Lodz 1942. Diary of a youth in the ghetto.
Photography by Henryk Ros. Taken in the Lodz ghetto and published here for the first time.
Photo caption:
Children up to age 10, and elderly 60 and above, were the first to be sent from the Lodz ghetto to death camps. This photo was taken in 1942, the year when the diary of the unknown girl was written.
Photo caption:
Next to the kitchen: They have just distributed soup and the hungry have no patience to carry it home to eat it there.
The diary, of which portions are published here for the first time in Hebrew, was written by a young girl aged 14 or 15 in the Lodz Ghetto in the months February-March 1942, the darkest period in this ghetto. The girl, the daughter of workers – her father was a house painter and her mother a seamstress – her name was Esther (ke) or Minia. Her family name is unknown. The manuscript was found in July 1945 in an abandoned apartment on Dworska Street in Lodz. The original of the diary is in private hands and a copy of it is in the archive of the Jewish Historical Institute in Warsaw. A portion of the diary was published in the historical journal Mówia Wieki, magazin historiczny (Warsaw, July 1958) and from there the Hebrew translation was made. The photos on this page and on pages 4 and 5 were taken in the Lodz ghetto in the years 1940-44 by the photographer Henryk Ros, who resides in Israel today.
Friday, 27 February 1942
Today the two portions went out together – kitchen ones and sugar:
1.5 kg canned beats
1.5 kg sauerkraut
100 grams vegetable salad
600 grams rye flour
200 grams flour flakes
500 grams sugar
150 grams margarine
100 grams coffee
Can anyone live off this for two weeks?
We cook once in the day, in the evening – and even for one time it won’t suffice because the beets are full of ice and when it defrosts, only water remains. There are five people in our family. Mother and my brother are employed in the saddle making workshops, mother next to the machine (first machine operator) and my brother, who is 16, is a saddle maker. My sister, who is 17, is also in the saddle making workshops. There they receive 150 grams of bread, 50 grams of sausage, and they take 200 grams of bread from home. This is their food for the day and yet they work such a hard job. My father is a painter, a worker. In the building department they receive soup (water!) and he takes 250 grams of bread from home. Can a man live from such food and work hard like my father? His face looks horrendous. He lost 30 kilos. And the my mother’s and sister’s faces are also greatly sunken. But nothing can be done. I stay at home and my appearance is good. I also don’t have more than 200 grams of bread every day. But until now mother used to leave me a bit of soup. Now nothing.
The hunger is horrible and people are dropping like poisoned flies. Today I received a kilo of parsley. Father, my brother and I ate it uncooked. Ah, fate! Fate mocks us. Will and end come to all this? I am sick of living. Our lives are worse than those of beasts. How pitiful is man’s life and still we fight for it.
This afternoon I already received this new portion but only the vegetables because I have a close number (21) in the registry. Tomorrow the renters in our building will bring the money for groceries.
How short is our patience waiting for March? Maybe it will warm up a bit and it will be possible to open the basement and maybe they’ll bring out something to eat. As of now, winter is still in full force and the transports continue. Every day they send 500 people from the city, and all the time welfare recipients and merchants and only small families, up to three people in the family.
Saturday 28 February
THE SNOWS MELTED IN THE EVENING and now it’s very slippery but it’s good there isn’t such a bitter frost.
Today is Saturday and everyone is working today except for my sister until 2 pm. My sister is working today until 6 pm. At 12:30 a girl brought a piece of paper on which was written: Dear Estherka, you and Minia, I ask you from here to come immediately because they are sending us and I wanted to say goodbye to you. A friend of my sister wrote this. I am completely broken. How much she suffered, how much she fought her fate! Unhappy family. 9 months ago their brother died, a student
p.4
(right photo caption)
The potatoes in the ghetto were always rotten, frozen – garbage. But perhaps it was still possible to find something edible in this trash? Hundreds, especially children, would come to burrow in the buried pile in the ground in the hours when the watch was not strict.
