From Love To Triumph by Steven Kingsley

FROM

LOVE

TRIUMPH The Holocaust Diary of Mrs. Susan Kaszas Auschwitz, Poland 1944 - Dillich, Germany 1945

Foreword

In her epic love story Susan Kaszas describes with touching directness, what it feels like to be taken from one's family, to be beaten, cursed at, poisoned, and to witness unspeakable, systematic cruelty. But the hardest aspect of her personal and collective hell was being separated from her one love, her husband, Alex. From Love to Triumph is a love letter to Alex. It is this love that persists throughout her writing, as the unbreakable golden thread that binds her to life when she is tempted to escape into suicide. Her passionate commitment to her love permeates every day of fear and suffering. It is so strong, she is even more concerned about Alex than about herself, while she is forced into the cattle cars heading for the concentration camps. She says, "It made it easier on me that you did not get to see the long stretch of cattle boxcars we were herded into and I was spared of looking at the expression on your face." The total devotedness of her heart to Alex gave her the strength to survive the Nazi death camps. The faithfulness of her undying love shines through: "My Dear Alex, you must know that I can't live without love and the only reason I am still alive is that I want to be with you again in this life. If you love me as much as I love you, then my suffering was not in vain." But the cruelty of the Nazis was not as bad as the psychological torture she had endured while living with Alex's family before the holocaust. She says, "Here I knew the reason for my suffering -- I was a Jew. But it had hurt me so much more at home, when I couldn't fathom the reason for being tormented by your mother and her side of the family so savagely. I remember how hard I'd had to fight my mother-in-law and her ilk for my sanity, while here in Birkenau, Poland, in the midst of the worst concentration camp where people were being mass-butchered, the flames were always visible from the throat of the crematorium and bloodhounds ran rampant, I was in so much better shape emotionally than when she'd been around." Love is something that cannot be killed. The body can be crushed, the psyche can be beaten down, but nothing can take love away from the human heart against one's will. That is the meaning and purpose of Susan's survival and triumph.

June Marshall Editor

"Lead your life as if there were nothing else around you but your conscience and God." Mrs. Susan Kaszas: April 1, 1945 Dillich, Germany Steven Kingsley: 1990 - 2002 Ridgewood, NJ USA

My mother

My mother's maiden name was Susan Varadi. She was born in 1920, in Gyรถr, Hungary, the largest city in the western part of the country, only half an hour from Vienna, Austria. She came from the Bรถhm line of our family. She married my father, Alexander (Alex) Kaszas in 1942 and moved to Tapolca, a small town north of Lake Balaton. By that time anti-Jewish laws were in full force in Hungary too. My father was taken away to a forced labor camp and my My mother (in the middle) with her family in 1943

mother to Auschwitz in 1944, along with their families. The small general store and everything else they had were also stolen away from them. Only they returned.

My parents never spoke about this period of their lives. I found my mother's diary letter book amongst her belongings upon her death in 1990. Reading it made me cringe. It still does. I translated it since and had her beloved grandchildren Judy and Mark edit and proofread it. Our aim in publishing it is simple. We want you to remember; to stand up and say, when confronted with any kind of organized cruelty and inhumanity:

Never again !

Table of Contents 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

Foreword First Lady Laura Bush’s letter My mother Table of contents The longest letter An apology Evicted Waiting Call on God The beatings The ghetto Ready to end it Uncle Joe Encouragement The “pessimists” The Hungarians The strip search Torture Terror Three days The elder rabbi Györ, my birthplace On the train Auschwitz-Birkenau The baths Inmates Never give up Final prayer A shred of paper Allendorf The weapons plant Poisoned February-March of 1945 Purim Deliverance Our lives Epilogue Credits, copyrights and links

The longest letter

Something tells me that I'm about to write the longest letter of my life. To make matters a bit harder, I am not used to writing anymore. The last time I had a pencil in my hand was about nine months ago. Even then, the only thing I could use it for was to write my name down. Mother's diary letter , 1945.

My thoughts are still unfocused and are in turmoil; nevertheless, I'll do my best to be clear and coherent. I probably won't be all that successful though, as it used to be my habit to start a new sentence even before completing the previous one. I've managed to keep my bad habits like this one, which is a cold comfort indeed, since all of the suffering I went through reinforced them a hundredfold. The one person who could help me to control them is far away, but my hope is that our travails will be over soon and we can all live our own lives again, together, in the circle of our family...

Practicing to write again...

