On a beautiful September first morning in 1939, when the sun rose over the sleeping city of Krakow, Stefan Steczkowski woke up eager to greet the day and begin a new school year as the history teacher at the secondary school. Stefan’s passion had always been history. He believed strongly that knowing history would keep us from repeating it, especially those parts of history that should not be repeated. So it didn't surprise his mother, Ada, or his father, Czeslaw, that Stefan became a history teacher.
That morning, his children and wife were still asleep in bed, as were most of Krakow’s citizens. It had been a trying time for Stefan, and the people of Poland. Fear and worry had infused itself into their happy daily lives. There had been talk that Hitler would soon invade their country because Polish soldiers had invaded Germany, which was considered an act of aggression by Hitler, however, the Polish invaders really were Nazi SS troops dressed as Polish soldiers, but nobody knew it. This gave Hitler a justifiable excuse to conquer Poland, along with the reason that Germany needed Lebensraum, living space for the German people. In addition, German newspaper propaganda and German authorities accused Polish authorities of allowing the ethnic cleansing of Germans living in Poland supplying another reason for Germany’s invasion of Poland.
Stephan got dressed quietly, and was about to eat breakfast when the peaceful, blue, silent sky and his joyful day was shattered by a deafening noise overhead. Stefan ran outside, looked up and saw what seemed to be a thousand fighter planes in the sky above passing over him. As he strained his eyes to see them more clearly, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the sun, he saw the red emblem branded with a twisted iron cross, the Nazi swastika. What symbolized German nationalistic pride, to Stefan and the rest of Poland’s citizens symbolized terror, fear, and oppression. Stefan wondered, where were they going, and why were they here? Could they be invading or just passing through the air space. These questions whirled around in Stefan’s head. Quickly, he ran back into his house to listen to the radio to see if there was any news being broadcasted about the planes.
Once inside, he quickly bolted the door shut, as if it would keep fear and terror from entering his home. As he turned around and was about to turn on the radio, he saw his wife and two daughters standing locked in an embrace, unable to move.
“What is happening, Stefan? his wife asked. “We were awakened by the most dreadful noise. It seemed to be coming from the sky,” she continued.
“I do not know for sure, but I think they are German planes. “Let’s hope they are on their way to Czechoslovakia, but I doubt it,” he responded. “I must turn the radio on to see if there is anything being broadcasted about them.”
Stefan quickly ran into the living room, with the rest of his family following right behind him and before they could sit down the somber voice of President Wladyslaw Raczkiewicz announced:” German soldiers invaded our beloved country along our shared border this morning at precisely 4:45 a.m. The Luftwaffe has bombed our Polish airfields. German warships and U-boats have attacked our Polish naval bases in the Pacific. Take heart, citizens of Poland. Our brave soldiers will fight to the end to keep our beloved country free from German tyranny. I pray for all, and may God bless Poland!”
Stefan and his family couldn’t believe their ears. It had happened! What they all had feared for many weeks now had actually started. Needless to say, there would be no school today, or for that matter for many weeks to come, until the Polish army drove the Germans back to Germany. Then all would return to normal again; the children would return to school, his wife would merrilly be attending to their home, or filling their house with the sound of her beautiful piano music, and he would be teaching at school. All would be well.
Unfortunately, none of this came to fruition. Stefan did go back to teaching, but it was only after a month of fierce fighting was over. The Germans and their “lightning warfare” smashed through enemy lines, and isolated segments of the Polish army. On September 28, the government of Poland surrendered to Germany. Stefan knew that the peaceful, contented, happy life he had with his wife and daughters was over. As he rubbed his precious crucifix that hung around his neck that had been given to him at the time of his baptism by his great grandfather, he prayed to God to protect his family, and return his country once again to freedom, peace, and tranquility.
