When we speak about Israel, we cannot go beyond a crude and raw reality, that took place in Europe during the second World War and remains a discussion point until today: the Shoah. The memory of the extermination of 6 million Jews in the gas chambers in Germany and in Poland, remains until today alive in many Israeli families. Some months ago we got to know Ester Manheim at a prayer meeting where she had been invited to give her testimony. Her experience, told here, still today leaves us with dismay and unbelief about the cruelty and the inhumanity that took place in a “Christian” Europe only 60 years ago.
Lioba

«It all began in September 1939. I was living in Kraków, Poland at the time: a young and careless 14 year old girl with my whole life before me. It was precisely September 1st and I had just returned home from a summer scout camp. That same day we heard something for the first time: the alarm sirens. The Germans had arrived in Poland. I did not imagine that my life, like that of all the Jews in Europe, was about to be radically changed. The next day there were new signs at the shop doors: “Entrance prohibited to dogs and jews!”. I felt profoundly humiliated but life continued. We lived in a very large apartment in a very nice area of the city so that when the situation for the Jews got worse my grandparents and other family members came to stay with us. I had to give up my lovely room and this made me cry. However I still was alright and we were all together with everything that we needed, for the time being. I went to a private school, but I began to notice that as time passed some of the teachers didn’t show up anymore. One day the school Director came into our class and announced: “Jewish children have no right to study, from tomorrow you cannot return here”. Day by day the situation got worse. One day they told us that we would have to wear a badge with the star of David, another day we were forbidden to use the train and the tram anymore. I suffered as I couldn’t understand the reason for all this. In reality this was not suffering, it was nothing at all.

In the Kraków Ghetto
On the 13th of March 1941 we were forced to leave our house and we moved to the area of Podgórze, the place chosen for the establishment of a Ghetto for the Kraków Jews. The day that I arrived in the Ghetto I felt as though someone had tied a thick and heavy chain around me and this chain got tighter and tighter around my neck every day, so much so that I failed to breathe. I still have a strong memory of the bitter cold and the sadness in my heart. From that point onwards the deportations began. It was May of 1942 and I remember that I was standing at the window watching our neighbours with their children that were loaded onto a truck. Two days later the second deportation followed: this time my cousin was taken. After we had to change ‘house’ again. There were 14 of us in the house and we slept on the floor and the only furniture that we had was a small table where 2 or 3 of us ate at a time. The young people were still hopeful that things would improve. We met together in an underground room where we sang and told stories and spoke with nostalgia about the past. In reality however the chain was getting tighter. During this same year on the 23rd of October, my grandmother died on her bed and on the 27th of that same month my grandfather also died. We felt that something terrible was about to happen. That night, with our grandfathers corpse beside us, my mother held us tight as we were not able to sleep. In the morning we went to work. My sister and I worked in the same place but our mother was assigned to a different area. That morning however my mother took my sister with her: she had a strange sensation, one of fear, as if something terrible was about to take place. I went to work and suddenly I began to cry: I felt that my mother was in danger.
Inside I felt as if something dreadful had happened to her. That evening when I arrived home my sister came running to me shouting: “Stenia, they have taken our mother!” My blood froze: I felt paralyzed, I wanted to cry, shout, but not a sound came out. I knew what “they have taken” meant, I knew that she would never return again. We did not have time to mourn for her, the very next day we had to return to work. My heart felt lacerated. The people around us were in the very same situation. Death began to penetrated everywhere. During this time I became seriously ill, it seemed to be typhus but is was not. I was in quarantine when the news reached us that the Germans had surrounded the Ghetto. All night long I walked up and down in order to regain strength and to force myself to walk well. I was very weak, but nonetheless the next day I left the hospital and returned to work. That day I was not able to work, but I was there, present. It was the 13th of March 1943 and the Nazis, under the command of the SS- Hauptsturmführer Amon Göth, began the ‘liquidation’ (closure) of the Ghetto.

