Things had in fact been spruced up nicely: the sparkling little main square with its pavilion, where they all stopped for a few moments to cast a glance at the pretty facades, at the shops, the church, the town hall with its Bank of the Jewish Self-Administration, and the coffeehouse. Seated around tables were people specially selected for this show- men, women, and children who, if you didn't look too closely, did not manifest the ravages of ghetto life.

"My parents received tickets for the coffeehouse that day, and I was with them," Vera Nath recalls. Vera's mother was a beautiful woman and Vera a very pretty girl. Her father was the manager of the Kleiderkammer Kleiderkammer ("clothing warehouse"), the department that was in charge of the clothing that came princ.i.p.ally from the baggage of the deportees. ("clothing warehouse"), the department that was in charge of the clothing that came princ.i.p.ally from the baggage of the deportees.22 It was no problem for him to come up with appropriate outfits for the day. It was no problem for him to come up with appropriate outfits for the day.

"The elegantly dressed women all had silk stockings, hats, scarves, and stylish handbags," Rossel noted. "The people we met on the street were all well dressed."

These same people, according to Rossel's report, also appeared to be properly nourished. And how did he determine that? "It is sufficient for this purpose," he wrote, "to examine the photographic evidence, especially of the children's groups. ... The people who live in the large barracks prefer to eat in the communal canteens. These canteens are pleasant and quite s.p.a.cious. The people who eat here are served promptly by a young girl in an ap.r.o.n and a starched bonnet just as in any restaurant."

A dining room had been created expressly for this occasion, in a wooden barracks adjacent to the Magdeburg Barracks. Thirteen-year-old Paul Rabinowitsch, one of 466 Jewish prisoners from Denmark, whom the delegation wanted to have a special look at, ate in the dining room on June 23, 1944. He remembered the day clearly: For me the main thing was that we Danish children were selected to eat as much as we liked that day. We were taken to a special restaurant that had just been built, with new wooden tables and chairs, and that was used only this one time. We were told we were to eat there, and we were served pea soup and potatoes with gravy. We could eat as much as we could manage. I went back for thirds, and ate my fill.

One of the photographs that Maurice Rossel attached to his report. Decades later Paul Rabinowitsch (19302009), who played the trumpet in Brundibar Brundibar recognized himself in it; he is the third boy from the left. June 23, 1943, was the one day that he and the Danish children were allowed to eat their fill. Rabinowitsch, who later called himself Paul Aron Sandfort, incorporated his experiences into his novel recognized himself in it; he is the third boy from the left. June 23, 1943, was the one day that he and the Danish children were allowed to eat their fill. Rabinowitsch, who later called himself Paul Aron Sandfort, incorporated his experiences into his novel, Ben: The Alien Bird.

"My sister worked outside the ghetto at the Kursawe villa," Vera Nath recalls.23 "She was looking after a group of young Dutch children who had arrived on a transport from Westerbork. These children had been coached on what they were to say if the camp commandant offered them some chocolate or a tin of sardines: 'Thank you, Uncle Rahm, but not chocolate again.' Or, 'Thank you, but not sardines again.' " "She was looking after a group of young Dutch children who had arrived on a transport from Westerbork. These children had been coached on what they were to say if the camp commandant offered them some chocolate or a tin of sardines: 'Thank you, Uncle Rahm, but not chocolate again.' Or, 'Thank you, but not sardines again.' "

The ruse with the sardines worked perfectly. The SS high command was, of course, well prepared for Rossel's special interest in the delivery of international mail, which was known to function very poorly. Now the International Red Cross delegate was able to see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears that despite any shortcomings in the postal system, the many packages from Portugal-paid for by funds from the World Jewish Congress and sent through the United Relief set up by the International Red Cross-had reached their destination. "We were present in the large post office as the packages were being distributed. We saw many parcels containing sardines that had been sent from Portugal," he wrote in his report.

The delegation moved on from the post office to the Young People's Home in the building's second story, which had recently been turned into a model home with new, top-quality wooden furniture. Eva Herrmann recalls: Then six or seven men entered, including some SS men in uniform, but most in civilian clothes. They were touring the whole building- the post office was downstairs. They now entered our room. We had been warned beforehand not to say a word. We just stood there and thought to ourselves: Are they just plain stupid, or don't they see that all this is new? The wood was shiny and still had the scent of new furniture; that's how fresh it was. There were eight of us girls, fewer than before the May transports. And we had a kind of commune, by which I mean we always shared our food equally among ourselves. And they could tell that from our bread. Each person got a piece of bread every third day, and the normal practice was to ration it out and store the remainder. But we did it differently. Instead of dividing up all our bread into individual portions at the outset, we distributed only as much as each was to receive for that day. As a result, entire loaves of bread were still on our shelf. And one of the visitors noticed this and asked, "Why do all the others only have a quarter of a loaf, and these girls whole loaves?" Then a girl from Ostrava who spoke German (most of the girls didn't understand what she was saying, since we were almost all Czechs) spontaneously remarked, "That's because we're a commune. We're Communists, you see." I can still see how our visitors cringed at that, although they stood there very stiff and erect. And I thought to myself, Oh my, now she's said something she shouldn't have.The men left very quickly and right away someone came bounding up the stairs and said, "Well, that was some disaster! Something will happen now. Don't you realize what you said?" We were all flabbergasted. We didn't really know what that was-Communism.But thank G.o.d-nothing came of it.24 On the contrary, Rossel was quite impressed, especially by the Children's Homes: "They are furnished quite nicely and reasonably, with very decorative murals that are also of remarkable educational value." And perhaps it was in fact the comment made by the brave girl from Ostrava-presumably the only person among all the prisoners to speak a single word to the delegation-that prompted him to conclude his report with this bold a.s.sertion: "This Jewish town is truly astounding. In view of the fact that these people come from many different places, speak different languages, arrive from different stations in life and with different degrees of wealth, it was necessary to establish a unity, a spirit of community, among these Jews. That was very difficult. The Theresienstadt ghetto is a Communist society, led by a 'Stalinist' of great merit: EPPSTEIN EPPSTEIN."

What else could one expect of a Maurice Rossel? Of a young man who took his job so literally that, unless it was demanded of him, he never looked to his right or his left and certainly never peeked behind the scenery? "During this visit I was supposed to view what they showed me," he declared in a conversation with Claude Lanzmann. And that is exactly what he did. No more and no less. And to make sure that Rossel would also be able to tell the world about the astonishing cultural life in Theresienstadt, he was driven through town alongside the "mayor" in a limousine chauffeured by Hans Wostrell from Linz, a brutal SS officer who, in order to look more like Paul Eppstein's driver, dressed in civilian clothes.