After things had settled down, and by that what was meant was the Germans were in control and could be seen everywhere. Swastikas hung from every building, and on every street corner two German soldiers were stationed to maintain order. The schools finally did reopen, and everyone seemed to settle into a routine. Stefan resumed classes, but soon many of his colleagues were discharged from their positions at school, and his class size dwindled. After the Germans took over, a series of laws were enforced that prohibited Jews from teaching, and banned Jewish children from attending school. They were the Nuremberg Laws. Stefan had heard about these laws, and thought them unjust, demeaning, and cruel. In 1935, the Reichstag passed the Nuremberg Laws that were extremely anti-semitic, as a means to protect German blood and German honor. These laws prohibited marriage or sexual relationship between Jews and Germans, as well as employment of non Jewish women under the age of forty five in Jewish households. Jews were not allowed to own stores, go to parks, and Jewish children were banned from attending school. Large red letters were painted with the word JUDEN across the windows of stores owned by Jews, warning German customers that buying there was illegal and punishable by law. All these actions were part of Hitler’s program to cleanse the world of Jews. No longer could Stefan buy the delicious warm bread from Levy’s Bakery, or the beautiful leather pocketbooks, jackets, and wallet from Cohen’s Leather Shop. Even Stefan’s daughters had to stop playing with their Jewish friends next door. Playing and interacting with Jewish neighbors was seen as an insult to Germans. Their childcare help had to be dismissed since she was Jewish and under the age of forty-five. What astonished Stefan the most was that the majority of German citizens were avid followers and believers of Hitler, as were some Poles. He wondered how those supporting Hitler could turn their backs on people who had been their friends, and embrace Hitler’s philosophies. Unfortunately, the world had allowed Hitler to become too powerful, too revered, and too maniacal. There was no stopping him, now, and anyone who stood up and spoke out against Nazism was arrested, tortured, and even killed. Hitler’s brownshirts were marching across Europe, one country at a time, their goose steps stomping out anyone or any army that stood in their way.
However, Jews weren’t the only people who were targeted by Hitler. He also despised gypsies, the developmentally challenged, the invalids, and felt all other nationalities were inferior to Germans. The Nazis felt Polish citizens needed to be Germanized, so in an effort to achieve that they sorted Polish citizens into four groups. Group one and two automatically became German citizens. Group three acquired German citizenship, but that citizenship could be revoked at any time, and group four were sent to concentration camps or shot. Stefan thought the treatment of Jews was inhumane, and violated every principle in which he believed. As an educator, and a person with no German blood he was a prime target and considered part of group four.
Stefan found himself in a moral and physical dilemma. His conscience told him to speak out, help out, and protest, but his intellect told him that such a course of action would be futile and deadly for himself, his friends and his colleagues, as well as his family. If it was he alone, he would stand up, or perhaps join the Polish resistance, however, under the circumstances, he felt impotent, useless, and ashamed. How could he let his Jewish friends be treated like subhumans, and watch as the Nazis took over his beloved country and oppressed his fellow countrymen without doing something to thwart their endeavors. His conscience wrestled with his intellect and reason. Some days his conscience was victorious, some days his reason was.
Stefan was resolved that tomorrow, he would go about securing a safe hiding place for his beloved wife, Amelia, and two daughters, Ella, and Anna. If he could do that, then he would be able to follow his conscience and his religious morals, and do what he could to save Hitler’s victims from a fate worse than death. It wouldn’t be easy to find a secure hiding place for his family. Harboring Jews, or “enemies of the state” would be punishable by death or imprisonment in a concentration camp.
Early the next morning, before the crack of dawn, Stefan went to see his friend Milan Kaczkowski. Kaczkowski was a descendant of a German grandmother, so he was considered part of group one, and was granted German citizenship. He also feigned being a Nazi sympathizer, and even hung a Nazi flag in his window.
Stefan cautiously knocked on Kaczkowski’s door. The curtain moved slightly aside, and someone peeked out. Kaczkowski opened the door quickly, and hurried Stefan inside. Nobody chatted anymore. Nobody trusted anyone, anymore. Everyone was secretive, and did everything in a stealthy manner. It seemed half their time was spent looking over their shoulder.
Stefan explained that he felt compelled to do something to thwart the Nazis, but first he needed to find a safe place to hide his wife and daughters. In an instant, without hesitation, Kaczkowski told him he had a secret compartment in the attic where he could hide Stefan’s family. It would be dangerous, and difficult to feed them since the Germans seized and confiscated any animals, crops, or food they could find, but he would be glad to do it. It would be his way to be defiant, if only in a small manner. Stefan gave Kaczkowski all the money, valuables, and provisions he could find, except for the beloved gold cross that hung around his neck. Stefan felt his cross would safeguard his life, and protect him under God’s watchful, caring eye.
