Wir Errinern

Two young boys torn apart by WW2. Betrayal. Confliction. Religion. Tragedy. These young boys will be thrust into the real world and forced to conform or stand for what's right.

Wir Erinnern 

Walter Ackerman

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Lost in the crimson embers crackling in the cobblestone fireplace, my insides grow uneasy as the ghastly memories of the smokestacks flicker through my mind, the putrid smell of rotting human flesh branding my memory. My stomach filled with a nauseous pain as I stomped out the flames. I feel my wife’s eyes bore into my backside. As I turn around, she covers her mouth and retreats to the kitchen to continue preparing dinner, no doubt lost in her own memories as well. The TV blares in the background, the sudden, familiar siren signaling the recent Amber Alert of yet another missing child from our neighborhood. Her innocent, cherub face flashes across the screen along with the place she was last seen and the clothes she was wearing, dirty jean overalls and light up shoes. Her brunette locks were tied up with a light pink ribbon, the ends frayed.  I sigh and pray over the new evils that have taken over society, sins of prejudice and hate crime have been replaced with kidnapping and robbery. Some how though I can’t help but be grateful the world is different than when I was young. I'm thankful my son doesn't have to suffer what I did, that he doesn't have to hold such dark secrets. 

The mouth- watering smell of my wife’s cooking fill the air, and the scent of her spaghetti draws me out of my haunting reverie. My ten- year- old son Peter dashes into the living room and leaps onto my lap, flashing me that wide, toothy grin that I cherish with all of my heart. He looks down in bewilderment at the open Bible on my lap as he flipped through the countless stories and fiddles with my beaded rosary.  

“Dad,” Peter paused, "Why do you read the Bible so much?” I chuckle at his ten year old inquisitiveness. “It reminds me that there’s something out there worth living for." I gripped my leather Bible hard, my knuckles turning pale in my unsettled state.

"God tells us, Peter, that we should never be cowards in times of fear, for He is with us until the end. He never puts us through things we cannot overcome.” The words were more for my comfort than his. I can see the wheels spinning in his head as he ponders my words and asks, “But what would we have to fear?” “You my son have nothing to fear, for your world is a good place, one filled with peace. You are growing up in a much better time than I did.” I slowly close my Bible, marking my place in the various scriptures with the burgundy ribbon. Peter stands up, stretches his wiry arms over his head and takes a seat on the hardwood floor before me, propped up on his elbows. His face was one filled with questions and doubts as he slid his glasses up the bridge of his freckled nose, a habit he had picked up from me.  

“Dad what happened when you were a kid?” his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s so different between then and now?” My eyes fluttered shut while the sounds and images of my past flickered behind my eyelids like a scary movie that won’t turn off. Sinister sounds and images flash in my mind, ones I had tried to block out for years: the sounds of the sirens wailing, of families torn apart, relatives left to suffer in the ghettos at the hands of the Germans, the sounds of the gunshots fired out of pure hatred, the putrid smell of the smoke spiraling out of the gas chambers into the heavens. This was the life I had locked away and vowed never to return to, but as I traveled back in time, I felt the hole in my heart resurface after so many years of keeping my secrets buried inside me. Memories played in my head like a movie stuck in fast forward. Peter waited impatiently as I set the scene. 

August 31, 1939

The Shadow

It was 1939, just like any other day in Warsaw. The sun hung high in the sky covering our community with warmth and security. This was right before the war had started. This was before racism and prejudice engulfed our minds like a plague, torturing the soul. DING DONG! I pressed the doorbell and stepped back, brushing random dirt off of my plaid shorts as I waited patiently for my best friend, Cartsen Kaiser, to come outside so we could ride bikes. His mother, Mrs. Kaiser, opened the door; a smile covered her face from ear to ear. 

“Why hello there Walter!” Mrs. Kaiser’s voice rang like the tinkling of Christmas bells. “Such a surprise to see you again,” her mouth held a sardonic smile. Carsten bounded down the grand staircase and sprinted outside, his bike in tow. His disheveled blonde hair resembled a haystack on top of his head, a look of mischief in his sparling dark blue eyes. 

