beats and murders prisoners regularly. He is also feared for his network of informants. Kurt Franz, the deputy camp commander under Stangl, is the final ‘pillar’ and another psychopathic sadist. The prisoners perhaps fear him more than the others, particularly if he is with his dog, Barry, who has been trained to attack victims’ genitals.

Hershl’s every movement in Treblinka, the most mundane function, is a stark choice between life and death. Hundreds of offences are punishable by death or beatings. Death is imposed for carrying a piece of bread, or a coin, or a wedding ring. Death is also meted out for not working to a commanders’ satisfaction. Prisoners are killed most often by a gunshot in the mouth. Victims are forced after beatings to open their eyes and stare into the gun barrel. Many Jews are bludgeoned to death with their shovels. Hershl writes:

I would like to find this SS man, and even if he is no longer alive, I would like to identify him – but I fear it is no longer possible. I want to know why he was repelled by the horror of Treblinka and others accepted it and even thrived on it.

* * *

On this typical Treblinka morning comes the clamour of a locomotive pushing wagons toward the platform. It is a transport of Polish Jews. Documents of the German railway authorities, discovered after the war, reveal that between 3–7 November 14,000 people from the Konskie region in central Poland were deported to Treblinka. A long, piercing whistle heralds their arrival, followed by the terrible but familiar sound of wailing. What is Hershl doing amidst all of this? He is in the sorting yard, watching, silent, tormented, angry. His people are being murdered before his eyes. He tries, but he cannot become inured to it. Yet he learns quickly how to adapt. He imagines escape and revenge. He remembers the murder of his family and the tears of his little, red-haired sister, whose name he could never utter again. Sometimes he weeps to himself at night. Unlike other men, he does not disremember all the monstrous information to preserve his sanity. He takes in everything. He remains human with the help of his friend Rajzman. Their nightly talks and their quasi-familial bond renew and nourish him.

Upon the tracks at Reception Square each wagon contains piles of dead, who lie on the excrement that has been left after the long journey. The bodies of those who have died en route must be stripped and dragged individually into the burning pit in the Lazarett. In the months to come, this will be Hershl’s work too.

Meanwhile, men, stripped of clothing and dignity, many clutching suitcases in trembling hands, are herded through the undressing area. The temperatures are near zero. The men are whipped and punched. Most know they are being driven toward death.

Across the yard, women are forced to strip themselves and their children. Some weep desperately as they stand in line in the icy air, their children pressed to their breasts. The wailing of the women and children is unbearable. The guards lash at the naked bodies, demanding silence, order. Instructions are screamed at them. The Germans are expert at control via mass hysteria. The victims’ brief stay in Treblinka is filled with carefully orchestrated violence and they have no time to think. Two-and-a-half years later, as Hershl is writing his testimony, he will recall naked women and children as they are driven through the
Himmelstrasse
toward the barbers, on to their deaths in the gas chambers. He recalls also those who are not strong enough to make it to the
Himmelstrasse
. These victims are instead shot into the burning pit. ‘The red squad, men with a red-cross symbol … carry the old, the sick and children up to the age of six, or those who have lost their parents, on stretchers or in their arms from the ramp to the Lazarett.’ The flaming ditch of burning bodies is surely the pit of Hershl’s nightmares – all the burning children. ‘Our life is a constant round of fear and pain … Death is constantly before our eyes.’