An apology

Before the deportation, in 1944

Oh my Alex ...... these goodly number of dots stand for all the love-stricken phrases I want to heap on you... They also let me dispense with writing in a poetic flourish usually associated with sixteen year old girls, in love for the first time. The first few sentences I wrote as an apology, in case you get lost or confused while reading, considering how long this letter might become by the time I finish it. I would like to start at the last time we were together; that is when you were ordered, along with every other men of your age to march on the double out of the Tapolca ghetto. I do want to write about everything, except for those details I could explain to you much better in person, once we are together again. For certain events, one could write novels about; except that they still hurt so much I'd rather allow the wounds to heal sufficiently before reopening them again.

Evicted

I remember the day as vividly as if it were yesterday, the day when you and George V. sneaked into town from Dรถrรถgd. When they told me that you must leave right away, I felt as if I'd been struck by lightning. I couldn't even think of the reason then, as I was lamenting over my recent very nervous behavior toward you. I was unhappy that you couldn't understand how much I missed our house and the store in it, probably because it had taken me such a long and hard time to get used to them. I almost lost my sanity when we were evicted by the Arrow Cross, the Hungarian Nazis. I felt like beating myself to death because of my inability to explain these feelings to you. How hard did I try to hide my pain from you, because I'll never be ashamed to admit that you were the most important to me.

A family evicted in Nazi Germany, 1938

It is impossible to describe how much trouble they gave me; how often I was found unconscious while you were away in the forced labor camp. I just prayed to God all the time to give me strength so I would be able to show you a happy face for those few hours we could spend together.

Waiting

One of the most terrible things was when the letters I had sent to my parents came back to me, unopened. People were friendlier then usual and stopped talking or switched to another topic when I entered. My heart was so heavy, I figured I would die soon.

Pages 2 and 3

While I had gotten used to sharing all my thoughts with you, this was not the time to make you even more upset. I'd have killed myself if I'd caused those warm brown eyes of yours turning even sadder. I was terribly afraid that you'd be ordered to march off to another forced labor camp from Dรถrรถgd. It might sound strange, but I actually felt relieved when I heard, after you'd been taken away, that we would also be shipped out in cattle boxcars at dawn the next day, to Egerszeg. I did my packing in a very short time. Our cousins, Rudy and Michael also came in from Dรถrรถgd and we were waiting, together with Vera, for you to return. After staying with us in vain for long hours, Rudy and Michael had to go back. I was devastated when Rudy said good-bye to his children, although your absence actually was a godsend under the circumstances. Besides, we had our hands full with Clara, as she was going into a complete nervous breakdown. She was waiting for Lala, who was to arrive next Monday, while we were to be taken away tomorrow, at dawn.

Call on God

I will never, ever forget our march through Main Street and call on God never to forgive those who humiliated us so terribly. We were being forced toward the train station, so many of us that we covered the whole stretch of the street.

Deportation from Kiev, the Ukraine in 1941

The line was so long one could not see where it ended. Christian neighbors and families were crying in the windows. It only took a short time at the station to get us into the cattle boxcars, about 70 of us to a car. We were already standing inside when a platoon of forced laborers from your camp arrived. Although forbidden, they came close to us. I still see vividly George's clenched fist and enraged face as he noticed Vera, who was in her seventh month of pregnancy. To my question about why you weren't with them, while all others were there, I was not given a straight answer. Why did they want to confuse me even more? Truth be told, I didn't mind that you weren't there. It made it easier on me that you did not get to see the long stretch of cattle boxcars we were herded into and I was spared of looking at the expression on your face...

The beatings

The journey was extremely rough and long, although I hardly noticed as I was only concerned about your whereabouts. Upon arrival, we were led to a large clearing in a meadow.

Polish Jews taken to execution in Krakow, Poland 1941

The police were pushing and beating us, all the while yelling and hurling indescribable obscenities at us. They also took the cigarette and match away from everybody. Poor old Mr. Hoffman, who marched ahead of me, collapsed and was kicked to death right in front of me. We were told to sit down in the grass, which was still wet from the early morning dew. Not all of us were there, since half of the train had been left behind and arrived late in the morning.

The ghetto

Later they showed us our "living quarters", the Tutura warehouse. Thank God we were busy, because there were thousands of us by then. Children, men, women, all together. For the night we collected hay from far away fields and that was when I heard you'd severely hurt your leg, although nobody could tell me anything else. My heart almost stopped from the pain; again, someone else had learned of this before I did. This made me realize, like so many times before, just how much you tried to safeguard me by concealing all the bad things from me. Thinking about you put me in a terrible mental shape.