That night, cloaked in darkness, Stefan brought his family to Kaczkowski’s house for safekeeping; as if anybody could really be safe during these terrorizing days. Up the winding staircase, they went. The attic room was very musty, dark, and claustrophobic, but these were difficult times, and they were very grateful for the room. After what seemed like an eternity of heartbreaking goodbyes, they parted; his family to the attic, and Stefan to his house.
The house seemed ghostly, desolate, and barren without the sounds of Stefan’s children’s and wife’s voices filling the air. Stefan shook off despair, and began to prepare for tomorrow. He set about cutting an opening in the sole of his foot, where he would bury his beloved crucifix and chain beneath his skin’s surface. Stefan knew if he was taken by the Nazis , the Nazis would seize his priceless cross, and somehow, he felt the cross would shield him from the devastation to come.
The next days would be filled with perturbation, however, knowing his family was hidden, Stefan could set his conscience free, and liberate his soul. As the days slowly passed, he noticed his freedom was slowly being taken away. First, it was restrictions that forbade visiting certain areas in the town, and then feeling prohibited from walking on the sidewalk, for fear of encountering the watchful eyes of the Nazi’s who vigilantly stood guard on many street corners. His job was, unrightfully, taken from him, but still Stefan stood tall and brave, not allowing the Nazis to take his pride away from him. The Nazis were also getting stronger. Their army was heard to have over ten million soldiers. In addition, rumors had it that there was a work camp called ¨Auschwitz¨ where workers were needed to help the German war effort, and freedom would be awarded to those who served.
Stefan didn't trust the Nazis. He knew in his heart that this camp might have been a work camp, but it wouldn’t lead to freedom, but to abuse and death through slave labor. Although Stefan knew the dire consequences, he still continued to venture out in public, protesting against Nazi cruelty, hatred, and evil.
It was June 15th when the first transport of Polish citizens reached Auschwitz. No one knew for sure what happened there, or if the Nazi camps were true. Stefan still visited his family daily, and brought whatever food he could scrape together. He told stories to his family of the world outside to which they were no longer privy. Of course, when he related these stories and events to his two daughters, he would bend the truth and make the world seem more peaceful and less harsh then it truly was. Three days had passed since the Nazi’s started forcefully bringing people to Auschwitz. They would round up any Jews, suspected Polish dissidents, gypsies, invalids, the developmentally challenged, as well as anybody who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In Nazi occupied Poland, you were guilty, until proved innocent.
Stefan still tried to visit his family at midnight, but it became progressively harder to do so because of the number of soldiers guarding the streets looking for runaways, and anyone who looked suspect. Stefan didn't have any freedom now, and spent every day sitting inside reading, or thinking about when and if his time would come. After four long days of dullness, Stefan decided to take one last risk to say what very well might be a final goodbye to his family. He decided to go at 3 AM; it would be pitch dark, and most the soldiers would be extremely tired by then and perhaps not that alert or vicious. When the time came, he crept out from the back of his house, and quietly opened the gate. He was on the sidewalk now, his heart racing, as he tried to hide out of sight in the shadows cast by the buildings. Stealthily, he reached Kaczkowski’s door. He went to the back and knocked softly. At first, there was no sound from within, so Stefan tried again. He knocked a little more forcefully, knowing Milan Kaczkowski and his family were probably sleeping, and called out a little more loudly, hoping someone inside would hear him. Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps coming in the direction of the door. Milan drew the curtain on the door aside just enough to allow him to peek through the window to see who was there. He cracked the door open, wide enough to let Stefan squeeze through and enter. Milan led Stefan up the stairs to the attic, where his wife and daughters were no longer sleeping, having been awakened by the rapping on the door. Milan pulled on the metallic string connected to the light bulb and everyone greeted each other. Stefan did not hesitate to hug every single one of them, and even pulled out two books he had managed to buy for them. Time passed quickly, too quickly, and Stefan had to bid them goodbye before dawn came if he was to get home safely. At this hour, the curfew was still operational, and anyone violating it would be treated very harshly.