Relocation to the Płaszów labour camp
That same day we were relocated from the Kraków Ghetto to the Płaszów labour camp. There were 8,000 Jews considered ‘able workers’, whilst those who was considered incapable (around 2,000 prisoners) were killed on the streets of the Ghetto or were sent to die in Auschwitz. Płaszów was built on a Jewish cemetery and as a dark omen of the near future, the boundary wall and the streets were built using the tombstones that had been taken from the cemetery. In Płaszów the men and the women were separated into different barracks. I was together with my sister and this made me happy. We didn’t eat anything all day but at least we were together. Every morning at 6am we had the roll-call in the square and from there we went to work. My father, my sister and I worked in a paper factory. It was a good job, but the climate of fear was certainly not softened. The Nazis did not waste even one day for sowing fear among the prisoners. One day they hung some people, another, during the roll-call, the tenth prisoner was taken to be shot. Otherwise they would take us by chance and whip us and afterwards we had to thank them: after they had whip us we were not able to sit for days. Every day there was something new, every day we heard about the death of someone else, when we left in the morning we did not know if we would return alive to the barracks. Then came the month of May 1944, it was Monday and they called us for the roll-call. They told us that we were going to have a visit from a doctor to improve our health. The doctor called out a list of the chosen people at the roll-call. The people knew that they would be taken to Auschwitz and so they began to panic. All of the children in the camp were taken: the smaller ones were wrenched from their mothers arms. On returning to the barracks one could see people crying and shouting everywhere. I recognised a man that had been a famous doctor in Kraków: he held the shoes of his small daughter in his hand and he continued to speak to the shoes as if they were his daughter. That was a dark night, we felt this darkness, this desperation inside of us. The next day we returned to work. In August of that same year my father was deported to the labour camp at Mauthausen and in the following October the Płaszów camp was liquidated. We were sent to Auschwitz and at the same time the news began to spread that the Russians were getting closer.

Relocation to Auschwitz
The journey from Plaszów to Auschwitz was a nightmare. The distance between them is about an hour, but our journey lasted for a day and a night without food and water. We were loaded onto the trains like animals and during the journey the people (being overwhelmed with panic and desperation) began pushing and shoving each other and even began to act like animals. When the train finally arrived at Auschwitz we were at our wits end. They opened the doors and we saw all around German soldiers with dogs who were ready to “sort us”. Among the shouts and screams of the people we heard the voice of Mengele, right before our eyes, who was sending the people left and right; my sister and I tried our best to stay together and we succeeded.
From there they took us to the showers; our breathing stopped. We didn't know if we would be washed in water or gas and if we were really about to die. We closed our eyes until we felt the cold water fall on our shoulders and we began to breathe again. After, they gave us clothing and I received a pair of underwear. I gave them to my sister and the woman soldier began to shout: “No, you keep them!”. I replied “No, they are for her!” but the woman insisted: “Do you not know that at Auschwitz everyone must take what they receive.” In the end she gave me another pair. From there they took us to a small barracks, where we were put up (we were twelve altogether in the room).
Every day we had to queue up for hours in order to receive something to eat and likewise for the roll-call. It was winter and never before I have suffered so much the cold as in those months. One day as they led us in a line to the gas chambers, Hess (the camp director) passed by and shouted “What are you doing, these people can still work!”. And so they brought us back to the barracks. That same day they tattooed a number on our arm, which meant that we would stay alive at least for a little while longer. My number was 26261 which sums 17. In Hebrew the numbers correspond to the letters of the alphabet. My number meant “tov” which means “good”. I did not realize but the woman, who tattooed me said: “Your number is good, you will remain alive”. My sister's number corresponded to the Hebrew word “chai” which in English means “alive”, it could have seemed nothing, but for us it lit a flame of hope in our hearts. In fact just a few days later they moved us to “Auschwitz I” the “Musterlager”; they sent us to work in the printing press, which compared to the previous conditions felt like paradise. The machines needed to be maintained at a certain temperature in order to work and in this way after the morning roll-call we were able to warm ourselves. Every day we received a piece of bread with margarine and sometimes even a little jam which meant for us that during that time we did not suffer hunger. What did remain was the psychological terror, every day could have been our last one. They called us to participate in the executions and we were forced to watch the hangings of some of the young girls who didn't work well.