Lala was brought in next day and made me come to my senses somewhat, saying that it would be much more useful for everybody if I took care of myself for a change. After a long argument he also promised to go back to Dรถrรถgd to find you. He did manage to get a permit and was off next day. In the meantime, the ghetto in Egerszeg got word of the terrible place we'd been confined to and those of us who had relatives or friends there were allowed to join them. Arriving in the Lodz ghetto, Poland 1940

Ready to end it

There was a palpable excitement about this turn of events. Vera, my friend was also on the list of those allowed to go, but we couldn't find a cart for her belongings. In the meantime I was trying to decide whether to go or to stay. At the end my dearest mother in law solved the problem. By then there were about three thousand of us in the Tutura, but God knows she was still bent on making my life even more miserable. Pages 4 and 5

I was ready to end it then and there and the reason I didn't succeed in killing myself was not her doing someone else knocked the glass, with poison, out of my hand. We were suffering terribly while working for the Germans, but I hated them less than I hated her. I remembered how she would ruin, on purpose, even those few happy hours she allotted us through her strict schedule. Sorry about not playing the proper role, but I can only accept those who love me.

Uncle Joe

Back to what was happening. I started to pack after my uncle's third message and was also able to secure a carriage to take both Vera and me to the ghetto. My uncle and cousins there handled me so gently as if I were made of china and when I looked into the mirror I understood why. I did look like as if I'd just come from an asylum. After resting for a few hours, during which no less than three doctors came by to help me, I almost felt normal again. Then Nelly showed up. Even in the ghetto she played the grand dame, gentle and ever so nice. She went on to tell me such stupidity that it actually made me laugh. She explained that I should have stayed back at the Tutura warehouse, because my uncle ought to have brought your mother back instead of me. I took the liberty of pointing out that Joe and Ann happened to be relatives of mine, not my beloved mother in law's; and even if they didn't love me they certainly loved my mother; and it was just too kind of her to be so generous at someone else's expense. Why, she'd be more than willing to act so unselfishly, wouldn't she? Her answer was animated protest - her nerves, you know, she couldn't expose herself to that. At the end Francis, who was just as kind as ever, came and took her away, thank God. This whole episode made me so agitated again that during my first night in the Egerszeg ghetto uncle Joe had to nurse me along, by putting a cold compress over my heart. Polish Jews on display in Krakow, Poland 1939

Encouragement

The next day turned out to be much better. As you know, we shared the place with the Ellenbogens. Lala also came back from Dรถrรถgd and both he and uncle Robby kept consoling me, lifting my spirits until I started to feel like a human being again. At the same time a long letter of yours also made its way to us, which cured me completely. It made me realize that you'd need me again, perhaps when this nightmare is over, so committing suicide would have been wrong. Just reading your handwritten letter made me so happy, it is truly impossible for me to describe. I've been at the end of my rope quite a number of times since then, as you'll see on the following pages. What saved me in each instance was that I remembered the encouragement you gave me in your letter, explaining that we must pay, and dearly, for our future happiness now.

Pages 6 and 7

The "pessimists"

There was always something to be concerned about though. My postcards, addressed to my family were returned one after another, thus creating even more uncertainty. Also, the black clouds of the storm, forecast by the pessimists amongst us, were drawing closer and closer.

Destruction of the Jewish people. By D. Olere

We were to be taken to a concentration camp in Germany or Poland. The information was scattered some of it had all the Jews earmarked for the same concentration camp, some for different ones. I was more relieved than worried about this, hoping that I might be able to hear about my parents and brother after all.

The Hungarians

So it came that we had to vacate the ghetto and move into a huge empty ditch by the brick yards, under God's wide open skies. After collecting our belongings into a bag, which became smaller and smaller each time we were taken to our next destination, we were led to the brick yards by the police. We knew that we'd be there only for a few days. That's because our Hungarian "compatriots" were vile enough to hand over the children and elderly to the Gestapo, even though the Germans only asked for the young and mature population from the ghetto.