In the still of the night, Stefan started walking back, still trying to hide in dark shadows. He managed to get past two guards who were focused on talking to each other. Stefan was only two blocks away from his house. All he had to do was make a left and go straight. Stefan thought he was in the clear and safe because there were no guards on this street, so he picked up his pace. Just as he was about to turn the corner, he stumbled and tripped over an uneven raised sidewalk, and fell on the ground. The jagged edge cut deeply into his knee, and his reaction was to stifle his pain, but the pain got the better of him, and he cried out in agony. Before he knew it, there were two German soldiers running quickly toward him. “You have broken the curfew! You are under arrest!” Stefan tried to explain, but he was dragged away, and thrown onto an open backed truck, like he was a sack of potatoes.
His knee throbbed, as it bled, profusely. Nobody told him where they were going, but as he boarded the back of the truck there were others, women, children, and men. Some had suitcases, some did not. Some wore yellow Stars of David sewn on their coats and jackets, some did not. They were of all different ages, and all different shapes and sizes, but the one commonality they all shared was fear. Fear was etched on their faces. Fear was evident between mothers, fathers and children, as they clutched each other, and husbands and wives as they embraced each other for dear life.
Everyone sat quietly, speechless, terror stricken, afraid to utter a word. Then a woman handed him her kerchief to tie around his knee to stop the bleeding. Kindness in this cruel, harsh world was a rare occurrence, and greatly appreciated. After about a fifteen minute ride, the truck arrived at the Krakow train station. It was heavily guarded by Nazi SS soldiers who were patrolling the train station accompanied and aided by their vicious canine German Shepherd companions. On the tracks, a long line of freight cars, which were usually used for transporting freight or cattle, were now used to transport and deport about eighty people per car to a concentration camp. Those rounded up were told to bring their valuable possessions with them for the trip, but in reality they were told that so the Nazis could seize any valuables for themselves. There was no food, no water, no air, no bathrooms, and not enough space for the forced inhabitants inside to sit or to stand. If anyone protested, they were shot. If any child cried out in terror, he or she was shot. If anyone was too old, or too weak, they were shot. The passengers in the trucks were ordered to exit by the soldiers, whose rifles pointed to the opened doors of the boxcars. The people were shoved inside, one body crammed against another. Only one bucket was placed in the middle of the freight car to be shared by everyone for bodily fluids and waste. No privacy. No care. No humanity. What was packed like a can of sardines going, was empty of all life upon its return. Only the passengers’ possessions remained. Many children, the elderly, or the fraile, died on the trip to the camp.
As the train sped over the tracks, it stopped every so often, to pick up more victims. Once in a while, the citizens of a town would gather along the side of the freight car and try to place bread in the fingers that stuck out between the cracks of the wooden boards, but if they were seen aiding the people inside, they would be shot, instantly, right there and then. Stefan boarded the car, and tried to peek out through the slits to figure out where it was headed. After about two hours, the train shrieked to a sudden stop.
They had arrived. Dogs barked with teeth gnarled, soldiers screamed orders with guns and rifles grasped threateningly in their hands. The passengers who didn’t die on the trip over disembarked, but those who hesitated, protested, or didn’t comply were shot there right on the spot. Stefan and the others were told to leave their suitcases at the train station, and were then herded together to walk from the train depot to their destination. As Stefan and the others approached their destination, he noticed letters forged in black iron in the arch above the entrance that said “Arbeit Macht Frei”. Stefan couldn’t help think to himself how preposterous those words were, “work sets you free” when sharp, knife piercing electric barbed wire surrounded its perimeter and suggested, otherwise. The entrance to Auschwitz was more aptly called “The Gates of Death” by the prisoners who were interned there. Also, there was a peculiar smell that emanated from smokestacks and permeated the air sending belching black smoke into the sky above. It seemed to Stefan as if he were entering the bowels of hell, a place where evil reigned and goodness was silenced. The place was Auschwitz, and it became known as the symbol of Nazi terror and genocide, a place void of the smallest shred of humanity. The horrors that took place here were unspeakable, and unimaginable. These egregious crimes against humanity, perpetrated by professed civilized Germans, would haunt its occupants, and subsequent generations for the rest of their lives, as well as reveal to the rest of the world the truth about Hitler and his followers.