As the bells in the church steeple began to toll at the stroke of five o'clock, the town orchestra, under the direction of Carlo S. Taube, began to play a medley of cheerful tunes. One of them was a song, so Otto Pollak tells us, from the operetta The Czar's Diamond The Czar's Diamond by Granichstaedten: "For you, my dear, I've made myself beautiful." But who among the visitors could have or would have wanted to take that obvious musical hint? by Granichstaedten: "For you, my dear, I've made myself beautiful." But who among the visitors could have or would have wanted to take that obvious musical hint?

Everything was in place at the Sokolovna when the visitors finally arrived. Upstairs there was a rehearsal for Verdi's Requiem Requiem. In the main auditorium the children were performing Brundibar Brundibar, from which, according to the plan, the visitors were to see the finale. "We stood on the stage and they told us that when given our cue we should start with the finale," Eva Herrmann, who was in the chorus of schoolchildren, recalls. "We waited a long time, and then someone came running in and said, 'Now.' And we started. And then someone else came running in and said, 'No, not yet.' And so it went, back and forth. We knew, of course, that we were putting on a comedy act for somebody. But of course, since this was a commission of the International Red Cross, we also thought and hoped that this would help us in some way. They might say, 'These children sing so beautifully we just have to help them.' We always hoped. Or at least most of us hoped-that maybe something would come of it after all."

"I was given the first signal as the car turned the corner," Rudolf Freudenfeld noted in his report. "The second signal meant that they were coming up the stairs, and at the third signal I dropped my raised hand and gave the downbeat. The music that greeted the visitors was: 'We have defeated Brundibar because we weren't afraid. We didn't let ourselves be defeated.' The children had been told that at one specific point they were to hold up high whatever they had in their hand-books, schoolbags, notebooks. But, like children everywhere, most of them had forgotten their prop. And so they simply raised their balled fists. As I was told later, the visitors liked it."

"We would like to say," Rossel added at the end of his report, "that we were greatly astonished to find the ghetto to be a town that lives an almost normal life; we had expected worse. We told the officers of the SS who escorted us that the difficulty we had encountered in obtaining permission to visit Theresienstadt was the most surprising thing of all."

"There was that whole farce with the Red Cross," Judith Schwarzbart comments, decades later, when recalling that remarkable day, "and my father was ordered to beautify the park, to set out flowers. Once the Red Cross hubbub was over, I was astonished to see that nothing whatsoever came of it. Why didn't these men see anything? Why didn't they look behind the facade? If they had just taken a peek, they would have seen all the old half-starved people who weren't allowed out on the street. If they had just opened a door to one of the barracks, they would have seen what was going on there. But they didn't do any of it. They walked down the street, through the lovely park. The coffeehouse had been made to look nice and pretty, with a few tables set outside, where young attractive women in elegant clothes were ordered to sit and drink a cup of coffee; and in the park was a pavilion, where they played music, and the Red Cross people never went over to have a peek at what was behind this farce. And that astounded me. It shocked me. Yes, it robbed me of a bit of my faith."

One week after his visit to the ghetto, Rossel sent his companion, Dr. Eberhard von Thadden, legation councilor in the Reich Foreign Ministry, copies of two photographs taken during the Theresienstadt visit, accompanied by these words: "We would like to take this opportunity to express to you, in the name of the International Committee of the Red Cross, our sincere grat.i.tude for organizing our visit to Theresienstadt. Thanks to your efforts our visit was facilitated in all respects. We shall always have fine memories of our trip to Prague, and we are happy to a.s.sure you yet again that our report of our visit to Theresienstadt will come as a relief to a great many people, inasmuch as we found conditions there satisfactory."

The real satisfaction, however, was felt by those who had initiated and directed this successful production, primarily because of this key a.s.sertion in Rossel's report, which could now be disseminated around the world. At a time when thirty-two thousand people had already died in Theresienstadt and approximately sixty-eight thousand people had been transported to the East, Maurice Rossel wrote: "The camp at Theresienstadt is a 'final destination camp,' and normally no one who has come to this ghetto is sent on to somewhere else."

A visit to a "Jewish labor camp," which had already been authorized by Himmler, had now become superfluous. The inspectors had no further questions, so no other Potemkin villages needed to be put on display. The family camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau could be eliminated.

On July 2, 1944, all the women that Mengele had selected as being capable of work were sent on foot to the women's camp, which was not too far from the family camp. Eva Landa recalls: For several days we could still look through the barbed wire and see the people who were left behind in the family camp. Then it became very quiet and empty there. There was heavy smoke coming from the crematoria chimneys. New selections were being made on a constant basis. The weak and sickly and those who had succeeded in bringing their children to the women's camp had to go back to the family camp. Then came the last selection in Auschwitz that I was part of. One row ahead of me were Helena Mendl and her mother, who told the SS man that Helena was not completely healthy, that she had had meningitis as a child. And I think Holubika's mother said something similar. They hoped that this would keep their daughters from being a.s.signed heavy work. They were separated out and had to stand off by themselves. And then there was also our block elder, Marika, a beautiful young woman. She had a three-year-old child. And the SS man told her, "Leave the child here. Do you know where they will take you if you stay with her?" And Marika said, "Yes, and I'm staying with my child." So they stood off from us at a little distance, in an extra group-Helena, Holubika, and Marika with her little daughter. It was the last time I saw them.My mother and I were almost the last to be chosen for work and put on a new transport. We were on the train again, though we didn't know where we were headed. But we did know that we were leaving Auschwitz, leaving the horror of the gas chambers. We knew what those words meant. And we thought that it was a good thing to get away from Auschwitz-far away-because it was very easy to perish there, and very hard to escape death.We rode on the train for a long time. Then we had to change to a small train with open cars. We all had to stand; there wasn't enough room to sit. The region we were riding through was very beautiful- forest all around us. It was summer, the sun was shining-and we were far away from Auschwitz-Birkenau.

"After this final selection in early July 1944, nothing happened for ten days," Eva Weiss recalls.

Life in Block 31 went on. Then there was another lockdown- disruption and goodbyes. I saw many of the children for the last time. I remember how terribly sorry I felt for Zajiek. It was impossible for her to make it through the selection-she was so small. She had always clung to me. She was such a poor, lovable thing, such a forlorn child. She radiated warmth. There was a special aura about her, as if she were trying to say, Come, help me! She knew what awaited her. All the children knew. We knew that we would never see each other again.Our group was taken to the Auschwitz women's camp. We huddled very close together. The chimney was still a real possibility for us. We thought it was some evil joke by Mengele to let us think that we would escape the gas. We spent several days under dreadful conditions in the women's camp before we were led to the "sauna" again. We thought-this is it. But instead of gas, water came out of the showerheads. What an immense relief! Then they threw a pile of dirty clothes and shoes at us, and we had to quickly grab something that looked more or less like it might fit, with them bellowing at us the whole time. After we were dressed we looked around-and broke into loud, uncontrollable laughter. We simply couldn't believe that we had escaped the worst. We still had our hair, which was a major exception in the camp. There we stood, howling with laughter and waiting for what would happen next.On July 2, 1944, they gave us different clothes, a kind of khaki uniform, and we were put on cattle cars. We couldn't believe our good luck. We were all young women. We were in a hopeful mood, and through the c.h.i.n.ks in the car we could make out a green landscape. We appeared to be getting closer to Germany and we thought nothing from here on could be as bad as the time we had spent in the shadow of the chimneys. After a day traveling on the train, guarded the whole time by female SS personnel, a few of the cars were uncoupled. Then the train moved on.

