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What’s going to happen to us? — Lublin District Memorial Book
A new research publication by the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, titled Księga Pamięci. Transporty Polaków do KL Auschwitz z Lublina i innych miejscowości Lubelszczyzny 1940-1944 (Memorial Book: Transports of Poles to Auschwitz Concentration Camp from Lublin and Other Localities in the Lublin Region, 1940-1944), was launched on October 28 at Lublin Castle.
The Memorial Book, the product of several years of work by a team of Museum historians, presents the stories of more than 7 thousand residents of the Lublin area who were deported to Auschwitz under the German occupation. Most of them were murdered in the camp. The intention of the authors, who collected and analyzed vast quantities of factual material, was to commemorate the victims.
In the three volumes of the Lublin District Memorial Book, a separate chapter is devoted to each transport. Each of these chapters includes excerpts from memoirs by prisoners in that transport, as well as copies of original documents and photographs found in the Archive of the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum or submitted after the war by former prisoners and their families.
This is the fourth in the series of Memorial Books describing the fate of Poles sent to Auschwitz “Districts” into which the Germans divided occupied Poland. Previous Memorial Books were dedicated to deportees from the Warsaw District (with the names of 26 thousand deportees), the Cracow District (18 thousand), and the Radom District (16 thousand). Lublin District Memorial Book were published thanks to financial support of the Foundation of Memory to the Victims of Auschwitz Extermination Camp in Oświęcim.
Excerpt from a memoir by Stanisław Tomaszewski, prisoner no. 72239, describing his arrival in Auschwitz and his first day in the camp:
“They opened the doors of the train car. The blood-curdling screams of the SS men, the vicious barking of the dogs, the sound of blows from the clubs wielded by the henchmen who were prisoner functionaries who had come from the camp and the rifle butts of the SS escort, the aggressive growling of the dogs that jumped on us and tore away chunks of our clothing and flesh. Groans, weeping, prayers, curses, and the blinding glare of the spotlights playing over us—this was the setting for “disembarkation” on the ramp at Auschwitz. Lined up in rows of five, hounded by the dogs, we were pushed and shoved through the gate of the camp. The camp was still asleep. We stood, waiting. We were not allowed to sit down. There was great uncertainty over what would come next. Would we go to the showers or to the gas chamber? I read the inscription over the camp gate—Arbeit macht frei—for the second and the tenth time, while alternately praying and thinking about how to get out of there. The gong sounded, the signal for the camp to wake up. Lights went on in the barracks. An incredible uproar arose and we heard voices shouting commands in German, curses, and cries. Prisoners came running out of the blocks. Within a short time, a deathly silence fell and we could hear only brief reports in German. I understood them. The Blockführers were informing the Rapportführer about the number of prisoners in their blocks. After a moment, there were shouts and commotion once again, and calls to form up into labor kommandos (groups). I could not believe my ears—an orchestra was playing a march.”
Excerpt from a memoir by Ernestyna Bonarek, in camp under the name Lassok, describing her arrival:
”The boxcar, with 68 women prisoners from Lublin Castle crowded inside, stopped at some station. One of the women looked out through the tiny peephole. ‘Oświęcim,’ she cried, fainted, and fell to the floor. A moment later, they unlocked the train car. From all directions we heard the shouts of the SS men, bellowing: Raus!. They lined us up in rows of five. The stronger women supported the weaker. Spotlights illuminated the area... They herded us somewhere in the darkness of night. Our procession lasted for perhaps half an hour, before we saw new barbed wire, guard towers, and a gate with the inscription Arbeit macht frei. After passing through it, I had the impression that I had entered a vast cemetery where living beings, no longer bearing much resemblance to people, were being buried. ‘We’re not going to get out of here,’ I told my sister. I immediately regretted having done so, because she trembled at the words and clutched my hand tightly. We walked along the main road through the middle of the camp. Around us was deathly silence. The disturbing odor of burned human bodies hung in the air. At the far end of the camp, next to the barbed wire that marked off a sector of the men’s camp, stood the long building known as the ‘sauna.’ They forced us inside. It was dimly lighted. We had trouble recognizing each other. All around us was silence. They left us alone. Mortal dread appeared on every face. Each of us was asking herself the same question: What’s going to happen to us? Is life in these conditions possible? Will they keep us alive, or kill us?”