As Stefan and the others were ushered in, the men and women were separated. Boys called out in blood curdling screams for their mothers, girls did the same for their fathers, seeking protection, comfort, and reassurance, but here, mothers and fathers were rendered impotent. Husbands and wives looked at each other knowing that perhaps it was the last time they might see each other. After a quick assessment, the head commandant sorted males and females into two groups; some were ordered to go right and some were ordered to go left. It became very apparent to Stefan that he might never be able to see his family again. Stefan was ordered to go to the left, with the rest of the males who seemed fit.
Once everyone was in their appropriate group, they were ordered to follow the officers into the camp. The officers separated everyone into pact bunks with around four to five people sleeping in one. Stefan was assigned to share a bunk with Maciej, Witold, Andrew, and several other men. Maciej and Witold had similar backgrounds; Maciej was separated from his wife because he was Jewish which was the same reason Witold and Andrew were sent to Auschwitz.
When Stefan first entered the camp, he and his fellow inmates were tattooed with a serial number. Since Stefan was a civilian, his tattoo was branded on his left arm. Soviet prisoners of war were tattooed on their left breast. Below Stefan’s serial number that was also placed on the front of his shirt garment, he wore was a red triangle which identified Stefan as a political prisoner. Criminals, who were predominantly German, wore green triangles below their numbers. Those who were asocial prisoners wore black triangles, while Jehovah’s Witnesses wore purple, and gay men, mostly German, wore pink. Jews were made to wear yellow Stars of David. An inmate’s nationality was also evident by a letter stitched onto their cloth shirt.
Stefan quickly learned that there was a hierarchy within the camp. German prisoners were at the top, then non-Jewish prisoners from other countries right below the Germans, and lastly, at the very bottom were Jewish prisoners, who were not considered human. The tattoos were used to dehumanize the inmates by reducing their identity to a number. The tattoos were done by Lale Sokolov, a Slovakian Jew and fellow inmate at Auschwitz. He was interned in Auschwitz in 1942 where he was assigned the task of inscribing numbers on thousands of his fellow prisoners, one of whom, Gita, later became his wife. He became known as “The tattooist of Auschwitz.” It was a job he did want, but he felt he could at least try to inflict less pain on those tattooed, and used this position to save lives by sharing his extra food rations with his fellow inmates which were given to him for performing this job. In addition, he saved others by reconfiguring the numbered tattoos into pictorial images and
saved inmates who was designated to be shot for trying to escape. This allowed the inmate to be smuggled onto a transport destined for another location undetected by the SS guard. Lale also exchanged jewels for food from Polish workers who were brought in from neighboring villages to help build the crematoriums. Women inmates smuggled jewels from confiscated inmate possessions they were assigned to search. The women gave the valuables to Lale so he could use them to barter for food and favors from the Kapos and others. Lale was trained and given this job by another inmate and tattooist, Pepan. These tattoos, subsequently, became a symbol of the Holocaust and German atrocities committed by Hitler and his followers.
After a couple of days, Stefan gleaned that assignments were dispensed at roll call, following a gong that the block supervisor sounded to wake everyone up. Stefan and his fellow bunkmates, which numbered about one thousand, were often beat with sticks to hurry the along to the latrines and to wash. At Auschwitz, roll call for men was at 4:30 am. Regardless of the season or weather, all inmates had to stand outside in thin striped pajamas, and be counted over and over again, after which they started to work. The victims at Auschwitz had to work. Work lasted for twelve hours, without breaks. Those who were not able to work were shot on the spot.
For breakfast, Stefan had a limited choice of either a cup of watered coffee or diluted tea. For lunch, he had a very small serving of distasteful soup in which insects and worms were usually found, and for dinner he had a small serving of bread and water. Stefan had to save part of his bread allotment for his morning breakfast. Sometimes, he received a tablespoon of marmalade, cheese, or sausage to have with his piece of saved moldy bread. He felt his body weaken with every passing day. He didn’t have much hope about surviving the camp.
