The Mark of David

“Excuse me,” the restless old man asked. “I seem to have misplaced my suitcase. Can you see it?”

The obvious concern in the tone of his voice, solicited an instant response from the young man standing beside him.

“I see many suitcases,” replied the young man. “What colour is it?”

“You have me at a disadvantage, the old man curiously responded. “What colour do suitcases usually come in?”

The peculiarity of the question immediately brought to light that the old man was blind. Without drawing unwanted attention upon him, the young man reached for the nearest suitcase, then gently placed it at the old man’s feet.

“There! It was closer than you think,” he explained – hoping the old man wouldn’t recognise the deceitful tone in his voice. But before the old man could shift it between the protection of his frail legs, a guard snatched it from his grasp.

“You must leave all personal belongings here while you enter the shower rooms,” the guard instructed. “Don’t worry, no-one will steal them. If they do, I will have them shot…”

The callous statement alarmed the young man, who looked up and down the courtyard for any possible means of escape. Only moments ago, he and several wooden carriages of men had disembarked from the cattle train that transported them to this unidentified location, resembling some type of confined camp. Estimating that approximately ninety people stood in rows along the track, he studiously watched the train reverse back through the fortified gates of the camp - leaving him and others - young and old, huddled together in small groups, watching helplessly, their belongings being seized and reappropriated as property of the Third Reich. Stormtrooper-looking guards methodically stacked suitcases into one neatly sculpted pile, resembling a miniature version of the great pyramids of Egypt. At the base of the arranged suitcases, jewellery collected into used ammunition crates brimmed over the edges. To the side of these glittering pieces of gold and silver possessions, lay paintings, framed photographs, and an assortment of brass menorahs too valuable to leave behind.

“These are now all property of the Third Reich,” a portly guard bellowed. “On behalf of the Fuhrer, I thank you for your war contributions.”

“What does he mean?” The confused old man asked.

The young man’s scowling voice, spat out his interpretation. “He means that he is a thief…”

Studying the precious pilfered possessions, the young man found it distastefully amusing that the multitude of generational heirlooms discarded into what looked like waste piles, resembled a swashbuckling assortment of stolen booty - as if awaiting the famous pirate, Captain Blackbeard, to arrive at any moment to ship them all off to destinations Caribbean.

Anything worth anything was stripped from the prisoners, leaving them only with a thin layer of clothes struggling to keep them warm beneath their overcoats. The eclectic gathering of individual detainees stood shivering in the frosty air, too frightened to ask why they were there for fear of being beaten. However, one identifiable yellow star sewn onto the breasts of their overcoats, answered the most silent of queries. They all had one thing in common. They all were of the Jewish faith, corralled and incarcerated for that sole incriminating reason only - helplessly at the mercy of their heavily armed, ruthless captors.

“Nothing to worry about,” cracked the newest white lie straining the young man’s voice beyond emotional control. “…It will be nice to get clean again, won’t it.”

His casual comment was prompted by the fresh memory of being trapped for weeks on end in the Warsaw ghetto, leaving him and most of the others in this current situation, filthy and stinking to high heaven. The Nazi occupiers had starved them into submission, ransacked their homes, and carted them off initially as political prisoners. Treating them like livestock, the men were crammed into small train carriages fit only for animals - reeking with the scent of an unkempt abattoir – a cruel subliminal message of what was to come.

“There’s a funny smell in the air,” the old man pointed out.

“Perhaps, it’s all the dirt and shit washing off the people,” the attempted explanation spat out, trying to allay growing suspicions of what was really being played out in front of them.

“…Reminds me of the trenches in the previous war… Oy vey… Unmistakably, the smell of death. You can never mask that odour or erase it from nasal memory…”

“You were in the Great War, old man?”

“Boris, my young friend. Please call me Boris… Yes, we were under the command of the Central Powers, fighting as a Polish army. Back then, the Germans saw us as a future colony for them. In the end, we just became a Polish dog on a Russian leash – a Regency Kingdom, was the term used. However, when the Tsar fell in 1917, our leaders started to cooperate with Russia – who supported our right to self-determination. After the Western powers added their support, we eventually became a sovereign nation…”

Running his fingers gently across his face, Boris lost himself in a moment of painful recollection.

“I still bear the battle scars on my face – as your unmolested young eyes can probably see. My own are permanently dark to the horrors of war; however, every explosion, every fallen comrade of every second of every minute, still haunt my dreams… Blind in physical appearance, I can still see everything in my mind. This fragile old man you see before you, was once young and strong and virile – full of chutzpah… But war changed me, then age took its toll, and life cruelly followed on. I turned into a kvetch, complaining of this and of that, and forgot my folly of youthful ambition. It seems like yesterday, when I was just a young schmoe trying to make a living as a blind cobbler. How I’d like to live my life all over again… get one more chance to do things differently…”

Realising his rambling speech might not be interesting to young ears, Boris, refocussed and changed tac.