In early July 1944, Hanka Wertheimer and her mother survived a selection. It was their last one before they would leave Auschwitz, and before the family camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau B II b was eliminated during the night of July 10, 1944. Hanka remembers: We had to walk past the SS men and give our age and profession. Eva Landa and another girl from our home, Gerty Kersten, were in front of me. I can still hear an SS man saying as he pointed at Eva and Gerty: "Look at those pretty Jewesses." They were sent to the right. I was directly behind them and I said, "Agriculture, sixteen years old." I was lying because my mother had told me to. She had also managed-I don't know how-to get hold of a dab of lipstick and had rubbed it on my cheeks so that I'd look healthier, because I was very pale. Like Eva and Gerty I was sent to the right. As were my friends Miriam Rosenzweig and her sister Vera. We didn't yet know what it meant to stand on the left or the right. Next to the SS men were two kapos- kapos-Jews who had to help see that the orders of the SS were carried out. One of them was a Dr. Wehle, a lawyer my mother knew. When he noticed her and saw that although she gave her age as forty-in reality she was forty-three-she was sent to the left, he gave her concealed signals to slip into the line on the right, which she immediately did. I didn't notice any of this because I was already past the SS men and was standing with my back to them. That's how it came about that my mother stayed with me and we finally made it out of Auschwitz together.After this selection we arrived in the women's camp. It was on the other side of the railroad tracks. We met a lot of women from Poland who you could tell had been there for a long time. ... But we were soon loaded onto freight cars and sent elsewhere.

Theresienstadt, August 19, 1944: "A cultural doc.u.mentary is being filmed this afternoon," Otto Pollak noted in his diary, "in a hollow on the road to Litomice-an open-air cabaret that accommodates an audience of about 2,000. About sixty swimmers of both s.e.xes are to be filmed at the SS swimming pool outside the ghetto. Dita Sachs from the Nurses' Home, slender, about five foot nine, blond, blue-eyed, was excluded, along with two other blond girls. I've also heard they've excluded a Danish actor, a blond giant of aman. Gerron, who enjoys making inappropriate jokes about Jews, is directing."

"Crazy things have been happening during the last few days-they're making a film!" Eva Herrmann noted with astonishment in her diary the next day.25 "The town orchestra, the children's pavilion, our performances, and life on the streets and even outside of Theresienstadt. Five girls from each room are to report for the filming. I managed to be one of them, and so we were able to get out of the ghetto, to Travice, where a stage was set up." "The town orchestra, the children's pavilion, our performances, and life on the streets and even outside of Theresienstadt. Five girls from each room are to report for the filming. I managed to be one of them, and so we were able to get out of the ghetto, to Travice, where a stage was set up."

The scenery was in place, the dress rehearsal had worked perfectly, a director was found, a script authorized, and a film crew hired. The filming could begin. It was an enterprise that had long been planned by the top echelon of the SS in Prague. Theresienstadt: A Doc.u.mentary of a Jewish Settlement Theresienstadt: A Doc.u.mentary of a Jewish Settlement was a piece of n.a.z.i propaganda that has since come to be known as was a piece of n.a.z.i propaganda that has since come to be known as The Fuhrer Gives the Jews a Town The Fuhrer Gives the Jews a Town.

Kurt Gerron-an actor, cabaret performer, and former star of Germany's preeminent film studio UFA-was both the producer and the director. His 1928 recording of "Mack the Knife" from The Threepenny Opera The Threepenny Opera had made him a sensation, and when he appeared as the vaudeville director Kiepert in had made him a sensation, and when he appeared as the vaudeville director Kiepert in The Blue Angel The Blue Angel alongside Marlene Dietrich, his international career was launched-and then derailed by Hitler. In January 1944 he was deported from the Westerbork Camp in the Netherlands and sent to Theresienstadt, where he soon established a cabaret called the Carousel. One of Gerron's leading lyricists, Martin Greiffenhagen, was a.s.signed to be his scriptwriter for the film, and from Prague came the team from alongside Marlene Dietrich, his international career was launched-and then derailed by Hitler. In January 1944 he was deported from the Westerbork Camp in the Netherlands and sent to Theresienstadt, where he soon established a cabaret called the Carousel. One of Gerron's leading lyricists, Martin Greiffenhagen, was a.s.signed to be his scriptwriter for the film, and from Prague came the team from Aktualita Aktualita, the weekly Czech newsreel. The main actors and walk-ons were already on location-the inmates of the Theresienstadt ghetto.

"In those days I was working in the fields," Vera Nath recalls. "And we saw people going for a swim in the Eger. It looked like a summer camp, like a sh.o.r.e resort."

"My sister Zdenka and I and some other girls," Marta Frohlich recalls, "were brought to a swimming area along the banks of the Eger. We had to put on bathing suits, then sing a song, jump gleefully into the water, and then keep on ducking underwater and pretending that we were so very happy. There were swings that we had to swing on. Then they gave us some bread spread with margarine-not to eat, but to hold so that they could film us. And my brothers had to climb up on a horse-drawn wagon. And the wagon was full of fruits and vegetables-apples, pears, potatoes, carrots. But during the entire ride they weren't allowed to bite into a single apple."

"I remember one thing," Handa Pollak says. "The bigger girls from our Home were working in the vegetable gardens. Of course, eating any of the vegetables was strictly forbidden. While they were making the film the girls were painted brown so they would look tanned and healthy. Every girl got a basket of vegetables to dangle from her arm, and then they had to walk along the road toward the camera in a group, singing. At one particular point they had to pick up an apple or some other fruit and bite into it, then turn a corner, where the basket and even the fruit they had bitten into were immediately taken away. I still recall them telling us about it. It made them laugh so hard, and we laughed along with them. We just made fun of the whole charade."

"When someone gave a whistle, we had to march off with rakes in our hands and walk past the church," Helga Pollak recalls. "And there on the steps stood Kurt Gerron. Then there was another whistle, and we had to take a few steps back, stand stock-still, and then came the command again: Keep marching and be cheerful."

"We were afraid of Kurt Gerron," Ela Stein comments in describing the general atmosphere. "The Germans were constantly circling around him. We didn't know whether he was in cahoots with them or not. There was a lot of tension in the air. The Czech film people weren't even allowed to speak with us."

