I have learned to swallow dirt, and live worms. I have learned to live with fear and hunger and abuse. I have grown into a concentration-camp inmate. In these seven-and-a-half weeks I have changed. It was before I knew that there were no limits to human cruelty. It was before I saw people tortured and shot. Before I experienced decimation, tasted death itself. Before I became part of death and blood and naked horror. We saw this train station seven-and-a-half weeks ago, when we arrived. Where are we going? The train station of Krakow comes into view. The trucks bounce through winding roads among the familiar hills. The endless caravan of trucks pulls out of the square, out of the camp. On a scorching August morning, trucks pull into the camp square, and we are loaded onto them. More rumors: Russian troops are rapidly advancing. At Zählappell a whisper reverberates through the ranks. PLASZOW, JULY 20-AUSCHWITZ, AUGUST 8, 1944Ī shocking sight on the square-the flag with the brilliant red swastika is flying at half-mast.
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