In a lot of ways the Hungarians behaved much more despicably than the Germans. They happily got rid of the children and old people too, proclaiming that they would deny food from them anyway... Mother with children in Lubny, Poland 1940

The strip search

The search came even before entering the ditch at the brick yards...you could never, ever forget it. They would first empty our bags completely, while comforting us with the thought that the Germans would take away the bags anyway... Then we had to strip till we were completely naked, so a "midwife" could search inside of us, to make sure we hadn't hidden anything there, while we had to stand on one leg... my stomach gets churning and turns inside out every time I just think about it. They would take every penny, all the documents and pictures we had. When I removed my wedding ring the policeman made a comment in a reassuring fashion, that I'd never have another one again. In turn I replied that one never knew what life had in store for each of us... Ukranian Jewish women made to strip, 1942

It would be such a joy to see the faces of those brutes today, when I stand under the American flag and soak in the view of the Nazi troops surrendering their arms and the Hitler Youth brigade members giving themselves up en masse, while huge American tanks roar by, dwarfing whatever the Germans have. I can't help being amazed by them.

Torture

When the search was over, we were benevolently allowed to enter the ditch. My older cousins were waiting for us there, as they had been kept there since yesterday. Even before getting to the bottom, I witnessed such a horrid sight that my blood begins to boil whenever I have a flashback of it. Bodies of people, beaten and tortured, were rolled down by the Gestapo and their more than willing allies, the Hungarian police troops.

Mass grave digging, Ukraine 1942

I was told that people who were on a list as persons of some (or any) means, were called by name, kicked, beaten and tortured until they gave a detailed account of everything they'd hidden, then were disposed of into the ditch. They also told me that the same atrocity was perpetrated at the Tutura brick yards in the last few days. Those I knew from the Lessner, Kovacs and other families were tortured to near death the same way there.

Terror

Executed by the Waffen SS, Ukraine 1942

Here the shrieks and cries of pain filled the night with terror. The list, containing the names from Tapolca, our hometown, was without doubt forwarded to the Gestapo by the Hungarian Arrow Cross. It might have been a premonition, but just before we were transported away into the ghetto I'd gone to see our attorney Dr. PĂŠk and arranged with him to have our names removed from that list, that is "if there were such a list". He did promise to intervene on our behalf and actually succeeded, because the highly esteemed local Arrow Cross militia held no grudge against us. This was not the case with a number of other people he'd tried to get off the list, as he relayed to me when we were being marched off to the cattle boxcars from the ghetto.

Three days

My reasoning at that time was that even if we were to be kept in the Tapolca ghetto, we would most certainly be interrogated to make sure they would be able to steal everything from us, including whatever we might have stowed away in hidden places. Now, in this ditch, amongst these tortured bodies I realized just how fortunate my premonition turned out to be. This did not mean though, that I could have a moment without worry, as I was readying myself for sleep under God's wide open skies again. My uncle, aunt and every other family member there were still extremely concerned about me. They knew I wasn't on the list but were afraid that my mother in law would deliver me into the hands of the Gestapo, as a final token of her love for me. Three days passed under the cloud of this dreadful prospect.

I was just staggering around the dead or broken bodies of the tortured, not knowing how much longer this inhumanity would last. Hell, at its worst, had to be a vacation resort compared to this !!!... All of us wished we were already in a cattle boxcar, carted away from here, as life was just unbearable at this place anymore. As far as the Hungarian Arrow Cross troops are concerned, they most certainly deserve to go straight to Hell, since they behaved even more bestially than the Gestapo, as it was relayed to us later on by those too who'd been deported from towns all over the country.

Execution in the Ukraine, 1942

The elder rabbi

Well, after three nerve racking days like these, they herded us into the cattle boxcars, but not before taking away even the smallest things we managed to hold onto. I and my relatives from S端meg went together into the same wagon, as I wanted to stay close to them. The clothes we wore and the remains of our last portion of food were all soaking wet from the rain last night.

About 60 of us were pressed into a boxcar. The SS troops were really "generous" - they put some bread, sausage, nuts and dried fruit into each wagon - but how could we think about eating? The train didn't even start rolling when a sniveling SS brat kicked the elder rabbi of S端meg off it, then threw empty water containers at us, for part of the torture we were to be subjected to consisted of a shortage of water. The cattle boxcar was completely enclosed and was also locked in on all sides, of course. I didn't even mind that the train started to move. Didn't even try to guess which way we were going. Just didn't care anymore. We knew we were being deported into a concentration camp, either in Germany or Poland. Mauthausen concentration camp

Gyรถr, my birthplace

What hurt me most was that the Nazis wouldn't even allow the children and the old people to stay behind, back home. Unlike the rest of us, they could not be used as slave laborers, so why deport them along with us?