The team filmed every inch of the Potemkin village: the Bank of the Jewish Self-Administration; the post office, where the walk-ons had to stand in line waiting for packages to be distributed; a meeting of the Council of Elders, which was moved from the gloomy Magdeburg Barracks to an elegantly furnished room in the Sokolovna; firemen extinguishing a fake fire; doctors performing surgery. And, of course, the central library, managed by Professor Ut.i.tz, had been "spruced up beyond recognition," displaying the splendid spines of the Encyclopaedia Judaica Encyclopaedia Judaica and the and the Jewish Lexicon. Jewish Lexicon.26 On the Sokolovna terrace, where Helga had lowered her notes down to her father while she was ill with encephalitis, the camera captured people dancing past, dressed in their finest evening clothes; people sitting convivially next to each other under parasols, sipping from champagne gla.s.ses with straws. In the garden, prominent people were strolling and engaging in lively conversations; frolicking children played in the children's playground; and laborers in the workshops-carpenters, cobblers, launderers, tailors-went merrily about their work. On the outskirts of the ghetto a cabaret program was performed before an audience of about two thousand.27 "In a village near Travice, where they had set up a stage, I watched them film a scene that didn't come out right," Eva Herrmann recalls, "and saw Rahm, the camp commandant-I think it was Rahm-slap Zelenka, the architect and famed set designer from the Prague National Theater. And that started me thinking: Oh my, something's not right here. The whole thing is really just one huge sham. They also had young people get up on the stage, and then they pointed to this one or that one. Suddenly it became clear to me that they were looking for particular types, Jewish types, and SS Scharfuhrer Scharfuhrer Haindl pointed at me-I had black curly hair. And at that moment I knew I didn't want to have any part in this hoax, made myself scarce, and mingled in with the crowd." Haindl pointed at me-I had black curly hair. And at that moment I knew I didn't want to have any part in this hoax, made myself scarce, and mingled in with the crowd."28 Despite both a heat wave-the temperature soared to 104 degrees Fahrenheit on August 21-and a plague of bedbugs, the filming proceeded according to plan. As in the previous year, many of the living quarters, including the Girls' Home, had to be freed from bedbugs and lice. "Helga is sleeping in Frau Mandl's room at the Home for Invalids, above Frau Heilbrun's bed," Otto Pollak noted on August 24. "At nine in the evening Helga takes a cold bath in the bathtub. Altenstein looks for bedbugs with a cigarette lighter. I watch his silhouette from the courtyard. Helga has slept well during the first night here with us. Her sleep wasn't disrupted by bedbugs. She has words of praise for our washing facility, which reminds her of peacetime."

On August 28, Otto Pollak likewise had to flee the bedbugs. The night before, he had turned on the light every half hour so that he and Schmitz, from the adjoining bed, could hunt down and kill hundreds of bedbugs. Now he was sleeping in the open air for the first time. "A dark blue sky sown with stars, cool air. After weeks of not being able to sleep, I slept like the Lord G.o.d himself, until five-thirty. I served Helga her breakfast-coffee and bread with margarine-in bed. She was absolutely delighted and said that this was the first time she'd ever been served breakfast in bed in Theresienstadt."

Meanwhile, the shooting went on. They filmed the town orchestra playing in Market Square; a soccer game before about four hundred spectators in the courtyard of the Dresden Barracks at three o'clock on the afternoon of August 31; the first act of The Tales of Hoffmann The Tales of Hoffmann in the auditorium of the Sokolovna; and the premiere of Pavel Haas's in the auditorium of the Sokolovna; and the premiere of Pavel Haas's Study for String Orchestra Study for String Orchestra, played by the symphony orchestra under the direction of Karel Anerl. And against the backdrop of a town created by Frantiek Zelenka, they filmed the children's opera Brundibar Brundibar.

"I recall those days only vaguely," Flaka says. "We were very agitated. It was hard work to put it on for the Germans, even though we knew the opera very well. But there was Kurt Gerron, who was very energetic, and there were all the camera people, and sitting up in the balcony was the SS. I remember the SS sitting up there, watching us. It was different from usual-a tense atmosphere."

"We weren't used to the large stage of the Sokolovna," Handa explains. "There was a lot more room than in the Magdeburg Barracks. I didn't feel at all comfortable on this stage. It was all too new, too big. From time to time we had to move to the music and arrive at a particular spot on the stage. And I was afraid sometimes that I wouldn't end up where I was supposed to end up, and would be standing in the wrong spot."

And yet the children performed their opera with growing enthusiasm. As always, many of their fans were in the audience. They all wanted to see Brundibar Brundibar and were eager to see how it was going to turn out this time, under spotlights and cameras. In spite of everything, it was an extraordinary event, both for those in the cast and for the audience. Let the Germans do what they wanted with their hoax and their film, let them present the world with their fairy-tale lie about Theresienstadt as a cultural paradise and model ghetto-they could not lay a finger on and were eager to see how it was going to turn out this time, under spotlights and cameras. In spite of everything, it was an extraordinary event, both for those in the cast and for the audience. Let the Germans do what they wanted with their hoax and their film, let them present the world with their fairy-tale lie about Theresienstadt as a cultural paradise and model ghetto-they could not lay a finger on Brundibar Brundibar.

Up in the balcony, on the side reserved for the Germans, unexpected guests were seated: the wives and children of the SS men.

Now they could show them. The children could show them what people degraded as subhumans and often cursed as "Jewish swine" were capable of. We We, their message seemed to be, we poor, starving, caged children can put on a show like this. With music that pleases even you, and your children! we poor, starving, caged children can put on a show like this. With music that pleases even you, and your children!

This notice required Flaka to partic.i.p.ate in the production of Brundibar, Brundibar, which the director Kurt Gerron was filming for the n.a.z.i propaganda doc.u.mentary which the director Kurt Gerron was filming for the n.a.z.i propaganda doc.u.mentary.

"The music is simply enchanting," Thomas Mandl, the young violinist for the coffeehouse orchestra, wrote, describing his impressions after a few performances. "The music is of such high quality, so wonderfully varied and demanding and thrilling and evocative, that anyone with a spark of musicality is carried away from start to finish. There are so many subtle and clever melodic devices and the instrumentation is so intelligent and at the same time so deftly written that these children could really sing their roles. They certainly weren't professionals. They were just 'ordinary' children. But with that ordinary set in quotes."

On August 20, the children put on their beloved opera for one of the last of a total of fifty-five performances. And little Paul made his trumpet ring for all it was worth. "When the SS was present, I always had this shadowy feeling at the back of my head. I knew I could not play wrong, and you can hear every wrong note very clearly on a trumpet. Rahm would notice, I thought to myself, and be mad at me, and put me on a transport. And in those moments it was as if I were playing for my life."

Miriam Rosenzweig.