One day Stefan was woken up by three frightening officers yelling orders.
They told everyone that some select people were going to be given the privilege of taking a shower. Everyone stared at each other, not knowing if it was a genuine surprise or a devastating trick. The officers chose about fifty people, none of whom Stefan knew. The guards told everyone else to continue, as usual, however, Stefan noticed that those chosen were the elderly, or inmates that were ill; anyone who probably couldn’t survive another day of grueling, brutal, inhumane labor. Stefan continued to wonder if the Nazis were really sending these prisoners to showers, or was this somehow a means by which to rid the world more quickly of Jews, invalids, and any others the Nazis viewed as inferiors. When a day passed, and not one of the victims came back from the showers, Stefan knew for sure, that if chosen for a shower, that person wouldn't be coming back. With every day that passed, Stefan’s hope waned, and he started sinking into a state of depression. He knew if he couldn't work, he would be taken by the Nazis and killed, and some days he thought that would be better than the hell he was in now, witnessing and enduring the beatings, killings, and tortures inflicted on him and his comrades.
These were the thoughts that plagued Stefan and about which he ruminated daily, until the night Stefan woke up late and saw Witold sitting on the bed, moving his hand quickly. Stefan gently tapped Witold on the shoulder, so as not to startle him, and to his surprise he saw Witold holding a pencil and notebook. Stefan looked at Witold bewildered, and asked him what he was doing. Witold hesitated before explaining, “I was a top ranked soldier in the Polish Resistance, and I volunteered to be incarcerated in order to document the atrocities, first hand, at Auschwitz. In this way when the war is over, the Nazis can’t deny their inhumanity or complicity.”
Stefan was shocked that someone would be brave enough to do this kind of feat.
This selfless act by Witold re-energized Stefan, and jolted him out of his depression. “We will keep this secret between us because if there is even a hint of a rumor about what you are doing, it would mean torture and death for both of us, as well as the many others who would be punished on account of our actions,” Stefan suggested. If one victim tried to escape or violated what the Nazis deemed correct, all inmates were made to stand outside for hours, in rain, sleet, snow, brutal heat, or were shot as punishment for another’s actions. His bunk mate, Witold Pilecki, escaped on July 6, 1940, after having been incarcerated at Auschwitz for two and a half years. Unfortunately, as was typical, his escape triggered retaliation from the Nazis, who executed thirty inmates as retribution for Witold’s escape. In further retaliation for Witold’s escape, roll call lasted about twenty hours. Any escape or attempt at escape meant severe punishment not only for the escapee, but for all who were left behind.
The next day, once again, Stefan was awakened by the loud gong, and screaming
guards beating them to get up, go to the latrines, wash, and rapidly get to roll call.
Stefan got up grogedly, headed to the latrines, and awaited his assignment. So this is how it would be. He wondered, would he be assigned to work in a factory, construction project, farm, coal mine, or railroad and provide free slave labor for German owned companies? Even worse, would he be assigned to work as a Sonderkommando in the crematorium? Although this was considered a privileged job because extra food, shoes, or clothing could be stolen, giving an inmate a better chance to survive the harsh winters, Stefan dreaded this assignment. Word spread that some Sonderkommandos buried notes in the ground, hoping that when the camps were liberated their notes would be found, exposing German atrocities to the rest of the world.
Time passed slowly, with most inmates dying from infectious diseases, medical experiments, executions, gassings, starvation, and forced hard labor. Then in November of 1944, Stefan noticed that gassing operations stopped, the crematorium was dismantled, and the inmates at Auschwitz were ordered to remove all the mass graves. Evidently, Stefan found out later that the Soviet army was approaching Poland, so Himmler, the Nazi in charge of “The Final Solution to the Jewish Question,” was attempting to remove all evidence that would incriminate him and his fellow Nazis of war crimes.