It was becoming unbearable by the time evening fell upon us. The train stopped for a few minutes to let some air in and I looked out for a second through the opening. We were in Gyรถr, my birthplace, where I'd had such a carefree life as a teenager before marriage...

I most certainly could not remember enjoying many tranquil moments since and seeing the station sign of my town this way broke my heart completely. I haven't been disheartened so much ever since ... High school graduation in Gyรถr, Hungary 1938

On the train

The pain took over to such a degree that I wasn't even aware of what was happening around me. This was a godsend though, as two people went completely insane. I came to my senses after we'd crossed the Hungarian border to Slovakia. We were on the train for the next two days with hardly any food and arrived at our final destination in the morning of the third day.

Arrival at Auschwitz, Poland 1943

Polish camp inmates in striped prison garb and German officers were waiting for us. Huge encampments and wooden barracks hit our eyes at first. There was such a chaos when we were herded off the train that I lost contact with all of my relatives. Standing there in a haze, while men and women were being separated away, I found myself in a row together with Clara and Vera. Bodies of the people who died on the way were now thrown off the cattle boxcars and piled on top of the elderly who were still alive and could have been saved. Poor Mrs. Rosenfeld was amongst them. An inmate was chased away from her when she asked for some water. Nobody could help her by then...

Auschwitz-Birkenau

At last we started to move. Alas, not only the men were separated from us, but the women also were divided into two groups, singles and mothers.The children were taken away from their mothers next .... If they saw women huddling together they'd also separate them from each other. We learned in the meantime that we were in a huge concentration camp which covered sixty square kilometers. Its name was Auschwitz-Birkenau. The Poles also told us that we would be given a shower next and get to see our kin afterward. I was hoping, in the back of my mind, that I'd be able to find my parents. They'd been deported and brought here three weeks ago, as I just heard. Entrance to Birkenau. By D. Olere

After a long stretch of walk we reached the baths. While we were removing our clothes, which had to be left back in the large chamber we were led into first, a contingent of Polish male inmates circulated amongst us naked women so matter of factly as if it had been their God given right. My despair reached the point where the whole sky falling on us would have been no surprise anymore. Just how much more could we be demeaned, after all?

The baths

I didn't have to wait long to find out. We were to go to the next chamber, shoes in hand - the only thing we were allowed to carry with us. There a group of Slovakian Jewish female inmates were waiting for us eagerly, who again displayed even more cruelty toward us than the Germans. They had those military hair cutters in hand. Within seconds we had no hair left - they removed it from everywhere, not just our heads. Once this inhumane treatment was over, we were allowed to take a long shower. Ragged shirts and pants were piled up in the next chamber for us to wear as clothing. Looking around, it was almost impossible to recognize ourselves, bald and in tatters.

Klara and I were holding onto each other while we were searching for Vera in vain, for the pregnant women had been collected and taken away from the shower. A code was then etched into our shirt, while we wore it - some of the ink went right through it and into the skin on my back. I still have the marks. Selected for gassing. By D. Olere

Inmates

Again, we were marched through one camp compound after another, another and another, until we got to Lager B II. There we stood in line all day, under the burning summer sun.

Pit with corpses in Auschwitz, at liberation in 1945

Most people fainted, collapsed, were made to stand up again and again, without given a drop of water, of course. As it turned out, the water was infected with typhus bacteria, which caused spotted fever. Didn't know what to do with Klara, as she was about to faint and fall into my lap every minute. Then I noticed Ilona, who was in terrible shape. Tore off a piece from my shirt and placed it on her head, since the sun was burning our bald heads mercilessly. I wouldn't even pay attention to myself, being so busy with the others around me. Glimpsing around, I saw huge, dilapidated wooden barracks, each with thousands of woman inmates in rags, who were not allowed to go over even to the next block.

