Abstract
This month's column provides an account from Ephraim Reichenberg, who was a prisoner at Auschwitz-Birkenau in 1944, and assessment notes from his clinicians. I had just turned 17 when my family and I were deported from our Hungarian ghetto on July 7, 1944. Three days later, after a frightening journey which I shared with 70 to 80 people in a sealed livestock wagon, we arrived at Auschwitz-Birkenau. After being herded from the train, we joined the crowd prior to being selected for either the line of people who were destined immediately for the gas chambers or the line of those who were considered fit for hard labor. In the midst of the confusion, terror, and disorder, I heard "Zwillinge raus" ("twins out"). Because my brother and I were strong and healthy and looked very much alike, although my brother was one year older, we were separated out by Jewish camp workers, who whispered to us: "Stay on this side; you at least have a chance to stay alive." After a cold shower, we were shaved, underwent disinfection, donned the striped inmates' uniform, and had the numbers B-10506 and B-10507, respectively, tattooed on our left forearms. We were separatedPreview Only. This article cannot be rented because we do not currently have permission from the publisher.
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