“Bye Mom! Be back later!” Carsten grabbed my arm and yanked us away, swinging one leg over his red bicycle, and we sped off down the street attracting looks of curiosity from the neighbors.

“Oh get out of here you two!” She waved us off with a flick of her black and white checkered kitchen towel. Muffled and soft, her voice faded away into the afternoon winds until all we could hear was the sounds of nature surrounding us. Carsten, who was ten feet ahead of me, gave the signal, two sharp rings of his bicycle bell, for us to pull over. We leaped off our bikes and abandoned them in the ivory bushes. Carsten exhaled a deep sigh.

“Don’t you just love it out here, the smell of the fresh pine?” I shrugged my shoulders in a matter of discontent.

  “I don’t know; I suppose so. You’re the adventure guy, not me.” Carsten laughed quietly. He braced himself, soared into the air with his arms outstretched, and clung to the gigantic oak tree, climbing up, up all the way to the top. He nestled into the crook of the wide, thick oak branch and began tearing the yellow- orange leaves from their place as he swung his legs from his place high above. Here we could never be found. We were free to turn these woods into whatever world we felt, whether it was a mystical kingdom overrun by an evil king or an exotic amazon rain forest. The trinkling of the fresh water stream, the crunching sound made by our shoes stepping on the colorful autumn leaves are all reminders of a world all our own, tucked away in our own little corner of the universe. Suddenly Carsten’s expression turned somber and he began breaking branches and throwing them into the unknown.

“Do you really think there will be a war Walt?” I plopped down on a big pile of crimson leaves and picked at the blades of grass. I looked up at my best friend.

“I don’t know Carst. It seems like it does.” I could hear him gulp from the mountainous tree branch. His troubled eyes opened wide in terror like a deer caught in headlights.

“I heard Mama talking this morning about some big invasion. Walt, they’re coming here. The Nazis are coming here. What are we going to do?” The uneasiness was thick in Carsten’s voice, which surprised me to no end. Carsten was fearless; he looked danger in the eye and laughed. At least that’s how I saw him. I come up with the plans, but Carsten battles the dragons. He was the daring, confident hero and I was his faithful sidekick. While sometimes I feel like the shadow, I know without me he’d have no light. Without each other we would be lost in the uncertainty of the world.

“Don’t worry Carsten. That’s just some rumor going around. The Germans wouldn’t waste their time dropping bombs on Warsaw.” I saw my friend exhale a sigh of relief, but inside I was shaking because the lie I had uttered. The Germans were coming alright. My father has been preparing for awhile now, hiding our valuables and such under the wooden floorboards, anything gold or silver, his antique pocket-watch and old photographs, soon to be the only evidence left of my family. Oh the Nazis were coming, and I don’t think anyone was ready for the disaster to come, the tragedy history remembers as World War II.

September 1, 1939

The Invasion 

Light rain scattered the gloomy skies, but other than that nothing was different, when overnight the whole world had changed, rendering me helpless as my life was turned upside down. Warsaw, Poland. September 1^st, 1939.  After kissing my mother and younger sisters on the cheek goodbye, I raced away on my bicycle to Carsten’s house. I rang the doorbell and waited for someone to come to the door. Hearing the pitter patter of feet, I was greeted at the door by Carsten, the apprehensiveness plain on his face. Immediately I sensed his nervousness as he looked behind him warily and slowly closed the door, a hat attempting to conceal his mess of a hair and failing miserably.

“Walter! What... what are you doing here?”  Bewildered, I quirked my head.

“What do you mean Carst? We ride bikes every day. Is everything alright?” His mouth opened but the words wouldn’t come out. It was as if the words were trapped inside him and the pain on his face struck a feeling of worry inside me. It wasn’t until he stepped close towards me that I noticed it. He flinched as I reached out my hand and slid his cap off his head to reveal a purplish bruise marking its territory under his eye. 