Never give up

Standing there in a haze, I suddenly felt someone kissing me, tears falling all over her face. It was Magda, my cousin from Györ, transported here three weeks earlier. We could exchange only a few words, when I felt another embrace from Heda and her sisters. They all slipped away from their barracks to see me, knowing full well that they'll be savagely beaten upon returning. Heda managed to bring me a small cup of black coffee, which I gave to Magda. Within a short time, almost all of my old friends joined us. Each of them asked, warned, beseeched me to remain as strong as I could, mentally, if not physically; to persevere even if there was only dirt for food; never to give up until they were about to kill me, brutally and in cold blood. Corpses of women found at the liberation of Dachau in 1945

Heda told me that they'd been deported together in the same cattle boxcar with my mother and family but were separated from them upon arrival. She didn't know anything more about them. We were herded into a barrack by the evening, about 180 of us into a room not bigger then what our dining room used to be. No need to comment on the comforts of the place, I presume. We were waken up at 3:00 A.M. every night; were lined up into five rows, then made to kneel until 8:00 A.M. This was called the Zühlappel. Afterwards, we'd be given, not every time though, a few gulps of black chicory coffee. Lumps of polenta followed an hour later, which we could hardly swallow, it was so unsavory. Then came another Zühlappel until 6:00 P.M., after which we were given a small piece of bread with margarine. This went on day after day; the only difference was that sometimes the rain washed us out, sometimes the heat became unbearable. The concentration camp was built on a high plateau. It was extremely cold at night, while the heat tormented us during the day.

Final prayer

Then came three days I'll never forget. It was raining incessantly throughout. At night we stood in knee deep water in the barrack while the rain soaked us mercilessly. People started to recite their final prayer before death. The horror we had to endure is just impossible to describe...

I survived the starvation along with the accompanying physical cruelties and other torture in a relatively strong state of mind. Had I been brought here as a young girl, not a wife constantly harassed or abused by people in the family, whose aim was to break my heart in the most jovial manner, I most certainly wouldn't have been able to muster such strength. Here I knew the reason for my suffering -- I was a Jew. But it had hurt me so much more at home, when I couldn't fathom any reason for being tormented by your mother and her side of the family so savagely. Now that I was together with others from Tapolca, they confirmed everything, so this wasn't just something I'd imagined. People are given to exaggeration, I know - but I remember how hard I'd had to fight my mother in law and her ilk for my sanity, while here in Birkenau, Poland, in the midst of the worst concentration camp where people were being mass-butchered, the flames were always visible from the throat of the crematorium and bloodhounds ran rampant, I was in so much better shape emotionally than when she'd been around.... Kaddish in Birkenau. By D. Olere

A shred of paper

The days went by very slowly. Male inmates were sometimes brought over from other parts of the camp for maintenance work, but we were not able to talk to them at all. Once they left a shred of paper in my hand. My sweet little brother was looking for me and my father was also trying to find me. They were searching for my mother too, unfortunately in vain. It's better not to describe what it took me to get a reply back to him... Female SS troopers in custody from the Belsen camp, 1945

This is how five weeks went by, in rags, rained out and hungry, when they had us line up one day. This meant that we'd be taken away for work. Messages from the men always said the same thing - just get away from here to work, it can only be better. We were given clean prisoner garb and sent to the rail cars, fifty to a car. Being transported away prevented me from getting my brother's reply; I haven't heard about my mother since; neither could I learn about the fate of my cousins and girlfriends from Gyรถr, with whom I'd been together in the same lager. We shouldn't forget though, that there were 15 - 18,000 women in the ten barracks which made up the compound. Finding the proverbial needle in a haystack would probably have been easier than learning the whereabouts of somebody you knew there.

Allendorf

Deportation trains in Westerbrok, Germany 1944

We spent two days and two nights on the train, passing through beautiful countryside. The box car's door was left open, there was water for us, so this was a definite improvement over how we'd been treated until now. Finally we arrived at a pleasant small village, by the name of Allendorf, which was our destination. There were a thousand of us and we only had to walk a few kilometers through a gorgeous pine forest to make it to a small camp, which was surrounded by flowers. We were put up comfortably, fourteen of us in Room 13 of Block 6. All of us there had been deported from Tapolca. Each of us had a bunk bed, chair and small table. It was like a dream after the concentration camp in Birkenau. We were given food and plenty of it, along with the opportunity to rest and sleep for the next three weeks. One would think we'd had it made. Even the SS troops treated us well, but not because they really felt like it. Letting us regain our strength provided them with slave laborers who were ready for the job.

The weapons plant

At the end of the third week we got assigned to the B II work detail. Wake up time was 5 A.M., assembly at 6 A.M., followed by a four kilometer walk to the weapons plant. It was a facility of enormous proportions, most of it built underground. I got to know F端rstelle B II only, the part of the plant we were assigned to. It had a nice locker room with showers and there was a canteen too. Day and night shifts alternated each week. Women camp laborers in the Belsen camp, 1944

At first we were just lurching around, for we had never seen a munitions plant before, much less worked in one. Our job was to assemble aerial bombs, hand grenades as well as the famous FA2 rocket bombs. Novels could be written about the time we spent in this facility; the agony we went through; how often we fainted or collapsed because of exhaustion. Not only were we forced to work extremely hard, we also had to handle highly poisonous materials. The regular factory workers were so kind to us that if we could've managed to, we'd have stayed in the plant around the clock.