Then later that month, which turned out to be a week before Auschwitz was liberated, Stefan and his fellow inmates were assigned to destroy all records, burn the buildings, and gather all prisoner confiscated articles to be shipped to Germany. The warehouses and crematoriums at Birkenau, part of the Auschwitz Concentration Camp were dynamited, and a mass evacuation of the majority of surviving inmates ensued. This mass exodus became known as the death marches, since most inmates died on this trek to other locations. They walked with their emaciated, scantily clad bodies over many miles, in harsh weather conditions, and on difficult terrains, without water, food, or rest. The Nazis wanted nobody left alive, so there would be no witnesses who could testify about the atrocities the Nazis committed. In the turmoil and chaos of the evacuation, Stefan was able to hide, and managed to avoid being sent on the largest death march, Auschwitz-Birkenau to Loslav in January 1945, during which fifteen thousand died.
Then on January 27, 1945, the Soviet army liberated Auschwitz. Stefan and the remaining seven thousand inmates who had managed to survive their many years of imprisonment were freed. During the war, Auschwitz housed at least one million three hundred thousand inmates of which one million one hundred thousand died there. The total number of deaths at Auschwitz numbered about one million Jews, about seventy-five thousand Ethnic Poles, about twenty-one thousand Roma and Sente, about fifteen thousand Soviet prisoners of war, and about fifteen thousand other Europeans. Before the war, three million Jews lived in Poland. By the end of World War II only 45,000 Jews remained.
Stefan returned to Krakow, and immediately went to Kaczkowski’s house to find his family. After many years of separation, they were finally reunited, and could begin the process of trying to rebuild their lives. At first, Stefan’s wife, Amelia, didn’t recognize the emaciated, depressed looking man who stood in front of her. Looking at her husband in disbelief and horror, she asked about what had happened to him during his incarceration at Auschwitz. No words came to him. How could he tell her of the atrocities he had seen, and the inhumanity he had witnessed? What he experienced was too horrific, too unspeakable, and he knew he had to bury those memories deep within himself if he and his family were to rebuild their lives.
Kaczkowski was kind enough to allow Stefan and his family to remain with him while Stefan slowly regained his strength and health. After several weeks, Stefan and Amelia felt they had imposed on the Kaczkowski family long enough, and decided it was time to move on, but to never forget the kindnesses Kaczkowski had given to him and his family. Kaczkowski gave Stefan the remaining money and valuables left from the stash Stefan had given to him for expenses. There was not very much left, but it was enough for the Steczkowski family to move, and to try to begin a new life together. It wouldn’t be easy. Nightmares plagued Stefan. He often woke his wife up with terrifying screams. Any loud noise triggered flashbacks of bullets plummeting through the air shooting innocent people.
The Nazi’s strangling hold and dark black shadow were still felt by Stefan. This ominous feeling never really dissipated, and its long term effects were always with him. All those years of witnessing and surviving terrifying, life threatening events, took a terrible toll on him. He suffered from severe anxiety and uncontrollable thoughts.
Sometimes Stefan was grateful that he and his family were the lucky ones. Whole towns had been wiped out of their inhabitants. They had survived, intact, but sometimes their survival troubled Stefan riddled him with feelings of guilt. He questioned why he and his family continued to live despite danger or hardship, and so many others had not. He felt that the only way to express his gratitude to God and defy the Nazis would be to help others in need, help other survivors regain their lives, and to stand up to bigotry and hatred wherever and whenever it reared its ugly, evil head.
Stefan and his family moved to Warsaw. The beautiful Old Town of Warsaw, Poland’s capital city, had been destroyed by Hitler’s troops in retaliation for the Warsaw uprising. In August of 1944, the Polish resistance tried to liberate their city from what Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz called the “dark, black, and red world of the Nazi occupation.¨ (www.theguardian.com). Although the Warsaw uprising was squelched by the Nazis, the resistance efforts lasted two months and resulted in the death and injury of twenty thousand Nazis, however, there were also one hundred twenty thousand civilians killed by Nazi airstrikes and fighting. Hitler destroyed eighty-five percent of Warsaw’s historic civic center as retribution for the uprising.
Stefan felt Warsaw mirrored and symbolized his own life: tenacity, courage, strength, and survival, and staying in Krakow brought back too many memories. From the rubble and devastation, Warsaw would rebuild itself, as would he and his family. They found housing in the basement of a destroyed building. It would have to do for now, until the city was reconstructed. Stefan once again secured a position in a makeshift classroom, as a high school history teacher. In any spare time that he had, Stefan and his family helped the Warsovian’s, the residents of Warsaw, rebuild their city.