“Cartsen I…I’m so sorry.” In disbelief, I covered my mouth. 

“How did this happen?” I asked suspiciously. He shrugged me off and backed away from me, yanking the cap from my hand and placed it back on his head. I quirked my head in bewilderment, ‘Was he mad at me?’ Before Carsten could even utter a word his father skulked to the doorway and struck an intimidating stance behind his son’s cowering figure. He gripped Carsten’s shoulder tight, his nails digging into Carsten like a vice. That scared look flashed across Carsten’s face, when his eyes augment and his face turns red, all signals that he had been caught doing something he knows he shouldn’t have. “Now what do we have here Carsten?” His father interrogated, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose as he flexed his muscles and raised his eyebrows at his son. Carsten, at a loss for words, opened his mouth to speak, yet no words tumbled out.

“I was just wondering, Mr. Kaiser, if Carsten could come outside and ride bikes with me.” Mr. Kaiser pulled his son by the elbow and shoved him behind his threatening stature.  Carsten’s eyes met mine and the look on his face said it all. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed inaudibly. Mr. Kaiser closed the door behind him and stepped closer to my trembling body as I backed up with each step he took stumbling over the loose grey, cobble stones in the driveway. 

“Now you listen to me you disgusting vermin. I don’t want you coming around this house anymore, and you stay far away from Carsten and my family. Do you hear me?” I tripped on the last step and flew 

to the concrete, scrapping my elbows. Mr. Kaiser opened the door to go back inside, but my words made him pause.

“But sir? What have I done?” Carsten’s father turned around and stuck his index finger in my face.

 “Don’t you know?! You’re a Jew! That’s reason enough! I don’t want you corrupting Carsten with your bad influence, and that’s final you twit!” Mr. Kaiser stormed back inside his house, confirming his fury with the snap of the deadbolt. I laid there on the ground, in astonishment at the event that had occurred. Just like that, my best friend was gone and the evil prejudice had begun to tighten its grip on my life, spinning it off into a whole new direction, and a life- threatening one at that.

Later on that day I laid on bed, staring up at the ceiling in my bedroom, contemplating what had happened. ‘Did this mean Carsten and I couldn’t be friends anymore, and what did his father mean by me being a Jew is reason enough?’ I couldn’t shake the words from my head, and I kept replaying the incident over and over. Suddenly, I head a light tap on my door. I sat up. My mother’s shining face appeared from behind the door.

“Oh! Walt, would you mind stopping by the bakery and picking up some bread so I can make Rosca for dessert?” I hopped off the bed and slipped on my brown, leather sandals.

“Sure Mother.” I took the grocery list from her, and she kisses me on the head.

Walking into town was always an adventure, with noise everywhere. People were always chatting; there would be laughter, kids running around, but not today. Today it’s quiet, like someone has passed, and yet I saw no white wreaths on any doors. Instead I was met my millions of blue eyes, a trait common in most Germans. They greeted me with menacing glares. “I just don’t get it,” I said quietly to myself. I pushed open the door to the patisserie, the bells jingled. I greeted our local baker, Amos with a smile. “Afternoon Mr. Amos!” I handed him the list my mother gave me, but his reaction left me stunned. He takes one look at the note and crumpled it up. He leaned over the counter and spat in my face. I gasped at the moisture and flick it off onto the floor in anger.

“I don’t sell to filth. Now leave my store or I’ll set the dogs on you.” I stood there for a moment, my mouth agape, but eventually I exited the patisserie.

