Nechama Birnbaum - The Redhead of Auschwitz: A True Story

The drums turn out to be the most life-altering sound I will ever hear, but when they first boom, I barely register the noise. They thud dully in the distance, a background noise to the story that is playing in my head. I know I am letting my mind drift and I revel in the freedom of letting it go. I dont like daydreaming at home, even if I dont have any chores. There are no rules against daydreaming in my family, it is simply something no one does. My mother is swift and efficient and keeps busy all the time. I have never seen her lost in thought aside from when she strokes my fathers old coat that we beg her to throw out. So, I reserve my daydreaming for the pockets of time when I am walking to and from work. The stream laps next to me, the dragonflies hum, and the sweeping leaves of the weeping willow dance in the breeze, creating a soft orchestra of sounds that lull me into the space where nothing matters, and everything is good. But then, Boom! The sounds again. This time it registers. Drums? Why is someone pounding on drums in middle of the day?

I turn right to follow the sound and see two Hungarian soldiers march by. One wears a drum on a cord like a necklace and he pounds on it emphatically. The other carries a trumpet in one hand and a megaphone in the other.

All Jews to the Town Square! he shouts. Attention! Attention! All Jews to the Town Square!

It is those Hungarians again. They are always trying to assert their control over our small town, to prove they really have a stake in it. They dont. My village, Crasna, is on the border between Hungary and Romania and the two countries fight for us like toddlers fighting for a toy. I would also fight for my village. She is beautiful. Jagged mountains line the horizon like huge fortresses and the stream wraps around us like a moat wraps a castle. You would think the stream would protect us, but the Hungarians got us in their grubby hands four years ago. Since then, things have been a little different, but we are used to that now.

In the Town Square there are dozens of people milling about. It looks like the eve of a holiday, but instead of shopping at the small market stands, the people are crowded around a podium that is set up in front of the church. A Gendarmerie Officer stands on a small stage, holding a megaphone.

Attention all Jews! Attention all Jews! He is shouting into the megaphone. Most of the town is here, not only Jews. I see my younger sister, Leah, in the corner with her friends. I see my brother, Yecheskel, with a few of his friends from yeshiva. I spot my mothers best friend, Emma Kokish, but I do not see Mama.

I said attention! the officer bellows.

The hubbub quiets down.

All Jews must go home and pack a bag. Fill your suitcase with only clothes and food. It is very important that you leave all your valuables at home. He smiles. All your valuables must be out for us to see. If they are not, you do not want to know the consequences. Go home and pack up, be ready to go very soon. You should start now. You will want to be ready. He puts down his megaphone and steps off the stage. The hubbub in the square starts again, but this time it has a buzz of confusion. I swallow hard as a feeling of nausea rises in my throat.