“…Boots, young man. Take care of them and they will last your whole life. Do you know, I can tell just by the way your shoes sound when you walk on the street, whether they need repairing or not… I’d say some of these schmendriks ordering us around, could do with some fresh soles and heels to comfort their sore feet.”

“You have needed skills, Boris… and you are a war veteran. Why have they included you with all of us so-called political prisoners?”

The old man’s hands traced the stitched emblems attached to both of their coats.

“Like you, young man. I bear the mark of David. For centuries, it has been a symbol of slavery, a story of emancipation, and a beacon of our faith. However, as in centuries past, it still sadly remains a target for persecution… Our captors see not the old soldier that fought alongside their forefathers, they see only an old man with a yellow star on his chest. This is not another exodus of our people, this is a hidden agenda of something very unholy, led by meshuggenehs… madmen! Perhaps, God – in his wisdom - has finally abandoned us to our own fate.”

“I think it is God’s way of telling us it is time to rise up and be counted.”

“Do not fool yourself, my friend. This is man’s way alone – not God’s. Man, is telling us we are not all equal in God’s eyes. Man is waging war against fellow man… War is always man’s way…”

Boris abruptly stopped in the middle of his sentence, realising his manners had run amiss during his rant.

“…Forgive me… What is your name?”

“It’s Leo. Short for Leopold.”

“…Tell me, Leo. What do you see over where that vile smell is coming from?”

Leo took a moment to look toward the direction that Boris was pointing, before inhaling deeply – almost catching his breath at the stench. Across the railway tracks at the perimeter of the camp, were two purpose-built brick buildings. A neatly printed sign above the entrances to each building spelled the word, Duschen – the German word for showers. Both buildings were alike. Single storey, long and thin, gabled roof, windowless, mostly nondescript – except for the fact that groups of men stood outside them, waiting to enter each building. He also noted that the shower building on the right had an extra high wall shielding the other side from view. Beyond that, Leo could make out another partially hidden building with a tall smokestack, bellowing thick grey smoke from its chimney at an industrious pluming volume. Relaying this information to Boris, Leo had a sudden morbid thought pass through his mind that perhaps the shower building on the right was not as it appeared to be. Nazi guards had started to separate the first thirty people ahead of him. Those in good physical shape were directed to line up outside the left building and those of crippled persuasion, unsound of mind – the twitchers, and the old, were led over to the building on the right.

“I sense movement,” Boris perceptively commented.

“Yes, I think it’s shower time,” Leo casually replied. “Finally… Won’t it be nice to stand under some hot water flowing over our heads, warming our bodies…”

“Is there a smokestack next to the left building?”

“No,” was Leo’s unemotional response. “Perhaps, the one on the right heats both showers…”

Leo studied the people being led towards the buildings. It was apparent to everyone that the guards were keeping the less abled in a separate group headed for the building on the right. At the entrance to both buildings, he could hear the guards shouting at the men to take off their lice-infested clothes, then forcibly shoving the naked men into the shower rooms.

“New clothes will be waiting for you at the exit,” Leo could hear the portly guard shouting. “Now Schnell! Go Fast, or you’ll catch your death of cold out here.”

The guards’ disingenuous concern for the health of his charges, reflected off the shower building walls, then faded into the cold morning air – a throwaway to placate the concern of the interred. To Boris, it was indicative of reality revealing its true nature. He was well versed in sensing words that were vacant and mocking in their tone. Like a dark cloud arriving before a storm, the cynicism escaping from the Nazi guards’ insincere concern, broadcasted a loud and ominous warning of approaching uncertainty ahead, plus an even louder and unsympathetic apathy to the plight of Boris and Leo’s people.

Leo spent the next several minutes watching the shower building for any activity. The sound of splashing water, excited voices, and the re-emergence of cleaner and disinfected men clothed in striped pyjamas, brought a sense of relief to his anxiety.

“See? They look happier all cleaned up and marching off to their barracks,” his relaxed observation calmly attempted to curtail his recent growing doubts.

“Tell me, Leo,” Boris queried. “Which of the two buildings are the clean ones exiting from?”

“The one on the left, Boris.”

“…And the other…?

“It’s hard to tell. I can’t see beyond the wall blocking my view.”

“Use your ears, Leo. What do you hear?”

Leo turned his head to one side and strained to hear anything that would give him an answer to Boris’s question. Something caught his attention enough to mention.

“Screams… I hear… someone protesting… crying… and there’s someone on the roof. He’s standing on the other side of it, but I can see his head and he’s wearing a….”

Leo’s commentary suddenly went deathly silent.

“What is it, Leo? What is it he is wearing?”

His voice quivering from the combination of the chilly air and nervousness, Leo placed a steadying hand on Boris’s shoulder.

“…It’s a… gas mask.”

“There!” Boris exclaimed. “You now see the truth… Do you understand the truth that is blatantly assaulting your eyes?”

