EXTRACT: CH 47 Road to redemption

Shlomo Wasserman arrived in Auschwitz in November 1942 squashed in a cattle cart that entered through the gates of “Arbeit Macht Frei.” On arrival, he was marched to a queue for selection – the infamous selection – hard-labour or death. Slowly, the queue diminished and he found himself nearing the front, where finally, still confused, he stood face-to-face with the clerk behind a desk. He noticed a number tattooed on the clerk’s forearm protruding from the shirt-sleeve and couldn’t help but stare.
“Name?” asked the Jew at the desk.

“Shlomo Wasserman,” said Wassie, mesmerized by the ink.

“Occupation?”

“Carpenter,” he answered, still transfixed at the tattooed numbers. They reverberated in his head. Nine. Seven. Three. Three. Two.

The clerk wrote the answer down slowly, then looked up at Wassie despairingly. Wassie was small – too small to be useful in the labour camp. His details would be recorded, then he would be marched off to the chambers.

“What did you do before the war?” asked the clerk, in a vain effort to avert fate.

On any other day, Wassie would have answered that he made furniture and practised his carpentry, but today he answered differently. Still hypnotized by the tattooed numbers – and quite nonchalantly, he said, “I play the violin.”

“You play the violin?”

Wassie nodded. “Yes. I play the violin.”

The clerk clapped his hands and stopped himself from shouting, “Violin… aghhh, this is good,” he replied, scribbling furiously. “Nu? Where are you from?” he inquired, now smiling.

“Vilnius,” replied Wassie.

“Fantastish” cried the clerk. ”Then you must know the Rabbi, he plays the violin too. You will be in the orchestra with him.”

And as simply as that, Wassie was saved.