Miriam Rosenzweig was born in Koice, a town in eastern Slovakia, near the Hungarian border, on November 7, 1929. When she was six, her family's serious financial problems drove them to move to Ostrava in the hope of making a fresh start. But the n.a.z.is soon put an abrupt end to their efforts. On October 18, 1939, Miriam's father and 901 other Jews from Ostrava were forced to board a transport for, as it was called in the official jargon, "voluntary resettlement to a reeducation camp." It was the first transport to leave the German Reich and its annexed territories. Its destination was the little Polish town of Nisko on the San River, in the district of Lublin. Miriam never saw her father again. Three years later, in early October 1942, Miriam, her mother, and her sister arrived in Theresienstadt. "I was ill all that winter. I had dysentery and an ear infection. There were no medicines. The doctor could only puncture my eardrum every day to drain the pus. It got worse and worse, and I had a high fever."Finally, vital medicines found their way into the ghetto, and Miriam recovered. It was spring, however, before she could join her mother in the attic of the Magdeburg Barracks, where she lived until the end of 1943, when she moved into Room 28.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Ghetto Tears.

The evening of September 2, 1944, did not bode well. Around eleven o'clock that night, a severe thunderstorm broke out above Theresienstadt, drenching the town in heavy rains. The bad weather caused a power outage and left the ghetto in terrifying darkness, relieved only by repeated flashes of lightning. "After that, swarms of starving bedbugs flooded the entire camp," Otto Pollak wrote.

By this time people were caught up in a mixture of euphoria and fear. The tension that had prevailed during the visit of the International Red Cross delegation and the unrelenting frenzy surrounding the propaganda film still seemed to hang in the air and charge it with explosive force. Artistic pursuits also took on a feverish, almost superhuman intensity.

In the Sokolovna auditorium, in the town hall, in the Magdeburg Barracks and the old movie hall, in the gymnasium of L 417, in the coffee-house, and in many attics-there were performances everywhere, some of them of the highest artistic quality. Edith Steiner-Kraus provided the accompaniment on a spinet for a performance of Carmen Carmen directed by Franz Eugen Klein; Karl Fischer conducted Mendelssohn's oratorio directed by Franz Eugen Klein; Karl Fischer conducted Mendelssohn's oratorio Elijah Elijah. In the attic of the Magdeburg Barracks, Norbert Frd presented a dramatic version of the biblical story of Esther with music by Karel Reiner, and Ha.n.u.s Jochowitz directed Mozart's Bastien and Bastienne Bastien and Bastienne on a different stage. There were evening song recitals with Karel Berman and Rafael Schachter, chamber music concerts, and solo concerts by several piano virtuosi-Bernhard Kaff, Gideon Klein, Edith Steiner-Kraus, Renee Gartner-Geiringer, and Juliette Aranyi. on a different stage. There were evening song recitals with Karel Berman and Rafael Schachter, chamber music concerts, and solo concerts by several piano virtuosi-Bernhard Kaff, Gideon Klein, Edith Steiner-Kraus, Renee Gartner-Geiringer, and Juliette Aranyi.

This poem, "The Vintage Wine of 1944," written by an unnamed fellow prisoner of Theresienstadt, was saved by Otto Pollak.

THE VINTAGE WINE OF 1944.

When there will come the time you seek a name For a drop of vintage wine, A name to capture what's within, not watered down, but dry (I mean someday, at home-in Palestine) Then call it: "Ghetto Tears 1944."Like "Henkel Dry" or "Tears of Magdalene,"

This brand will gain renown Nor let its drinkers down There is no water in these tears,Just purest wine, The name itself is guarantee.

"Vintage 1944."And you must search the years long past And far ahead your eyes must cast To find that kind of tears So dry, and none with peers, As "Vintage 1944."Theresienstadt, October 1, 1944 One of the final opera premieres, La Serva Padrona La Serva Padrona, an opera buffa by Giovanni Batista Pergolesi, was performed in the Sokolovna auditorium. The conductor was Karel Berman, Rafael Schachter played the piano accompaniment, and, as Viktor Ullmann noted, "it was a pleasure to hear Hans Krasa at the harpsichord."1 Karel venk played the role of the servant Vespone, and Marion Podolier and Bedich Borges gave brilliant performances as well. "It was the last premiere I was able to mount in cooperation with Frantiek Zelenka," Karel Berman wrote in his memoirs. "Our ensemble was dissolved after three performances." Karel venk played the role of the servant Vespone, and Marion Podolier and Bedich Borges gave brilliant performances as well. "It was the last premiere I was able to mount in cooperation with Frantiek Zelenka," Karel Berman wrote in his memoirs. "Our ensemble was dissolved after three performances."

As on several previous occasions, Alice Herz-Sommer gave a solo concert of Chopin's etudes in the town hall. "To play all twenty-four etudes in one evening is to take both a physical and an artistic risk," Viktor Ullmann wrote. "These are, after all, 'etudes,' exercises for the development of Romantic piano technique. Alice Herz-Sommer is a justly admired pianist, short perhaps in stature but great in artistry, and her rendition of certain etudes was phenomenal, but the program as a whole is to be rejected."2 What Ullmann did not know and would never be able to learn was that this concert left a strong impression on many of those who heard it and would later survive the war. "We were gently lifted out of our narrow, starving Terezin and taken to another time and world," Zdenka Fantlova said of this concert in her autobiography. "Sitting on a wooden bench I listened as if in a trance. Forever unforgettable!"3 Alice's playing remained unforgettable for Flaka as well. Indeed, for her it became a crucial inspiration. "The Chopin etudes by Alice Herz-Sommer left such a deep impression on me that I decided that very evening to become a pianist. And I did."

Meanwhile, in the cellar of L 411, rehearsals had begun for the chamber opera The Emperor of Atlantis, or the Refusal to Die The Emperor of Atlantis, or the Refusal to Die, which Victor Ullmann had composed the previous year, basing it on a libretto by the young painter and poet Peter Kien. This allegorical ballad/opera about life and death and a tyrant named Overall reflects the inner spiritual revolt of its creators and of those who partic.i.p.ated in the production.

Shortly before the dress rehearsal in late summer 1944, the project was canceled. Paul Kling, the violin prodigy from Opava, who had just turned fifteen and was already part of the string quintet, had only vague memories of the moment. "No one knows just why the cancellation came about, whether the camp administration decided the premise was too risky, or the camp commandant himself prohibited it, or the Council of Elders ordered the production terminated-no one today can say. Someone at the time knew of course. But these people are no longer alive. I am almost the only one who survived, and I of course know the least, since I was the youngest."4 And so no one heard Death's aria from The Emperor of Atlantis: The Emperor of Atlantis: "I am the gardener Death, I sow sleep in furrows plowed with pain. I am Death, the gardener Death, and pull up wilting weeds of weary creatures." "I am the gardener Death, I sow sleep in furrows plowed with pain. I am Death, the gardener Death, and pull up wilting weeds of weary creatures."

