Beneath A Broken Sky

Chapter 2: The Gates of Hell

The exhausting journey to Bergen-Belsen seemed to stretch into an endless nightmare. After being ripped from the woods that fateful night, we were immediately forced into a cattle car - a rolling metal prison with barely enough space for us all to fit. The stench of human misery clung to the air, amplified by the oppressive summer heat.

For two torturous days, our world shrank to those few square feet. Mamma clutched Atara and me protectively as we huddled together, her eyes vacant. No one dared speak above hushed whispers, the weight of our imprisonment sealing our lips. All we could do was pray the ride would end mercifully.

When the train finally ground to a halt, rough hands wrenched us out into a world extinguished of color and life itself. A desolate, barren plain of dirt and barbed wire stretched in every direction under the blistering sun. In the distance, the skeletal remnants of brick chimneys and watchtowers cast harsh shadows across the  apocalyptic landscape.

"Keep moving!" A shotgun barrel rammed into my back, jolting me forward. We shuffled behind the press of hollow-eyed prisoners, everyone's cadaverous forms clinging to the last remnants of humanity.

The stench was overpowering - human waste, rotting flesh, smoke and stale sweat all mingling into a miasma that coated my throat. Tremors of terror and revulsion racked my frail body. This was the face of hell itself.

At last, we reached the front gates - a set of towering iron doors crowned with barbed wire and watchtowers manned by merciless guards. The sick thud of bodies being kicked and beaten drowned out Mamma's whispered prayers as we passed under the mocking slogan inscribed above: ARBEIT MACHT FREI. Work will set you free.

Inside, we endured a dehumanizing intake process - stripped of every last possession, shaved completely bald, and forced into tattered striped rags that reeked of death itself. Leering guards poked and prodded us with sticks as if we were cattle, barking harsh orders in guttural German. I wept silently as Mamma pulled me against her, shielding my eyes from the horrific scenes surrounding us.

Suddenly, an iron grip seized my wrist, wrenching me away from her warm embrace. A pair of hulking soldiers snarled and shoved us apart, one turning his baton on me as panicked screams echoed across the yard.

"Raus! Raus! In der Schlange bleiben!", yelled a Nazi soldier.

White-hot sparks of agony burst across my skull as the baton struck again and again. Grasping hands pulled me back into the churning mass of new arrivals as my vision flickered in and out of darkness.

When I finally regained my senses, I was alone - crammed into a cold, cramped barracks reeking of human squalor. Tears welled in my eyes as I hugged my knees, body aching from the vicious blows. Had they taken Mamma and Atara away like Papa? Or worse?

"You...you should eat this." A hoarse voice made me jump. I glanced over to see a frail, elderly woman offering a small hunk of stale bread from her bunk. Seeing my matted hair and childlike confusion, her rheumy eyes reflected a profound sadness.

"To survive here, little one, you must be as a cockroach," she murmured in a weary Yiddish accent. "Silent. Unseen. Never give them reason to snuff out the tiny flame inside you."

I swallowed hard and wordlessly accepted the meager offering. The hardened crust stuck like paste to my battered tongue as I chewed. But it was a lifeline - nourishment, a reason to endure the fresh hell that now imprisoned us.

That first night in the endless darkness, the screams and pleas from beyond the barrack walls reverberated mercilessly in my mind. Any last illusions I harbored were violently erased. Only the hardest kernel of determination kept my spirit intact...for now.