Jews. Once his seven or eight pipes were cleaned, Mr. Luftig proudly lined them up on a table. I stared athis collection with admiration. There were straight pipes, curved pipes, and even a pipe with a lid on it. It didn’t matter that Mr. Luftig had no tobacco to put in them. The pipes symbolized an orderly and civilized world beyond the control of the Nazis.
Mrs. Luftig was a quiet, uncomplaining woman. She and my mother became friendly and sometimes shared the cooking duties. Working together in those hopeless conditions somehow lessened the despair. What went on inside our apartment was replicated thousands of times in the ghetto as we struggled to keep our lives and our dignity in the face of random killings, devastating diseases, worn-out clothing, and near starvation.
Since some 15,000 people were jammed into an area meant to house 5,000, at most, the sanitation system was deplorably inadequate. The indoor plumbing we had once taken for granted now was an unattainable luxury. Lines were long for the few outhouses, and in the winter, by the time I finished, my feet were nearly frozen. The crowding, poor nutrition, and lack of hygiene made diseaserampant; from typhus to scarlet fever, from malnutrition to psychosis, illness of some kind struck nearly every family.
To Nazi eyes, we Jews were a single, detested group, the exact opposite of the blond, blue-eyed, pure “Aryans.” In reality we were not their opposites at all. Plenty of Jews had blue eyes and blond hair, and many Germans and Austrians, including Adolf Hitler, had dark eyes and hair. But Nazi dogma grouped Jews as one, as the loathed enemy of the Aryans. For them, being Jewish was not about what we believed, but about our so-called race. It made no sense to me, and I even wondered how Nazis could believe such contradictions themselves. Had they taken the time to really look at us, they would have seen human beings just like themselves: some with blue eyes, some with brown. They would have seen families just like their own: sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, doctors, lawyers, teachers, craftsmen, and tailors, individuals from all walks of life.
The Nazis had forced us into impossibly crowded conditions designed to bring out the worst in people. Despiteeverything against us, we remained determined to show respect and decency toward one another. Retaining our humanity, cherishing our heritage, we fought the depravity of the Nazis with subtle forms of resistance. Rabbis resisted by conducting services on Jewish holy days. Doctors and nurses resisted by fighting to save the lives of the ill and injured and by bringing new life into the world. Actors and musicians resisted by creating makeshift stages in hidden courtyards and performing plays and skits and holding concerts, affirming that beauty and culture could exist even in the midst of the horrible circumstances of the ghetto.
I remember chinning myself on the top of a fence to see one such comedy show filled with gallows humor. Even when I didn’t quite get the jokes, I laughed anyway because it was a way to show the Nazis they didn’t control me. It also made me feel better for just a few minutes. Jews resisted the bleak surroundings by sharing their hopes and dreams and stories with one another, as Mr. Luftig did with me.
Some people resisted by falling in love. Couples courted and married; babies were born. Romances blossomed despite the oppression that surrounded us. It happened to my brother Tsalig. He fell in love with Miriam, the daughter of a brush maker, who lived with her family in an apartment building behind ours. For my seventeen-year-old brother, romance was an entirely new experience and a wonderful diversion from the ghastliness of ghetto life. For me, his romance wasn’t quite such a positive, since it meant I now had to share my brother with someone else. As a result, I could get a little mean. “Her face is pretty, but I don’t like her legs,” I once griped to Tsalig—as
Mrs. Luftig was a quiet, uncomplaining woman. She and my mother became friendly and sometimes shared the cooking duties. Working together in those hopeless conditions somehow lessened the despair. What went on inside our apartment was replicated thousands of times in the ghetto as we struggled to keep our lives and our dignity in the face of random killings, devastating diseases, worn-out clothing, and near starvation.
Since some 15,000 people were jammed into an area meant to house 5,000, at most, the sanitation system was deplorably inadequate. The indoor plumbing we had once taken for granted now was an unattainable luxury. Lines were long for the few outhouses, and in the winter, by the time I finished, my feet were nearly frozen. The crowding, poor nutrition, and lack of hygiene made diseaserampant; from typhus to scarlet fever, from malnutrition to psychosis, illness of some kind struck nearly every family.
To Nazi eyes, we Jews were a single, detested group, the exact opposite of the blond, blue-eyed, pure “Aryans.” In reality we were not their opposites at all. Plenty of Jews had blue eyes and blond hair, and many Germans and Austrians, including Adolf Hitler, had dark eyes and hair. But Nazi dogma grouped Jews as one, as the loathed enemy of the Aryans. For them, being Jewish was not about what we believed, but about our so-called race. It made no sense to me, and I even wondered how Nazis could believe such contradictions themselves. Had they taken the time to really look at us, they would have seen human beings just like themselves: some with blue eyes, some with brown. They would have seen families just like their own: sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, doctors, lawyers, teachers, craftsmen, and tailors, individuals from all walks of life.
The Nazis had forced us into impossibly crowded conditions designed to bring out the worst in people. Despiteeverything against us, we remained determined to show respect and decency toward one another. Retaining our humanity, cherishing our heritage, we fought the depravity of the Nazis with subtle forms of resistance. Rabbis resisted by conducting services on Jewish holy days. Doctors and nurses resisted by fighting to save the lives of the ill and injured and by bringing new life into the world. Actors and musicians resisted by creating makeshift stages in hidden courtyards and performing plays and skits and holding concerts, affirming that beauty and culture could exist even in the midst of the horrible circumstances of the ghetto.
I remember chinning myself on the top of a fence to see one such comedy show filled with gallows humor. Even when I didn’t quite get the jokes, I laughed anyway because it was a way to show the Nazis they didn’t control me. It also made me feel better for just a few minutes. Jews resisted the bleak surroundings by sharing their hopes and dreams and stories with one another, as Mr. Luftig did with me.
Some people resisted by falling in love. Couples courted and married; babies were born. Romances blossomed despite the oppression that surrounded us. It happened to my brother Tsalig. He fell in love with Miriam, the daughter of a brush maker, who lived with her family in an apartment building behind ours. For my seventeen-year-old brother, romance was an entirely new experience and a wonderful diversion from the ghastliness of ghetto life. For me, his romance wasn’t quite such a positive, since it meant I now had to share my brother with someone else. As a result, I could get a little mean. “Her face is pretty, but I don’t like her legs,” I once griped to Tsalig—as
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