Only Verdi's Requiem Requiem was heard one last time, sung by Rafael Schachter's legendary choir- was heard one last time, sung by Rafael Schachter's legendary choir-"Requiem aeternam, dona eis, Domine. Libera me."

The earth is red with blood The year advances wearily It is war My G.o.d, it is warThe battlefields Overflow with blood The earth is so tired The moment of hopelessness Stands on the horizonEven the sun Shines through the blood And says:Brothers, stop Murdering one another!

Have you not had enough of war Do you not know That you are human beings?There is no point In finding human beings If the world no longer existsThe moon moves calmly across the sky And it too gazes in sadness down at the earth And says: G.o.d, do you not see How the world suffers Everything is bathed in blood!

It is impossible to recover from this When the heart of humankind Is bullet-riddled.Handa Pollak, from her notebook, Vechno, 1944 1944 It was a period that alternated between hope and despair. When word spread through the ghetto that the Allied armies had successfully landed in Normandy on June 6, 1944, hope was on the rise. The end of the war no longer seemed far off. The overwhelming force of Allied troops was bearing down on the German Reich from all directions. In the West, the final phase of the liberation of France from four years of German occupation had begun. The Red Army was approaching from the East. In January it had reached the eastern border of Poland, and had been advancing in a steady series of offensives ever since. By the middle of August, the border of East Prussia had been reached, and the Red Army was headed in the direction of Warsaw and to the great bend in the Vistula. "Telegram from Stalin," reads Otto Pollak's diary. " 'Send ten million mattresses. Our soldiers are right at the border.' "

But whenever hope budded spontaneously, it was always overshadowed by other ominous events and news. As before, the general mood was dominated by worries that were grimly confirmed when, on July 17, three boys fled from the ghetto, including, as Otto Pollak reports, "young Sklarek from Berlin. Presumably in reprisal, five renowned artists were arrested along with their families for defaming the ghetto and are confined in the Little Fortress."

The Theresienstadt painters' affair left the ghetto in great agitation and even greater fear.5 Everyone knew these painters, especially Bedich Fritta (Fritz Taussig), Otto Ungar, Felix Bloch, and Leo Haas, whose works are among the most valuable extant doc.u.ments from the period of the Theresienstadt ghetto. Many people also knew Bedich Fritta's three-year-old son, "droll, chubby-cheeked Tommy," whom Otto Pollak had often enjoyed entertaining. The child likewise vanished on July 17, leaving behind only gloomy forebodings. Everyone knew these painters, especially Bedich Fritta (Fritz Taussig), Otto Ungar, Felix Bloch, and Leo Haas, whose works are among the most valuable extant doc.u.ments from the period of the Theresienstadt ghetto. Many people also knew Bedich Fritta's three-year-old son, "droll, chubby-cheeked Tommy," whom Otto Pollak had often enjoyed entertaining. The child likewise vanished on July 17, leaving behind only gloomy forebodings.

And yet-the pendulum continued to swing to the side of hope. Everything was in flux; there was no doubt that the Allied armies were advancing. The residents of Theresienstadt could see that with their own eyes. "The first swarm of silver birds, flying in the bright sunlight across the southwest," Otto Pollak wrote on July 21, 1944, "were observed between eleven in the morning and one in the afternoon. The children in the Home watched the spectacle from their window on the third floor. We are caught up in indescribable excitement. (Children blew kisses at them.)"

The next day a new rumor sent a wave of excitement through the ghetto. "AH succ.u.mbed to his wounds at two this afternoon," Otto Pollak noted. The news of Stauffenberg's attempted a.s.sa.s.sination of Hitler in the Fuhrer's headquarters in East Prussia on July 20 had found its way to Theresienstadt. The news that it had not succeeded was slower in getting through. As late as July 30, a mistaken version of the outcome of the attempt still prevailed, lifting everyone's hopes. "In light of the good news," Otto Pollak wrote on July 30, "a tide of good health is sweeping the ghetto."

Man at the Well, pencil drawing by Jo Spier pencil drawing by Jo Spier By now the Allies were launching air raids day and night against German munitions depots, oil refineries, radar stations, V-1 launching pads, communication centers, transport facilities, and cities. "Twelve noon," Otto Pollak wrote on August 24. "For the second time those shiny silver birds ... in the east, moving southwestward."

The effect of such events was enormous. And now that the air-raid alarm was sounded once or twice a day, there were happy faces and optimistic conversations everywhere. Was it not obvious that the Germans would soon be defeated and would finally lay down their arms?

People are blind and helpless And the good ones lie buried in the earth When will peace finally Fill the hearts of men?Open your eyes, you blind people Look upon it and do something To make the awful booming cloud of war Be swept away.And one day, perhaps All nations will shake hands They will triumph over evil And be friends again.And they will defend the truth And call out in their happiness: "Evil is banned; We no longer need to fight."Handa Pollak, from her notebook, Vechno, 1944 1944 For prisoners wavering between hope and fear, the New Year's message of the Jewish elder Paul Eppstein, issued on September 16, 1944, in the name of the Theresienstadt Council of Elders, must have seemed like an ominous tipping of the scales. Eppstein wished them all the best for the year 5705 of the Jewish calendar, and thanked them for the work achieved in the year just past and for their discipline in carrying out their duties. Then, as reported the next day in the Communications of the Jewish Communications of the Jewish Self-Administration Self-Administration, he added: "In a time of great decisions that are changing the course of world history, when it has been our fate to live as if on an island, our own resiliency is crucial for us in shaping our lives and in recognizing our historic task of meeting our responsibilities for our community."6 "These times do not allow me to speak openly." These words as well, according to an eyewitness account, were included in an address in which the chief elder fervently appealed to the ghetto residents for their trust. "I would nevertheless like to employ a comparison that may help you understand our current situation." And he likened Theresienstadt to a ship nearing its harbor. "The harbor is, however, encircled with mines, and only the captain knows the course, which, though not direct, is the only one that will bring us safely into port."7 On Sat.u.r.day, September 23, more swarms of silver birds pa.s.sed over Theresienstadt. "Gazing at those airplanes coming from who knows how far away, Helga has been caught up in strong longings for her mother, which she told me about this evening, trying to hold back her tears," Otto Pollak wrote, and then continued, "There is a rumor that during the Jewish holy days, 5,000 Jewish men between the ages of eighteen and fifty will be sent on two transports to D. How can the ghetto manage if nearly all the men capable of work have to leave? What lies behind such a measure?"