(left photo caption that continues onto next page)
Line in front of the kitchen to receive a portion of soup. Ghetto residents wore at first a band on the sleeve and later replaced it with the Star of David (“Jewish badge”) that every Jew was required to wear on his upper garment, on his chest, and on his back. Violators would pay with their life.
(photo caption on top left of p.5)
They brought bread for distribution. The wagon was harnessed to horses until the ghetto’s gate. They - “volunteers” in rotations - would drag it from the gate to the distribution points. The photo was taken in 1940. As hunger increased, it was impossible to bring bread this way “voluntarily.”
(caption of page from diary)
Friday, 27 February, page of the original of the diary of the anonymous girl in the Lodz ghetto
(caption below it, right)
Ready for deportation
Each person departing was permitted to take a hand bundle (suitcases were forbidden)
(caption below it, right)
The way to the prison
At first (1941), they would collect those being deported at the prison. The man on the left put a scarf on his face to conceal his beard because the Germans took particular pleasure in abusing those with beards.
(caption, photo left)
The place of deportation
The Germans concentrated thousands of Jews who had been expelled from Germany and Czech territory in the Lodz Ghetto and in 1942 their elderly were sent, group by group, with all the Jews of the ghetto to death camps. (The photographer remembers that elderly in this photo were among the Jews expelled from Germany or perhaps Czechoslovakia.)
(caption, adjacent photo, p.5)
“Musselmann” is what were called people in whose faces death was already reflected, who were only skeletons walking on two legs. This is a daily image in Baluty, a neighbourhood in the Lodz Ghetto.
Text, p.4
in the first year of high school (Lyceum). He was very talented. He died of TB.
Her eldest sister is in the USSR. She alone remained with her deaf mute parents. They lived from welfare money. In reality, this is a slow death. Her mother died a week ago and she stayed alone with her deaf mute father without a shirt on her back.
No one has returned yet from work. I locked the door and left the key at the neighbour’s. I ran quickly upstairs. She lives at Brzezinska 40, front of the building, fourth floor. A horrible picture stood before my eyes. Her father lies helplessly in bed; her friend Dora Cymberknopf is sowing a backpack. I got really angry; We have a machine. We could have sowed it for you. She justified herself and send that she didn’t want to come to share the bad news. I helped to pack something. At 4 I went home without saying goodbye, because I promised that when my sister returns, I will come with her. She gave me many scientific books. In the evening I couldn’t walk because I was forced to wash some coloured shirts. In the evening when my sister returned, she brought with her many books and her diary and that of her brother.
Sunday, 1 March
Finally comes the longed for month of March. It’s hot outside and it’s possible to think that spring is already arriving. What will this month bring us? I wonder: will there be such hunger again? Will there be deportations from the city again? Will death have its way with us again? Who knows? Perhaps God will allow for it not to be like that.
Throughout the night I saw before my eyes my sister’s friend Hania Huberman and her father. Today passed quickly. At 4 pm I cooked dinner and at 5 my father came from work. While standing in the kitchen, I thought “where is she this moment?” And lo and behold, the door opened and H(ani) H(uberman) entered and, with her, a girl, R. Invort’s niece, her friend from school. It seemed to me as if I were dreaming. She said that on the request she submitted concerning the matter of release, a medical committee convened and ordered her not to report and that at 11 am tomorrow, she will receive an answer, whether she will remain or not.
Monday 2 March, 1942
Foggy outside. At 12 I was at H(ania) H(uberman)’s. She had no answer. The answer has to come tomorrow. Today is dragging itself out. I am so hungry and there is nothing to eat. How I long for nighttime. Nighttime makes me happy. Night is my redeemer. Ahh, night! If only you could last forever, throughout all the days of hunger.