‘What is going on?’ I asked myself, but that’s when I saw it, a huge poster on the window of the bakery. One phrase caught my attention, “NO JEWS ALLOWED!” I read on. “By order of the Fuehrer if you are of Jewish descent you must abide by these rules. You are required to wear a yellow star; You are required to turn in your bicycles; You are forbidden to use streetcars; You are forbidden to ride in cars, even your own; You are required to do your shopping between 3.00 and 5.00 p.m.; You are required to frequent only Jewish-owned barbershops and beauty salons; You are forbidden to be out on the streets between 8.00 p.m. and 6.00 a.m.; You are forbidden to attend theaters, movies or any other forms of entertainment; You are required to attend Jewish schools.” And the list went on and on. This had been Hitler’s doing, no doubt in an attempt to make Germany a Jew- free nation. The puzzle pieces linked together in my head, and everything had begun to make sense. Whatever this was, it was only going to get worse.

Our home was filled with a feeling of serenity. My younger sisters, Jocelyn and Ana- Marie sat together at the piano bench and ran their fingers along the keys, filling the room with the works of Beethoven’s Fur Elise. My mother was cooking in the kitchen, and my father sat upright in his recliner, flipping through a newspaper, a perfect hallmark moment. That’s when the sirens began to wail. My mother rushed into the living room, and my sister’s eyes shot open in panic. We sat there frozen as we counted. 1…2…3…4…

“5.” My father whispered. My mother shuddered in fear, her eyes winced shut, like maybe if she closed everything out around her, that it wasn’t happening. 6… 7…8…9… The last siren rang through my ears, communicating the terrifying message. 

“10.” Ana- Marie said, that one word sending my father and mother into action. 

“Come kids! There isn’t a moment to lose!” My father turned the dial on the radio all the way up and tucked it under his arm as he scurried with my sisters and me to the bunker outside. The chilling wind whipped us in the face as the gloomy, dark clouds attacked us with its rain and thunder. As we settled inside the bunker, my sisters clutched each other and covered their ears while my father and I huddled around the radio. “ATTENTION! ATTENTION ALL POLES AND RESIDENTS OF WARSAW! Poland is under attack! I repeat! We are under attack! Take shelter underground immediately!’ My father and I look at each other with knowing expressions. This was it. This means war. We turned to look at my sisters to see their reactions when we noticed. My mother was nowhere to be found. 

“Oh god,” my father screams. I can hear my mother’s frantic footsteps outside the bunker, but then it hits. A rush of searing heat slams the door to the bunker shut, isolating us in a pit of despair. I shall never forget the stomach- churning sound of my mother’s scream as she went. And just like that. The war had begun, taking with it the life of Vienne Ackerman.

“2 Down, 2 to go,” Said the War.

“Walt, get up. Walter, get up at once! Come on please, we don’t have much time!” My younger sister, Ana Marie, her voice laced in worry, nudged out of yet another sleepless night. My eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep. When it all came to me, I shot up from the floor and threw the blanket back. The bombs had destroyed a vast majority of Warsaw, but the Lord laid a hand over our home. I ran to go wake up Jocelyn. She has nightmares every night, so she sleeps in her own bedroom to avoid awakening my sister and me. I slammed the door open and pulled my sister out of bed, “Jocelyn, come on. They’re coming.” My sister thrashed around in my arms, caught on the edge of her dreams and reality, and slammed her tiny fists against my chest. She was sweating all over, but there was no time to calm her down. I held her in my arms and rushed into the kitchen where my father was running around and putting things away. I knew in an instant what he was doing, hiding all bibles, and crucifixes, anything spiritual that went against the Nazi leaders and the Fuhrer.  He laid Mein Kempf on our coffee table, Hitler’s book. 

 “Walter, don’t just stand there! Do something! There is no time to waste! Take your sisters down into the basement and hide!” My father’s voice was laced with hysteria as he scampered about the house in fear, dusting things off, well at least, what the bomb raid had left. Ana Marie went into the living room and threw back the ancient rug in the middle of the floor, uncovering the secret door that leads into the dark cellar below. She climbed down the steps into the darkness and vanished from sight. I took one last look at my father and ran to him.

“Walt, you be a good boy ok? Everything will be alright, I promise. You just promise me something ok? You take care of your sisters for me.” He placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah Dad, of course. I promise to look after them.” I had never seen my father cry in my short years of life, but there he was, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto my shirt.