The next day, the SS issued a written decree-in the Communications of the Jewish Self-Administration- Communications of the Jewish Self-Administration-that every resident of the ghetto needed to know: With a view to total employment of all forces, it has been decided ... that opportunities for work needed to meet current demands in Theresienstadt will be expanded. Men capable of work will therefore be employed in priority tasks outside Theresienstadt, much as the "outside work brigades for constructing barracks" were employed. To this end, on Tuesday, September 26, and Wednesday, September 27, following instructions of the appropriate office, 2,500 men between ages sixteen and fifty-five will be processed each day and sent from the settlement to other districts of the Reich. ... All such men must therefore immediately prepare for transport and a.s.sume they will be summoned.8 The transport lists were now announced and the orders issued. Riesa, near Dresden, was the place of employment, at least according to the rumor that the SS had made a point of circulating. No one trusted such information anymore. People were aware of just one thing: A catastrophe had overtaken them.

"The ghetto is caught up in great unrest, since in a few days so many men will be leaving their wives behind, fathers their children, sons their mothers," Otto Pollak wrote on September 24. And a day later: "Helga is helping her chemistry professor, Milo Salus, pack his things, since he has to leave on the transport, as does a teacher who, she says, always wears an ironic smile and whom she describes as an 'elegantarium.' Felix is saying his goodbyes, since he will be confined to holding barracks tomorrow. He is calm and composed."9 In all the uproar, only a few people noticed that sometime between three and four o'clock on the afternoon of September 27, Paul Eppstein vanished into a closed truck. He was taken to the Little Fortress and murdered that same day. No one in the ghetto learned of this, not even his wife, Hedwig, who came to the SS headquarters every day with a pot of food for him. "Gentlemen," Heinrich Jockel, the feared commander of the Little Fortress, who spared no effort to torture and murder his victims in the cruelest ways possible, said to his accomplices, "I expect you to maintain the strictest silence about this matter; it is an issue of far-reaching significance."10 One day later, at noon on September 28, 1944, Transport Ek was the first to leave, with 2,499 men on it. Engineer Otto Zucker, the designated "leader of the labor camp," was on this transport, along with other members of the so-called staff of Theresienstadt. Almost without exception, those who left were men in their prime, among them the singer Karel Berman, the young violinists Paul Kling and Thomas Mandl, Rudolf Freudenfeld, who had directed Brundibar Brundibar, and Karel Pollak, Handa's father, whom the girls called Strejda. Their last moments together are burned forever into Handa's memory: "The day before my father had to board the transport was Yom Kippur. We sat on the ramparts above the Cavalier Barracks-Tella, my father, and I. We talked about our life after the war. And we promised one another that when we were all reunited we would always observe Yom Kippur as a day of fasting. But my father never returned."

At eight o'clock that evening, Otto Pollak went to the sluice. Alongside the tracks, "four arc lamps on the side of the building illuminate the street bright as day. A locomotive with the second train of cars is pulling in. The first cars are large cattle cars refitted with big windows."

"And then came the moment when five thousand men between twenty and fifty-five, in the best years of their adult lives, were sent away all at once," Alice Herz-Sommer recalls. "Among them were my husband and the husband of my best friend, Edith Steiner-Kraus. That goodbye-it was a terrible shock for my son! I had to give my husband my word of honor that I would not volunteer for a transport. The transport pulled out, and then, only two days later, another transport was ordered and we were told: 'Wives can now follow their husbands.' "

The SS circulated a flyer stating that only a limited number of family members would be allowed to join this labor transport that was so important for the war effort. So it was a labor camp after all? "Many of the women volunteered," says Alice, "but my friend Edith and I did not."

Five hundred women fell into the SS's trap. They voluntarily joined two subsequent transports, El and Em, that left Theresienstadt on September 29 and October 1. Rahm and Haindl amused themselves-and not for the first time-by striking and cursing the prisoners in order to move them onto the cars more quickly.

Eichmann's adjutant Ernst Mohs was already handing out typewritten lists of names with special instructions to the newly appointed chief elder, Dr. Benjamin Murmelstein. One of them stated that high-ranking officials in the ghetto administration, officials in the Jewish organizations, former officers in all armies, important inventors, and prominent individuals would also be transported.

Summonses were issued day and night without a pause for one whole month-almost nineteen thousand orders for transport. Hardly anyone was able to sleep now. The residents of the ghetto were petrified.

"They just wept, wept, wept. No one said a word. So many people were gone," Marta Frohlich says. "My older brother, Jenda, our protector, was gone. I almost left with him. Our counselor Eva Eckstein left voluntarily to be with her sister and her fiance."

"Most of my friends, boys and girls, went away," Ela Stein says. "Honza Gelbkopf was gone, and nearly all the boys from Home 9. My uncle Otto left with the last transport on October 28. There was no time to say goodbye. There was no pause. Everything happened so quickly."

"One transport after the other left," Flaka recalls. "One girlfriend after the other left. Our counselors. My brother Michael left on September 28 and my sister Lizzi on October 19. I accompanied them as far as the sluice, which was forbidden and very dangerous. Sometimes people who weren't on the list were shoved onto a car at the last moment and the doors were closed behind them."

"You cannot imagine the kinds of things that happened there at the sluice," says Eva Herrmann, who wore a red armband as a transport aide. "And it was organized so that everyone had to line up by number- everyone had a number. Then they walked toward the cars and the numbers were called out, from one to one thousand, to one thousand five hundred, to two thousand. ... You had the feeling that as long as they were in the barracks they were still in Theresienstadt. But when they went out that gate-there stood the SS, who took charge with their shouting and stomping, with boots and clubs and everything else! If one of the older people didn't move fast enough or there was someone with children-the scenes we were forced to watch were lessons in horror. People didn't really know what was happening to them. They only knew that they were leaving, but didn't know where they were headed."11 Thursday, October 12, 1944 (Otto Pollak's diary) (Otto Pollak's diary)Sunny day. At eleven in the morning I manage with some difficulty to make my way to the Hamburg sluice. Last goodbyes with Marta and Fritz. Marta deeply touched. Weeping, she expresses her fear that we'll not see each other again. Helga and I remain behind alone.Sunday, October 15, 1944The Hechts, Hugo, Grunbaum, Kopper, and Helga's best friend Hanna Lissau are summoned. At three-thirty in the afternoon a difficult goodbye with the Hechts. With them I lose my last friends. From the steps I call out to them not to lose heart. Helga is on night duty and visits the Hechts at the sluice. I look out on the street early in the morning. The boarding of the cars is in high gear.Monday, October 16, 1944Around five in the morning Helga quietly enters the room. I turn on a light. My child, breaking into tears, reports that the train rolled out at five o'clock. The pain in Helga's soul is very great. She stopped at Genie Barracks and watched the train pull out, until the last car was lost from sight. She saw Hugo being boarded on a litter and noticed how all the baggage of the blind was left behind Genie Barracks and watched the train pull out, until the last car was lost from sight. She saw Hugo being boarded on a litter and noticed how all the baggage of the blind was left behind.Tuesday, October 17, 1944Hugo's will, made as he said goodbye on Sunday: My heirs are my brother's three children. Amid his tears he told me this while gazing out the window. Another transport leaves tomorrow. Helga remarks about these summonses: "A single piece of paper decides a person's fate."