The death march
We remained in Auschwitz until January 1945 when the Russians we already at the door. So as not to allow us to be set free, the Nazis ordered that the camp be evacuated. It was night and the soldiers distributed a piece of bread to each of us, but I didn't manage to get anything as the distribution was quick and many others didn't get their share either, then we left. Then the death march began. I can still see the women's silhouette in my mind's eye, one leaning on the other; some fell with tiredness and they were shot on the spot with just one gunshot. There were others who lagged behind as they were not able to hold their urine and ended up being equally cruelly killed; I cannot describe the suffering and the horror of that night. Death and desperation around and inside of us, it was inconceivable. At intervals they let us sleep for a few minutes on the ground. In the evening, after having walked all night and all day, they made us sit down on the ground. We did not know what was going to happen to us; we were already certain that we would die. From every side we heard the gunshots; the entire journey was littered by uncountable dead bodies abandoned on the road. Later we came to a station and they put us on a train. We were cramped together, one on top of the other. We were worn out by hunger and even more by thirst. The train journey was much worse than the previous journey on foot. After days of traveling we finally arrived at our destination. It was dark and we found ourselves in a forest. In the distance we heard the resounding of the bombings and the sky was full of the noise of the airplanes that continuously passed overhead. We were so terrified and desperate that the only thing we were able to do was to pray. For the first time I noticed that even the Nazis were frightened and desperate and were searching for refuge; this was an omen for us that the end of the terror was near. After a little while we took up the journey again and the next morning we arrived at the “Ravensbrück” extermination camp, which was near Berlin. They put us in a large tent that was unbelievably humid. We remained at Ravensbrück for two weeks and then they moved us to a camp at Neustadt Cleve. We found ourselves once again closed in a barracks with 50-60 persons in one room. I still had some strength and every morning I went to get some coffee for the women in my room, although it was more like dirty water than coffee. In that week alone ten people died from hunger and exhaustion. During that time of my life I experienced that sharing the nothing that we had made us more human and it gave us life. Looking out for who we found beside us gave meaning to our lives.

The liberation
It was Easter 1945. On the day itself I managed to steal two potatoes and we also had some crackers. We blessed the food, ate, sang, danced and celebrated the Passover and the “passage”. The atmosphere was strange and until this day I am still not able to explain it. The Germans were there watching us without doing or saying anything; as if the dense darkness that had surrounded us during those years in the camps had gone away.
Some days after the feast we were set free. Before we were able to escape some Germans wanted to set put our barracks on fire but time had run out. That morning an Italian man came into the camp shouting: “Don't you know that you are free!”. Immediately some people ran into the kitchen in search of food, but I did not have the strength. This turned out to be a grace for me as our bodies were not used to food and those who did ate got seriously ill. Then we set out on the journey: my sister Lola, a friend of ours and I. During the day we walked, at night we rested in warehouses and barns until we reached Krakow. It was my city but I felt like a stranger. We went to search for some people that we knew but not all welcomed us so warmly. However despite this I was able to gather some money.
On the day of Rosh haShana, the first day of the Jewish year, I went to the synagogue and I felt so alone that I began to cry. We Jews believe that on the day of Rosh haShana God establishes each persons destiny for the coming year, in other words if one would continue to live or die. In that moment I remembered the last time that I was in the synagogue with my mother; it was precisely the day of Rosh haShana and just a month later she died. I was sitting, crying and remembering the last terrible five years of my life without the strength to even imagine the future. Then i got up to leave the synagogue and I heard a voice calling me: “Miss Holländer! Is it you?”. It was my father's best friend who wished me a happy new year and gave me a telegram. It was written by the Jewish Authorities in Palestine: my father was there and he was searching for his daughters. I was so happy that I began to cry again, but this time full of joy. That day I began to live again. A year later I celebrated Rosh haShana in Israel, together with my father and my sister”.

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