Poisoned

Months passed by like this, with hard labor being the only constant event of our lives. Food rations became smaller and smaller in the meantime, so it was a miracle that we could still carry on. True, we were provided a half liter of milk every day; except that it was given to us only because it was the only known substance which could neutralize the poisons we were exposed to all day. It would only mitigate the effects of the poisons though, as we were in one state of sickness or another at all times. Nevertheless, without it we'd have been dead a long time ago. God knows, I might even be better off dead, though ...

I myself became seriously ill three times from poisoning. The third time I was so gravely ill that I thought my lungs had been totally destroyed. I decided to end my life then and there, instead of living with diseased lungs, if that were to be my fate. I survived this time too, along with the others. Twice, the large grenades we were assembling fell on my hands. The third time I myself caused them to drop on my right hand when I lost consciousness. Since then my hands forecast the weather better than anyone could ... Slave laborers in the Dachau weapons plant, 1944

February-March of 1945

We were so exhausted by February that even dragging ourselves around in the plant was painful. Family or friends wouldn't ever enter into our thoughts anymore. Our overriding concern at all times was how we could scrape together a little food, such as potato peels. The other slave laborers in our section, especially the French, kept telling us that it would only be a matter of weeks for the British to reach us. The weeks did pass, very painfully, without the British liberating us. There were Serbs, Checks and Russians in the plant too, in addition to the French and our contingent from Hungary. We talked only secretly, for the female SS troopers who patrolled the area would've sheared off our hair first, then shot us instantly, had they been able to catch us. Slave female laborers in the Dachau weapons plant, 1944

There was hardly any food left anywhere by March. We couldn't be made to work hard any longer and stayed in our section of the facility around the clock, not caring about the rules and regulations anymore. We slept on the benches and worked as much as the ever dwindling supply of parts permitted. Even a nail was hard to find anymore. The plant was to be shut down around the 15th or 16th of March, although the official line was that it would be switched over to producing some other type of weaponry. The German workers seemed to believe it, for the Nazi fanatics were spewing their lies so convincingly that they even managed to deceive themselves.

Purim

Purim was approaching. I remember it fell on Tuesday. We were ordered to get ready to march away at 9 P.M. They didn't tell us, of course, where we were to go; we learned though that the British were very close. We became so agitated we went almost crazy - here we were to be marched off and shot dead somewhere in a roadside ditch, as our friendly female SS troopers kept promising - while, at the same time, we were so close to being liberated ... Evening did come that Tuesday after all, as we started off without food again, since there was none left. The irony of it all was that we were ordered to our death march on the eve of Purim. All night long we marched, hungry, exhausted and without knowing where we were or where we were going. Our only solace was the sight of the retreating mass of German troops, which we could now see with our own eyes. Next day we were allowed a rest during the day, to lay down in a cold, semi-frozen field. We were exhausted to such a degree that we hardly knew what we were doing anymore; nevertheless, we were marched off again in the evening. It was 3 A.M. when we arrived at a village, where we spent the rest of the night in two barns. While on the road, an unending stream of German cars and soldiers passed by us. Some of the older soldiers were decent enough to encourage us, and a petty officer of Hungarian or German Hungarian descent even told us to slow down, for the Allies would catch up with us soon. Evacuation of female camp prisoners from Dachau, 1945

Deliverance

When we woke up in the barn Thursday morning we decided to flee, damn the Gestapo and anybody else. About fifty of us slipped away and took to the country road we'd noticed last night. After a two hour walk we reached Dillich, a small village. We made ourselves out to be lost "Hungarian laborers" and were given food as well as a place in a barn by a group of French forced laborers, once they learned where we had really come from. Couldn't sleep almost all night though, as we listened to the sound of the cannons; we were also afraid that someone would set the barn on fire. Upon waking up at dawn, we noticed white flags in the windows and a constant rumbling coming from the street. We all ran out and saw a long line of American tanks. I can't even begin to tell you how we felt about our luck and deliverance from Hell. We were crying, laughing and overall experiencing something which could best be described as a rebirth.

