The Horse Adjutant
profession?” I puffed up my chest and said, “Koni Adjutant.” (Horse Adjutant)
At first, they did not understand and spoke among themselves. Then they laughed. They must have thought I was lower than a horse, a naked Jew boy who said he was the assistant of a horse, at once pathetic and funny. No Jew, especially not a child, could be the Adjutant of a Kommandant. The doctor’s composure returned to austere as he peered through me. This time with intense clarity and without a lick of humor he re- peated, “What is your profession?” I elaborated, “I groomed and took care of the horse for Kommandant Grzimek.” They thought that was funny, too, but now they understood. In good humor, he pointed me to the left, “Links.” There was a small group of prisoners standing on the left side. Without thinking, I started toward the larger group on the right. An SS guard grabbed me by the neck and said, “You cursed dog,” as he pushed me to the left.” I found myself waiting on the left as the selection continued. That night I saw hundreds go to the right. Moshe soon joined me, as well as Simon Unger. Those selected on the right were immediately loaded onto trucks. None of them survived. They were sent directly to the gas cham- bers followed by the crematorium. Moshe told me his own story about the selection that night. He said, “I looked young. So, they did not do much, except, quickly look me over and decide I was still useful as a worker. So, I, too, was told to go to the left.” I know by the way he passed over the question that he really did not want to talk about it. He intentionally left the details out, preferring to change the subject as quickly as he could. These were terrible years, and Moshe certainly is not alone in not wanting to recall every detail. As I stood there naked, I realized I was with about 50 or 60 other people. Meanwhile, on the other side, I saw trucks coming and going taking one load at a time of hapless victims. Oddly, I noticed not all of us were naked. There, with us, were the Ordnungs- dienst (Jewish Police), in their telltale uniforms with the stylish hats. They still had their belts and shoes, too. I was freezing and wondered why they were allowed to keep their uniforms. I guess I should not have been too jealous since not one of the people wearing uniforms were chosen to go left. In what was characteristic Nazi fashion, as a way to covering up what happened, they were all sent to be destroyed, their usefulness over. Their uniforms just made it that much easier for the selection committee to pick them out of the crowd. Eventually, there was a group of 100 naked prisoners on my side. As soon as this number was achieved, we were formed into a walking group, 5 across, and marched
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