Shocked by what he was seeing, a dejected Leo hung his head in disbelieving shame, then quietly replied, “I think I do…”

“Don’t think… know it… It is here, it is now. If I had become an accountant – like my mother wanted – I would say that we have come to the final total. The tachlis… The bottom line. No sooner have we met, I suspect that our brief friendship is coming to an end, Leo… and what a shame because I think we could have become mishpokhe… like family…”

Leo continued to hang his head, stifling a tear. Seeing this, Boris gently lifted Leo’s chin, causing him to look at Boris’s war-scarred face.

“Before we head in opposite directions, Leo… and we are most certainly destined to… Promise me one thing.”

“Yes, yes. Of course, Boris. What is it?”

“See everything, remember everything you see, and tell everyone what you remember… No matter how long you are in here, stay alive by whatever means at your disposal… Promise me, Leo…”

“I will. Yes, of course I will.”

“Never let this be forgotten… We are standing next to railway lines, prisoners in the freezing middle of a concentration camp with Nazis telling us where to go, what to do… Everything here is wrong, Leo. You won’t be able to make it right, but when it is over, you have to be able to recall it for others to re-tell…”

A flurry of activity approached the recent arrivals, then orders were issued for them to walk single file toward the shower buildings. Leo noticed immediately; the distinct selection of individuals directed toward the building on the right.

“Put your hand on my shoulder, Boris.” Leo instructed. “I’ll guide you.”

Before Boris could reach for Leo’s shoulder, two guards separated them.

“Come, old man,” directed the portly guard. “You must pass through the special shower… Don’t worry, there will be someone in there to guide you through.”

“Remember,” shouted Boris, as he was led away. “See everything… remember everything.”

An anxiety suddenly welled up inside Leo, like the rush of a terrifying sense of foreboding washing over him. As he was pushed toward the left building, his eyes once again filled with tears.

“Boris!” Leo shouted in reaction to the realisation of what was happening. “Boris!”

“Think of me,” Boris yelled back. “…Think of me when you shower. For it may be me heating the water…”

How Boris had managed to make light of the dark moment, briefly disarmed Leo. Ordered to strip, he and the group accompanying him, were forcibly pushed into the shower building - the door behind them slamming shut. The echoing sound of the door bolt locking them in, created an air of collective fear reverberating throughout the chamber, causing desperate cries from the most terrified. A clunking sound rattled the overhead pipes. Some men dropped to their knees to pray, while others stood heads bowed ready to accept their fate, like subdued animals in a small cage. Leo closed his eyes, his face pointed upwards toward the shower heads. In an instant, hot water gushed out, enveloping the men with cascading warmth. The relief and delight emanating from everyone was emancipating. Grabbing bars of soap from the floor, they began to wash themselves, trying to scrub away the reality of their predicament – as if they were in the middle of a bad nightmare and their abrasive actions would wake them up. Leo placed his bar of soap under his nose. It had a slight cleansing fragrance, but an undertow scent of something like cooking fat. But, he needed to get clean, so began to lather the bar all over his body and head, unashamedly enjoying the pleasure of showering.

Within minutes, the water was turned off, leaving the cooling men to dry themselves with torn rags laying in a floor pile at the exit door. Quickly donning a pair of striped pyjamas, Leo scavenged a pair of shoes, then exited outside where his group was organised into two lines, awaiting further instructions. Noticing that some of the guards wore similarly striped clothing as his, he tried to strike up a conversation with one of them.

“Pardon me,” he politely asked one of the inmate guards. “Did you see the old man I was with?”

“No,” was the curt reply. “Now, move along!”

“He was blind. They took him into the other shower building.”

“If he’s gone into that building, then he is truly gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… stop asking stupid questions and start marching…!”

With several guards flanking the long line of two-abreast men, Leo and the others were led away. Turning his head back toward the other building, all he could see was a thick plume of smoke being blown in several directions by a swirling wind that had swept through the camp. He had survived the first selection process. There would be many more to come. Many challenges lay ahead to stay alive and be counted for.

The short-term warmth of the hot shower quickly made way to the freezing cold morning creeping through Leo’s new clothes. Marching toward an unsure future, Leo visually scanned the camp and its surroundings.

“See everything,” he mumbled Boris’s words. “Remember everything you see… Stay alive by whatever means at your disposal, then tell everyone what you remember…”

***

After four hard years of cruelty, starvation, and hard labour, Leo miraculously did survive the camp that was eventually liberated by the allies. For sixty more years, he continued to tell the story of Boris and of all the countless others that had disappeared at the hands of madmen - never to be seen again. He faithfully remembered everything he saw up until his final days. At his request, the epitaph on his gravestone read,

Here lies Leo, witness to the brutal horrors of man, survivor of the madness of meshuggenehs, and loyal friend to the Boris’s of this world… Shalom…