Former female prisoners in Auschwitz, after liberation in 1945

Our lives

Within two weeks we were given living quarters in the castle of Dillich. It was such a dreary place that the twelve of us from Tapolca, who really hated to stay there, moved into a nice, modern house in Borken which was the neighboring town. We have been here for four months now, fully rested and well fed, yet in a complete state of shock and horror, for this has been the first time we could truly comprehend the atrocities and inhumanity we were subjected to by the Nazis. No longer could we be grateful to God or the Americans for our lives; lives of which we do not know if they will have any meaning anymore? Whom will we find alive in our families and how? It's true that this last year was the toughest lesson anyone could have about how to survive; I had nevertheless had more than enough of it ...

Their last steps. By D. Olere

My dear Alex, you must know that I can't live without love and the only reason I am still alive is that I want to be with you again in this life. If you love me as much as I love you, then my suffering was not in vain. If you don't have the same feelings for me you once had, then . . . .

. . . . ..

Epilogue

My mother returned to Hungary in April of 1945. She did find my father and a few remaining family members and friends. About 95% of her and my father's families perished in the Holocaust. They started to rebuild their lives and lost everything again when the Communists nationalized their country store in 1949. This forced them to move to Budapest, the capital, where they lived in the Stalinist Hell till the revolution of 1956 and the Goulash Communism which followed. During these years my mother had three heart attacks, yet she carried on at full speed, making sure they could raise me under the best circumstances possible. Her reward was the times she could come to visit my new family in America, especially her two grandchildren. My father died in 1975; she passed away in 1990, right after her 70th birthday. Thank you, mother. May you rest in peace forever. If anyone, you deserve it.

The Memorial at Yad Vashem, Israel

Credits, Copyrights and Links Writing:

My mother, Mrs. Susan Kaszas

Translation:

Her son, Steven

Editing of this, retitled edition:

June Marshall

Editing of the first A Mother’s Shoah edition: Her grandchildren, Judy and Mark Narration

- diary letter:

Her grandchild, Judy

- foreword:

June Marshall

- prologue and epilogue:

Her son, Steven

Layout and graphics design:

Her son, Steven

Images: 1. National Archives, courtesy of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum's Photo Archives and the University of South Florida's Holocaust Resource Gallery. 2. Family albums and pictures. 3. Paintings by David Olere, courtesy of the Beate Klarsfeld Foundation of Paris, France. World Wide Web links: Cybrary of the Holocaust

http://www.remember.org/

Shamash Holocaust Home Page

http://shamash.org/holocaust/

Survivors of the Shoah/Visual History Foundation

http://www.vhf.org/

Third Temple Foundation

http://www.thirdtemple.org/

United States Holocaust Memorial Museum

http://www.ushmm.org/

University of South Florida’s Gallery of Holocaust Images

http://fcit.coedu.usf.edu/ holocaust/resource/gallery.htm

Publisher: Newmedia Publishing http://newmediapublishing.com © Copyright 2002-2013 All rights reserved. ISBN 1893798275 New, re-titled edition of A Mother’s Shoah published in 1998 All proceeds are donated to the HIAS and the Third Temple Foundation

"Your mother's wartime diary was the first thing I did read after my return . . . and it goes without saying . . . how much it moved me and my wife as well . . . what giants and giantesses the survivors were . . . and are! And that's the reason why their writings are so important for the world to read!" Ron and Phoebe Biscow, Indian Wells, CA "This is a very difficult book to read and to put down. It's hard to read not in the sense of language but in the reader's reaction to the overwhelming historical events that Susan Kaszas describes. The details of her diary, together with actual photos, bring the world of the Holocaust closer to home than any other book, including the Diary of Anne Frank." Ann Bearsley, Scribesworld.com "I have never found a person like your mother. . The way she summarized everything in a few pages, love, sorrow, pain, Nazi crimes and good Germans. She tells the truth like I tried it. She succeeds with less words and leaves a much more powerful legacy.You and your family have performed a miracle of telling the past and relating it to the hope of the present." Fr ed Klein, Los Angeles, CA Author,“No Name, No Number” "All of us here were very impressed by your mother's diary and the least we can do is feature it on our Biography page when it launches." Ximena O'Reilly, Mightywords.com © Copyright 2002 - 2013 Newmedia Publishing Internet: http://love-to-triumph.com

ISBN 1893798364

ISBN EAN 9781893798366