War Camp
I strided off of the elongated death machine with about 35 other prisoners into an open field. The people who were waiting in anticipation for our arrival were all screaming and jumping and chanting cult-ish songs that they all seemed to somehow know the words to.
“Do you know when we get our first food ration?” the small girl next to me whimpered quietly like someone was forcing her to speak.
“Uh- no I don’t I’m sorry. Maybe ask one of the soldiers?”
I stumbled through the open field of dead grass to the closest soldier I could find. He was a tall and husky man, probably in his mid 20s. His black stubble was poking through his pale and fleshy skin. You could tell he shaved recently, but his middle eastern genes didn’t let him keep a clean shave for more than a day.
“Excuse me, sir? Do you know when the next food hour is?”
“In two hours. Why aren't you in your bunk yet?” he said in a threatening voice. Well someone’s mother must have not loved him as a kid. I thought to myself. I let out a snicker, but I didn’t realize that I was still standing in front of him.
“Do you think this is funny? Get! Get!”
I must have hit a sensitive spot because he was fuming. You could see the steam coming out of his ears as his face turned to the bright red shade of a freshly grown cherry tomato. Before any more of his veins popped out of his head, I sped walked away into the crowd of the other prisoners. We were then instructed to get in a line.
I shoved my way in between two girls who looked about my age. The girl on my left turned to look at me. I smiled a hopeful grin and she nodded her head up in acknowledgement, her eyebrows raising showing the creases in her forehead.
“Yair Infield, B-12!” said a scary, booming voice. That voice was calling out names and assigning us to our bunkers.
“Maital Perlin, G-3!”
I looked down the line and a tall and beautiful girl picked up the few things she had and walked over to the other girls who were also assigned to G-3.
“Shira Pinker, G-7!”
The girl to the right of me had been named, Shira Pinker. I take a small step to the left to give her room to pick her things up off of the dirty ground.
“Thanks.” she whispered quietly to me. Her brown, wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she looked tired. We all were. She had bags under her eyes but you could tell she was trying to pretend that they were invisible.
“No problem.” I responded. She walked over to the others in G-7 and rested her things down.
“Ari Gould, B-11, Hannah Miller, G-1, Elliot Fienblatt, B-12, Jacob Glass, B-4!”
sThe booming (and still scary) voice called name after name. The once horizontal line that stretched out was now a patchy streak made up of clumps of anxious teenagers, including me.
“Kaela Krigel, G-7”
That was the girl I asked about meal time from earlier.
“Jordan Ertischek, B-2”
Did they forget me? My name still hadn’t been called and I was starting to get nervous. My palms started sweating like they had been drenched in water. Are they not saying my name for a reason? I thought to myself. Do they have other plans for me?
“Aria Levitt, G-9!”
Still nothing.
“Yona Berger, G-3”
I was one of eight people left, and that’s when I heard it. My name had finally been called.
“Sophia Goldberg, G-7!”
My heart was pounding so hard, it felt like a rabid animal was trying to escape my chest. I picked up my duffel bag and looked over to the 12 other girls who were assigned to the G-7 bunker as well. Both the girls who were standing next to me in the original line, whose names I have finally learned were Shira Pinker and Aviva Salitra, were standing there timidly and scared. I quickly walked over to the group and patiently waited with them. Everyone seemed so on edge. The ground under my feet felt rock hard, almost like no life had touched it until now. As I was scoping out my depressing surroundings, a soldier sauntered over to our group.
She was a woman around 5’6”. She had flowing brown hair and a smile that could make your heart feel warm. Everytime she smiled though it was quickly covered up, almost like smiling was forbidden. I mean in a scary place like this, I wouldn’t be surprised. My thought was interrupted by her surprisingly cold and mean southern voice.
“Hello Ladies, I am Jolie Diskin and I am your assigned soldier. You must listen to what I saw. If I tell you to jump, you jump. If I tell you to sit, you sit. Do I make myself clear?!”
“Yes ma’am.” we mumbled. You could tell she was being forced to act tough. This wasn’t her. Or the real her at least.
“Gather your things and let’s walk to our bunker. NOW!”
We all picked up our things and with fake confidence, we trudged to the bunker of G-7. I walked in and took in my new environment. There were exactly six bunk beds squeezed into the small space. I looked to my right and then slowly to my left. This is where I will be living for the next three weeks. Man do I love Jewish sleepaway camp.