Tuesday, 3 March
Today I got up at 8 am. I went to the cooperative to see perhaps they give groceries on credit; but they gave nothing. Father left me money for colours that I need to give to Mr. Berliner on Limnowski Street. On the way, I went to my onetime friend Regina Weiss at Zgierska 76. Our measuring tape was at her place. I met her in the stairwell. It was clear from her face that she had been crying. Her mother is very ill. I walked with her to the workshop to get a medical voucher for her mother. Her brother works there as a carpenter’s apprentice. I walked with her to her niece to request that she come to them. R.W. doesn’t receive aide because they deal in irises and cigarettes, and are afraid they will be deported from the city. I said goodbye on Drewnowska Street.
Today is a beautiful day and the sun shines with a cheerful light. It is Purim. What traffic there was before the war on this day in this street, the cakes and cookies that were then on display in the windows. Today no one remembers. It was pleasant to walk. The sun caressed my face. But no one was home and therefore I couldn’t stroll for long. On the way I went to H.H. She wasn’t at home; she went to cook lunch on (communal) gas stoves
Everyone had already returned from work, so I began to do a bit of laundry. But then the same girl came herself and said that Hania H. is leaving. What will happen to her?
Page 5
With a father who is sick and without strength, without undergarments for him or herself, hungry, exhausted, without food. Mother searched and found undergarments for her and for father. In all the hurrying, I wanted to go upstairs with my sister. When I arrived, I started to cry, I couldn’t control myself. I wasn’t there for long because I had to finish the laundry. I cried the entire time. On parting I couldn’t say to her a single word of comfort. I couldn’t speak. The tears choked me.
My sister returned at a late hour.
Saturday, 7 March
Today is Saturday and my sister isn’t working; mother and my brother are working until 2 pm and father will return at 5. When the sun shines, it is easier on the soul. How sad is life. When you see this wire that separates us from the rest of the world, your heart bursts for freedom, like a bird asking to fly from its cage and your eyes fill with tears. How I envy the birds that can fly around. While writing this, my soul is filled with longing and visions of years passed stand before my eyes.
Monday, 9 March
What a tragedy befell our house!
My head hurts, my eyes have darkened. Emptyness emanates from the house. There isn’t even a crumb, even a little coffee. If you fall, no one will raise you. Man has no value. Tens of people have no value. Human beings are disgusting. Everyone sees only himself. I have grown so weak recently that nothing matters to me, not even the greatest tortures People taught me this.
Tuesday 10 March
While lying in bed, I noticed that my sister left the bread. I got dressed quickly and went with the bread to her (she works at 4 Chopin Street). The route takes half an hour. I didn’t need to wait long. Her workroom is on the ground floor and she is sitting next to the window facing the front of the building.
I don’t know why my sister and I don’t live in peace. We are always fighting, really hitting each other. How my parents suffer from this! My sister’s face is sunken. I don’t recognize my sister. She is like a stranger to me.
The hunger grows and grows. In the morning, how I want for father to go out, and then I jump as fast as possible from bed and eat the bread that mother left for him for the entire day. God, what’s happening to me? I can’t restrain myself and afterwards I am hungry the entire day. How I wish I could be different. God, have mercy on me! All day I drink uncooked water and juice that remains from pickled beats and I wait in this way until 7 pm. For this reason I often have stomach pains.
I had no patience to sit at home and I went to the cooperative to see whether they are giving portions on credit. It turns out, no. I don’t want to think what will be if mother doesn’t bring beets. I didn’t go home but turned on Brzezinska instead. I met Mrs. Rotbard, the mother of a friend of mine from school. A pleasant and intelligent woman. She looks bad. I found this out because Cesia R. works in the workshop. I stayed and chatted with her for a long time. Unwittingly, it escaped from my mouth that I am writing a diary. She asked me to give it to her to read. What a stupid thing I did! I wanted the matter to be known to anyone. I won’t let anyone read it.
