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January 5, 2001/Tevet 17, 5761, Vol. 53, No.14
Jewish ghetto is reminder of Nazi atrocities
Terezin held Jews in WWII, now holds only memories, memorials
MARK GLUCKMAN
Special to Jewish News
Jewish inmates dug the swimming pool to the left of the barracks of the Small Fortress for the enjoyment of the Terezin commandant.
Photo by Mark Gluckman |
After many unsuccessful months trying to enlist friends and/or a workaholic brother to accompany me on such adventures as a historic China trek, an Alaskan cruise and a driving tour of Ireland, I was ready to go anywhere. Perusing the Internet, I found frommers.com, which provides a cornucopia of travel options. There, I discovered a great one-week deal to Prague, Czech Republic. I booked a flight for Nov. 23.
Prague, one of a handful of European cities untouched by the devastation of World War II, has a 1,200-year history and a Jewish community that can be traced to the 10th century.
With a population of 1.4 million, Prague slid away from Communism in 1989 and embraced the Western spirit by way of Capitalism and day-to-day living. Tourists from all over the world visit the city year round. It is vibrant and exciting, yet the back streets of the Staré Mesto (Old Town) are quiet and comforting.
However, Prague's weather in November is miserable, which makes it a fitting time to visit the former Nazi transit camp in the town of Terezin, 35 miles northwest of Prague.
Terezin, during World War II, was a place of starvation and brutality - a temporary home to thousands of Jews who eventually would be shipped via train to Auschwitz or Dauchau. It was gloomy inside but represented by the Nazis as glorious to the outside world.
The town was a fortress built in 1780 by Joseph II of the Hapsburg family, who ruled the Austrian and Hungarian empire. Its purpose was to defend the northern border against Prussia, and it was named after Joseph's mother, Maria Terezia. Although the town could accommodate 14,500 soldiers and hundreds of prisoners, it was never used as a prison.
A small fortress was built at the same time, just one kilometer north of the town, to serve as a prison. Few people were ever incarcerated in the thick-walled, star-shaped fortress until the SS took it over in 1939.
In October 1941, Reinhard Heydrich and the Nazi high command decided to turn all of Terezin into a Jewish ghetto. It was an obvious choice because it was located close to the main Prague-Dresden railway line. The town's 3,500 inhabitants were relocated when the Nazis took over.
Hitler said he would build a city for the Jews to protect them from the stresses and hideousness of war. As a result, Terezin lives in infamy for the cruel trick that SS Chief Heinrich Himmler perpetuated within its walls.
Children played and a concert was performed in the park on a bright spring day in late June 1944. Shops were laden with clothes, toys, baked goods and endless varieties of meat and cheese. The candy shop overflowed with bonbons and chocolates.
Three foreign observers - two from the Swiss Red Cross - came to Terezin to find out if the rumors of Nazi atrocities there were valid. In inspecting the camp, they determined that the treatment of the Jews was acceptable. The Nazis had staged and carefully planned the 'beautification' of the camp. Every detail of the visit was minutely choreographed. They even transported 7,500 of the sick and elderly Jews to Auschwitz, so that the town would not look crowded or the inhabitants unhealthy. Little girls ran up to an SS commandant and remarked, "Only sardines again?"
The SS took Jews from nine countries there for "safe keeping." They ranged from famous musicians to writers to artists to great thinkers. Culture flourished from the first weeks of its existence. Drama, poetry, painting, opera, choir singing, cabaret and lectures were encouraged. It is reported that enough symphony-trained musicians were in the ghetto to staff two philharmonic orchestras.
There were sports teams and underground -though not well hidden - religious services. Even satire about the conditions of the camp was permitted. This open acceptance and tolerance was what the Nazis wanted the world to see.
Letters were allowed in and out of Terezin during the first few years, and censorship was not overly strict. Leniency was allowed here because the Nazis knew the ultimate fate of the Jews - they planned for them to be shipped to death camps.
The positive public relations for the camp was priceless. It provided optimism for the prisoners and enhanced the Nazis' control. The prisoners were able to document the entire history of Terezin in greater depth than any other camp. More than six thousand paintings, along with journals, musical pieces and crafts were found hidden all over the ghetto after the liberation.
Terezin, even today, is eerie. What remains are 1,500 inhabitants and dozens of empty shops. The 18th century city grid plan perpetuates Terezin's grey soullessness. Only an occasional flower box adorns a window, and no house or apartment building is brightly or cheerfully painted. The stark streets still echo with the sounds of booted soldiers and secret police.
As I walk alone on the streets of Terezin and enter the confines of the desolate prison, the barking of a large dog breaks the haunting silence.
"Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work Makes One Free), the same words used in Auschwitz-Birkenau, are emblazoned upon the entry arch of the fortress. Walking under the sign deprives me of all spirit: There is no one else in the compound. My pace is tortoise-like one moment, guarded and edgy the next. I am not comfortable.
Can I possibly imagine how prisoners fared in this brutal environment as I stand in a windowless four-by-six-foot isolation cell with manacles attached to the wall? I think not: I am wearing two sweaters, thermal socks, a ski jacket and an umbrella that shields the rain.
One rarely hears the name Terezin mentioned when speaking of Nazi atrocities and concentration camps. There were no mass machine gun executions, gas chambers or horrific medical testing. Terezin was not used to exterminate gays, gypsies, Jews or political prisoners. It was a transit camp. More than 140,000 people passed through its gate, and about 70,000 ended up in Auschwitz-Birkenau and Treblinka.
At the height of the war, the Terezin ghetto was overpopulated and held more than 55,000 Jews. As a result, thousands died of disease or starvation. Their bodies were disposed of in a small crematorium with four gas ovens one kilometer southeast of the ghetto.
Ironically, although the story of Terezin was more fully documented by its inmates than that of any other Nazi concentration camp, its tragic history remains largely unknown to many students of the Holocaust. The works of art created within its walls can be found in museums and traveling exhibits, the symphonies heard in a rare performance.
Perhaps William Shakespeare said it best when he wrote, "The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."
Mark Gluckman, a Phoenix resident, is a professional photographer with Jewish News.
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