"I received my orders to be transported in October," Eva Winkler recalls. "Just me. Not my mother, not my father. My father did everything he could to get me removed from the list. He went to the Council of Elders and told them either the whole family goes or I have to stay here. It was my good luck that my father was needed. I was already in the Hamburg Barracks. I can still see the lines of people with transport numbers on the tags around their necks, and I can hear them being called out, one, two, three ... and then watching as people climb into the cattle cars. Then, at the last moment, my father arrived and pulled me off the transport."

"It was one of the last transports in late October. And needless to say, as a fourteen-year-old girl, I was put on it alone," says Vera Nath. "I wasn't doing any important work. My sister was working at the Kursawe villa, my mother in the mica works,12 my father in the my father in the Kleiderkammer Kleiderkammer. Their work was very important. I received my summons for a transport leaving on Sunday, October 22, 1944. When they put me on the list my father went to Murmelstein and begged him to take me off the transport. And Murmelstein said, 'You can go as well. You and your wife and your daughter.' And he put us all on the transport list.

"We were in the sluice for two days, and our things were already loaded and our numbers had been called. As my father pa.s.sed by Rahm, Rahm said, 'Nath, what are you up to?' My father said that I was on the transport and he couldn't let me go alone. And Rahm said, 'I need you. Stay here with your family' And so we stayed."

"My father didn't even try to get us off the transport," recalls Judith Schwarzbart, who also received her orders to be transported in late October. "My mother didn't want him to. She hoped to see my brother Gideon again, who had left in May. And shortly before we left, my father called me to him-he probably guessed that he wouldn't be coming back-and he said just these words to me: 'Stay just as you are.' And then we all boarded the transport."

Of the girls in Room 28, the following boarded the October 1944 transports: Jiinka Steiner and the counselor Eva Eckstein on October 1; Ruth Meisl on October 4; Ruth Gutmann on October 6; Eva h.e.l.ler on October 12; Eva Fischl, Hana Lissau, and Maria Muhlstein on October 16; Emma Taub on October 19; Marta Kende, Helga Pollak, Handa Pollak, Eva Stern, and Marianne's friend Hana Brady on October 23; Lenka Lindt and Judith Schwarzbart on October 28.

Room 28, all the Girls' Homes, the Boys' Homes, the Children's Homes, the barracks, and all living quarters-they were all being emptied out, day after day. Left behind in the ghetto were the Danes, a few Dutch, women and girls who labored in the mica works, and those who, like Ela's mother, worked in the fields under the Czech supervisor Karel Kursawe. Experts who were important to the SS and highly decorated or wounded veterans from the First World War, such as Leo Flach and Otto Pollak, also remained.

Transport summons dated October 22, 1944, from the papers of Otto Pollak The dedications and good wishes in Flaka's poetry alb.u.m were left behind as well: Just as this big mushroom protects the little mushroom, that's how our Home protects us. But after a while we will have to protect others. And so prepare yourself, for you will have to pay back the loan someday. Never reflect for long if you can do a good deed, and never lose hope. Without hope you cannot exist. And keep remembering those you were fond of. And never forget those who are like me.Your FikaTerezin, October 5, 1944Think back now and then to our Home in Theresienstadt and don't be annoyed if I annoyed you sometimes.Ruthka (Plze Bezovka 9)Ruth GutmannOctober 5, 1944Always remember our Room 28, think of what we learned there, what we strove for, and organize your life according to the rules that we learned there.TellaOctober 5, 1944Dear Flaka,Never forget what we have experienced together. The way we sang and dreamed, and the concerts with Batik. Never forget what was beautiful about our Home. Good luck, and don't upset your mother. Kisses from yourMaria MuhlsteinP.S.: Don't be annoyed that I've written such nonsense. You wanted me to write something.October 13, 1944I am sorry, but I have to write similar thoughts for you as I wrote for the other girls. But you need to know that Theresienstadt was also a good school for us, despite all the bad things. You came here as a little child, without character, but under the influence of our Home you have acquired character. And I believe you have the will to be a good person good school for us, despite all the bad things. You came here as a little child, without character, but under the influence of our Home you have acquired character. And I believe you have the will to be a good person.Hana LissauOctober 14, 1944Fika's entry in Flaka's poetry alb.u.mThere is no end. A new era always follows. Each person has his goal, and whoever wants to achieve that goal has a great many difficulties and a long struggle ahead. A person has to struggle in the face of adversity. People who have no will never achieve their goals. But if you keep up the struggle and never stop, even if you are defeated, you come closer to your goal. This struggle is the struggle of the will. Even an individual who is physically quite weak can have a strong will you keep up the struggle and never stop, even if you are defeated, you come closer to your goal. This struggle is the struggle of the will. Even an individual who is physically quite weak can have a strong will.Eli MuhlsteinOctober 15, 1944Human beings are in this world to do good. Anyone who does not abide by that has no right to be a human being. If you want to fulfill your mission on this earth, act accordingly and live by the principles that Tella has taught us. Whenever you're in doubt, think back to what she would have done. I believe that she is the most flawless person I know that Tella has taught us. Whenever you're in doubt, think back to what she would have done. I believe that she is the most flawless person I know.In memory of my sweetheart,Lenka LindtOctober 15, 1944Helga's entry in Flaka's poetry alb.u.mAlways remember, dear Flaka, that there were times here in Theresienstadt when we lived lazily through each day and never gave up hope that peace will come.Handa PollakDear Flaka!I hope that we will see each other again out in beautiful nature, where everything is fresh and fragrant, where we can breathe free and realize our ideas and not live as we did here in this prison cell. And when we are older and a little wiser, there will perhaps come an evening when the stars shine in a dark sky, lending the sea its silvery l.u.s.ter, and we shall sit beside the sh.o.r.e and think of our friends and the cares that we once had so many years before in Theresienstadt.HelgaOctober 22, 1944 "After the transports left that autumn, we came back to our room one evening and didn't know what to do. Almost all the girls, all the counselors were gone. It was eerie in the ghetto," Ela Stein recalls. "A lot of the windows stood wide open, and many of the rooms were completely empty."

"The last days in Room 28 were very depressing. All our friends were gone. The Home stood almost empty, the whole ghetto felt deserted," Marianne Deutsch recalls. "Nothing functioned anymore. And then w.i.l.l.y Groag came and told us that whoever had parents or someone else in the family should move in with them."

"All the bunks were empty," says Flaka. "And at the end there were only four of us in the room. So we took down our flag and cut it into quarters, and each of us took one. And we promised each other that after the war, when we all met up again, we would sew it back together as a symbol of our friendship."

Ela, her mother, and her sister moved into a building that housed many of the people who worked in agriculture. They were given a small room with enough mattresses to go around, and