Ernest W. Michel - Promises Kept: One Mans Journey Against Incredible Odds

M y oldest daughter Lauren, her husband Chaim, and their three children live in Jerusalem, Israel. He is an architect; Laurie is a professional tour guide and is in great demand.

My second daughter Karen, her husband Rabbi Brian Daniels, and their three children live in Albany, New York. Karen is a clinical social worker, and Brian is Associate Commissioner for the Office of Family and Childrens Services in New York State.

My son Joel and his wife Terry live in Independence, Missouri. He drives a limousine. Terry teaches art.

Honzo Marek, with whom I worked in the infirmary in Auschwitz-Buna and with whom I escaped on April 18, 1945, remained one of my closest friends. Each April 18th, together with Amy and his wife, Martha, also a Holocaust survivor, we celebrated as our birthday. They retired and moved to Virginia. Honzo died ten years ago from a heart attack. I visited him only a few weeks before his death when the Blacks-burg, Virginia, high school put on a play about his life and survival.

Felix Schwartz was the third of our trio. We worked together in the Buna infirmary and escaped together. He never married and lives in a small village in Pennsylvania. Felix has no recollection of the past and totally erased it from his memory. I met him once and I must admit it was a great disappointment.

My mentor, Lieutenant Albert Hutler, his wife Leonore, and their daughters Susie and Frankee became my family after my arrival in the United States. Al and Lee died in the 1980s. I will be forever grateful to them for the role they have played in my life.

Dr. Samuel Samuelides was born in Greece and arrived in Auschwitz Buna with a transport of Greek Jews in 1944. He was a doctor in the Auschwitz Buna infirmary where Honzo, Felix and I worked. He is one of the many to whom I owe my life.

Gerd Hartog was my close friend in Paderborn before we were deported to Auschwitz. He became a Capo in the camp. The last time I saw him was on the death march in January 1945. All efforts to try to find what happened to him were unsuccessful. I must assume he died before the end of the war.

Of the approximately one hundred inmates of the forced labor camp in Paderborn, (see Chapter 4) who arrived in Auschwitz in March 1943, all women were immediately sent to the gas chambers. Of the men, five are still alive, among them my close friends Piese and Onny, who live in a kibbutz in Israel.

Stefan Heyman is the man most responsible for my being alive (see Chapter 7). He survived the death march, was liberated, returned to Berlin, and became Minister of the Interior of the East German government. He is no longer alive. I will be forever grateful to him for being responsible for saving my life.

Ben Meed, my friend and co-chairman at the World Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors in Jerusalem in 1981 (see Chapter 26), became the founding Chairman of the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors. He held this position until his death in 2007 and was responsible for creating the largest database of survivors. He is sorely missed.

Bob Lindsay and his wife Ginny (see Chapter 21) live in retirement in California. We have stayed in touch throughout the years and make it a point to see each other. Bobs family has played a major role in my life. I will never forget that it was his father who arranged for an affidavit for me to come to the United States.

Joseph Mengele, the death doctor in Auschwitz who conducted the horrible medical experiments on Auschwitz inmates, including Diana (see Chapter 15), escaped to Argentina and lived there for many years under an assumed name. He drowned. His remains have been positively identified.

Rudolf Hoess, the commandant of Auschwitz, appeared as a witness at the Nuremberg War Crimes Trial. I was there the day he testified as a witness for the prosecution (see Chapter 6). He was sentenced to death by a Polish court and executed on a gallow overlooking the camp where he killed so many. Of 617 SS defendants tried in Polish courts, thirty-four were sentenced to death.

I am writing these lines in the fall of 2007. It is a beautiful evening, crisp and clear, as I write the last chapter of Promises Kept . I look out the window of our weekend home in upstate New York, at the lake, the trees. It is quiet. The sun is going down.

I am now 84 years old. I was 70 when I wrote my earlier book. I have lived a full and productive life, but tell myself It aint over yet. Considering what I have lived through I cant believe I have made it this far. I am a very lucky man.

The days of playing tennis are gone. My legs and my head dont get along too well. They dont do what I tell them to do. I walk slower than I used to and have trouble with my balance. But otherwise, I am fine.

I was sixteen when I was arrested and sent to my first forced labor camp, not yet twenty when I arrived in Auschwitz, and twenty-two when I escaped from the final death march.

The number of survivors is shrinking. In ten, maybe fifteen years hardly any survivors will be around. Then, only books, documentaries, films, museums and Holocaust education centers will be left to tell the story of the most devastating genocide in history.

I have been given a gift, the greatest gift of allthe gift of life against all odds. Never would I have believed I would live to see the year 2007. I love life! I cherish every moment. I wake up in the morning and greet every day as a present. I hope you can, too.

I love America and will never forget the sacrifices made by so many to make it possible that those of us who survived would enjoy the freedom and liberty we all have in this country.

I never gave up hope, even when it seemed hopelessness was the only choice. I have tried to make up for what happened. That is why I have written Promises Kept . One of my greatest satisfactions is the ability to communicate with students in schools, colleges, universities, not only about what happened to me and my generation but about our obligation to do everything we can so that what happened in the past shall never happen againto anyone, anywhere, anytime.

Every person has ups and downs. That is life. When things get tough, there is always hope, always a new day. Never forget this.

I knew it was the synagogue that was lighting up the darkness on that cold November morning in 1938. I knew it immediately. It was the logical target for what the Nazis called their counterattack. It was their revenge for the death, three days before, of a minor German consular official. He was shot at point blank range in the German embassy in Paris by a young Jew, Herschel Grynszpan.

Last night, the radio blared out the ominous words:

The international Jewish conspiracy will find out once and for all what will happen when they attack an innocent German official. The full wrath of the German people will be felt soon.

Now, hours later, our synagogue in Mannheim was aflame. That couldnt beit was too far away. Mutti and Papi must be awake also. They would know what

I turned and started toward the door before I realized I wasnt in my own bedroom in Mannheim. I was in my rented room in Bruchsal, some 20 miles away, where I lived and worked as an apprentice in a cardboard factory.

Fully awake now, I fought off a fifteen-year-olds sharp pang of panic at being far from home at a moment of great danger, unprotected and unable to protect those I loved most dearly. I hurried back to the window. Sadly, the light came from the right directionit had to be the Bruchsal synagogue blazing out there. I dressed quickly and ran out into the street.

I raced toward the flames, now shooting high up into the sky. Others were running alongside me, but I failed to recognize any of them. I got the impression of wide eyes all around me, filled with excitement or concern. Why were they running? To help? To gloat?