When I returned home, it was four. In two hours, the owner of the building will return. Again, I didn’t have patience to sit and I went again to the cooperative. A miracle happened and I received the credit: 1.25 kilos flour flakes, instead of a gram of oil they gave me 600 grams of margarine, and a kilo of honey-chocolate. I lit a fire and cooked 200 grams of flakes. Mother was early to arrive today and brought a beet. What luck! Everybody already returned but we still didn’t see Father. We are very anxious. He returned at 7. Two friends of his came with him to work. They cut two turnip heads on the table and divided them into three parts. It amounted to more than 700 grams for each person. When they left, Father began to take out turnip pieces from his pocket. The workers “sectioned” the two turnip heads in the kitchen and Father got the pieces from the peelers to eat but Father knew that there was nothing to eat at home. And even though he was very hungry, he brought this home. Their apprentice spilled the soup that they gave in the department. I can’t write because my ears are filled with tears.
Wednesday, 11 March
My teeth hurt and I am very hungry. My left foot is covered in a frost blister. I ate almost all the honey. What did I do! How selfish I am! What will they spread on their bread and what will they say about what I did?
Ah, Mother, I don’t deserve you! You work so hard. Besides the hard work she does in the workshop, she gets a bit more work from a woman who sells undergarments. My mother’s face looks terrible. She walks like a shadow from so much work. When I awaken at midnight or at one am, I always see her bent over the sewing machine and at 6 am she is already on her feet. Do I have no heart at all? I am cruel.
Today I argue with Father. I called him disgraceful things and I even cursed. This is what happened: Yesterday I weighed 200 grams of flour flakes and in the morning I took a spoon of flakes and ate. In the evening, when Father returned, he weighed it again and it was lacking. Father began to yell at me. He was right: by what right do I eat the little bit that we receive? I was boiling and cursed him. What did I do? How sorry I am that things happened this way. But what’s done can’t be undone. Father will never forgive me and I’ll never be able to look into his eyes. He stood by the window and began to cry like a small child. Not even a stranger had insulted him as I did. Everyone was already home and saw it. I hurried and went to bed without eating dinner. I thought I was going to die because, after the entire day, we only eat in the evening.
I fell asleep and they woke me up at midnight. Mom was still sitting next to the machine. Hunger tormented me so much that I got out of bed and ate. If not for me, we’d be a happy family. Because of me this is no peace at home. What an evil hand guides me. How much I wish I were different. But my will is not very strong. To whom can I tell this? Why does no one teach me? I feel disgust for my sister and she is a complete stranger to me. God, lead me on the right path.
Thursday 12 March
I procrastinated for 5 hours in the cooperative. It was so full that people were really on top of each of other. And the lice passed from person to person. I tried to stand as close as possible to the wall so that they wouldn’t get on me too. When I returned home with the groceries, I saw something terrible. Two men were dragging, really dragging, an old man who couldn’t walk; men like that do the deportations from the city. How great is man’s suffering!
When I returned home, Mother and Father were waiting at the neighbour’s because I had the key.
Saturday, 14 March
Mother brought her portion of bread from the workshop and added it to ours. I don’t know what my mother lives form. She works harder than everyone and eats less than everyone.
At 12 I went to R. Weiss, my former friend. How wild is their home! I learned everything bad from them. Disgusting people. The parents are always fighting and they don’t call their mother anything but crazy, even in the presence of strangers. They treat her worse than a dog. She lies sick in bed, her face and feet swollen, and they don’t care. They live beyond the ghetto, at 74 Zgierska Street. You get to them through the gate or by two bridges.
I went home slowly. I couldn’t take my eyes off streetcars racing off to distant places. Oh, freedom! Will I forever be behind this barbed wire? Will it forever be written on the welcoming sign “Place of Jews’ Residence – Entrance is forbidden under the full severity of the law”? Will there always be a guard box here with a German soldier with a weapon on his soldier? Was it always like this? Will it always be like this? But who will survive to see the end! How I long for freedom. And especially when the sun shines and the weather is warm. Sun! It is you that awakens in me such longing. My heart bleeds and my eyes are flowing with tears. Whoever reads this may make fun of me, say I’m an idiot. But my hand is writing this on its own. I wish I could stand for full days and feast my eyes on this image.