After he had been liberated from Auschwitz, Stefan had sworn to himself, to never reveal the horrors he had witnessed there, and he never did, but after he died a journal was found hidden under his bed beneath a loose floorboard, in which Stefan had written much of what had happened to him, as well as what he had witnessed happening to others while he was an inmate at Auschwitz. It was a miracle that he had survived, and that his wife and daughters were never found while they were in hiding. Most families were not as lucky as he and his family had been. Out of the one million three hundred thousand inmates imprisoned in Auschwitz, one million one hundred thousand died. His fellow inmate Witold was honored in Israel at Yad Vashem as Righteous Among Nations where those who were non-Jews, who risked their lives to save Jews from extermination, are honored. Hitler and his Nazi cohorts managed to murder six million Jews, and millions of other Europeans. In his journal Stefan wrote, “Perhaps it was the crucifix that I had embedded in my foot, in my heart, and in my soul, that sustained and protected me.” Whatever the case may be, this prized family heirloom has been passed down from one generation to another, along with the legacy of Stefan’s righteous, heroic, inspiring story. His story and memory live on in his many descendants, and is a great source of pride and honor to them. When so many others remained silent, Stefan did not. He fought evil with good, despair with hope, hate with love, and genocide with survival. He was a man of principle, integrity, compassion, and is an example of the triumph of the human spirit. Hopefully, his legacy will inspire others to combat bigotry and hatred within their own communities, whenever or wherever it is evident, before it spreads and becomes systemic.
There have been many museums created throughout the world to honor and remember those who suffered and perished because of their religion, sexual orientation, developmental challenges, political views, minority, or vulnerabilities. Just two miles from Auschwitz- Birkenau concentration camps, The Auschwitz Jewish Center opened in September 2000 in Oswiecim, Poland. Citizens and groups from countries all over the world gather there to remember Hitler’s victims, to pay homage to them, to worship, or to learn.
May second is Holocaust Remembrance Day, a day set aside to honor and remember all those individuals whose lives were extinguished by the Nazis’ evil reign of terror under the leadership of a maniacal, depraved man, who fed on the bigotry, hatred and hardships of others to rally his country to follow his beliefs. On this day, every year, people come together as a community to say: We will never forget. Stefan’s descendents join these participants in solemn remembrance, as do the descendants of Kaczkowski. Both families have remained in touch with one another, keeping the bond that began so long ago alive and unsevered. “ The Jewish people persist, and we will not allow the memory of millions to pass into stony silence.We owe it to our people, ourselves, and our children to insist that when we mourn those who were murdered and honor those who suffered we tell their stories with the utmost respect for their human dignity. It is a powerful answer to the Nazis’ thwarted ambition.” (Museum of Jewish Heritage A Living Memorial to the Holocaust) Although Stefan’s family was not Jewish, they join with all the others who gather together in order to pay homage to him, honor his memory, and never allow him or his noble deeds to be forgotten.
Although Stefan never revealed or spoke about what he witnessed and endured at Auschwitz, some survivors feel compelled to speak about their ordeals in hope that their stories will prevent such atrocities and genocide from ever happening again. One such Holocaust survivor who feels compelled to tell his story, Pinchas Gutter, who survived six Nazi concentration camps explains, “I tell my story for the purpose of improving humanity, drop by drop by drop. Like a drop of water falls on a stone and erodes it, so, hopefully, by telling my story over and over again I will achieve the purpose of making the world a better place to live in.”(njhnyc.org)
Oscar Wasilewski (Va-she-le-vski) is a student at Dunellen High School. He was born in Queens, New York, and lived there for six years before moving to Dunellen. Described by his teachers as hardworking, curious, and academic, he assists his father on the weekends with his electrical work. Oscar takes writing very passionately, and hopes that one day he will be able to write a best selling novel. Oscar has two siblings: a brother, Milan, who is three years old, and a sister, Nela, who is five years old. Oscar enjoys playing football, soccer, and tennis, as well as visiting family members who live in Poland.