“I love you Son.” My dad engulfed me in a big hug, and all the tears I had been fighting to keep strong for him escaped down my face and rolled down my chin. All of a sudden, there was a hard rap at the door.

“Ackerman! Open this door! By order of the Fuherer you are hereby charged of treason!” My father pushed me toward the trap door to the basement.

“Go, Walter! Go now!” I skidded across the room and flung the door open. In my moment of panic, I had completely forgotten the stairs and plunged down deep into the darkness. I landed hard with a loud thud, and I could instantly hear the sickening crack of my leg snap. I bit back a scream. “Walter!” My sisters ran over to me. I covered their mouths and yanked them down next to my frail body.

 “SHHH! Don’t speak! Don’t let them hear you!” They crumpled in defeat down by my side and laid their heads on my shoulders. There being no window down deep in the cellar, it took our eyes some time to adjust to the looming darkness. There was nothing left to do but wait. Wait for the Nazis to discover us, wait for them to leave. The sharp pain in my leg got worse with each passing second, but there was nothing I could do. For hours, it seemed, we sat there waiting, listening to the sounds of my father being beaten and tortured for information, information on the whereabouts on his children.

All we could make out from the chaos above us was the cussing of the officers, calling my father an animal and worthless, the blood-curling screams from my father as they whipped him. Then out of nowhere, it got real quiet. You could hear a pin drop, then suddenly… a gunshot. A single tear rolled down my cheek, and I hastily wiped it away. It was pure agony, the worse kind of hell. The blinding light shone down on our disheveled figures. We had been caught. “I found them! Alecander I found the runts!” The wicked officer flew down the steps and yanked my sisters by their chestnut hair.

“You monster! Let them go! Take me! Not them!” I yelled, biting back a flurry of curse words.  The officer cackled. 

 “Trust me you no good sack of rubbish! There is more than enough room for the lot of ya at Dachau!” He let out a roar of sinister laughter and smacked me across my right cheek. I winced in pain. Both officers escorted us out, occasionally ramming us with the heads of their guns. They loaded us into the awaiting cattle car outside, impatiently waiting to escort the Jews to Dachau. Millions of dark brown eyes looked up at us. I clutched my sisters close as we took our seats on the road to hell. I shut my eyes in an attempt to forget, but there would be no forgetting. This was just the beginning, a beginning in which the Hitler was the devil and we were his slaves. The cattle car sped off to the dreaded concentration camp, the place uncovered as Dachau. “Our Father in Heaven, hollowed be thy name.” I did the first thing I thought of. I prayed.

Welcome to Hell

No words could put into perspective the chaos set before me as families yelled for one another, lost among a sea of desperate brown eyes. Mothers shouting the names of their lost children, tears of distress, people shouting names while others coward in fear against their families, cherishing what little time they had left to spend together. Forced to make room, my sisters and I had to stand for hours on end with our hands held above our heads. People were begging for food, others were banging on the walls looking for any sign of escape, clueless to our impending doom. Thrown into the boxcar, we had no idea what to expect of our journey, my sisters and I. The Nazi officers abandoned us all in this cramped, cattle car that was once used to transfer animals, which is what the Jews were to the world now.  We were vermin who were not worthy of food or water, and the officers treated us as such, leaving the lot of us aching with the pains of malnutrition and dehydration. We were lambs sent to the slaughter house, destined to die. Filling the miniscule area with an odor most foul, the unbearable odor of urine and the vomit of the people whose bodies were too weak to take the agonizing starvation filled the cattle car, forcing us to hold our breaths and gag for air. The stench made me sick to my stomach. The boxcar held no windows, the only sign of light shined down upon us from a small air hole on the ceiling, mocking us, shining down on or bodies as small beacon of hope It felt like we were all gasping for our last breaths, piled on top of another, strangers we didn’t know but together we were neighbors in hell. 

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Author's Note

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- John 3: 16