klein: i was born on may 8, 1924 in the most southwest part of poland. it was in the province of silasia. it was at the foothill of the mountain range. interviewer: would you tell me about your parents and your family as a young girl? klein: in retrospect, my parents seemed to me saintly. my memory is very vivid. it's perfection which i remember. i had one older brother, his name was arthur.

we lived in theman old large home outside of town, with a huge garden with many fruit trees and flowers and wonderful things for children to roam in. i had 10 cats. i knew all their names and now my children and my grandchildren like me to recite the names of my cats and my brothers two dogs. i used to love swimming in summer and skiing in winter. by and large, i think i had a marvelous childhood. interviewer: what about school? klein: i went to public school first but only until the war broke out and then to catholic school because it was a private girls school. we have a rabbi coming by giving us jewish instruction, about a quarter of the girls in my class were jewish.

and that was a thing to do. i really liked school very much, even though i pretended i didn't. of course, when the war came that was the end of my formal education. interviewer: tell us what happened when the war broke out. klein: well, i guess the danger signals were flying very high in the summer of 1939. by and large, i must say it was ignored by my family. i was away with my mother and i remember my very first incident, my mother and i went to a concert. i remember the setting quite vividly. they were flowers around. something caught on that day

and i remember the crowd of people sitting there and flowers and was very warm. one of those golden days of summer as i see it now. and suddenly, a young man came running up to the podium and he pushed the conductor aside and he said how can you also hear listening to music when danger is coming? he pointed to the hills that separated us from czechoslovakia which already had been occupied by the nazis. he said monsters are coming, why don't you go home and take up arms? i remember asking my mother should we go home, and police came and arrested the man for being an agitator and disturbing the peace. i still remember that sudden fear, it was my first memory of something impending, but we stayed perhaps another week. i don't remember exactly how long. on the way home we saw an awful

lot of baggage which was labeled warsaw, people were going to warsaw. and when we came home, my father had his arm in a sling. and my mother was terribly concerned. he had suffered a slight heart attack. unfortunately, things are moving very fast, it must have been the third week in august, there had been a telegram from my uncle in turkey. my mother only had one brother and he lived in turkey. he sent us a telegram saying that we should get out, that we had visas which were in the embassy in warsaw. but my mother said we're not going to tell papa about the telegram, papa is ill and we shouldn't disturb them. and that was the doom of my family. i can only hope my mother didn't

realize. interviewer: tell us what happened next. what did you do want to realize -- once you realize -- klein: it was friday morning. i was 15 years old. it was friday morning when we heard a lot of planes, and people running into the streets. and said there were german planes and we ran out and saw the planes with the swastika flying over. it was terrifying. a lot of activity started then. they were building trenches and my mother tried to keep the windows closed for my father's bedroom, my father was in bed he was quite ill. and that night, there were lots of refugees on the streets. you know, people running away. and there was shooting.

i remember one man was carrying his goat on his back. it was his only possession, a small goat. people with wheelbarrows and carts and things. my brother had a girlfriend, and apparently her family called and said they are going to flee into the interior of poland and suggested they take my brother and me along. my father insisted that should be my brother's decision. i was considered too young to make a decision. my brother was 19 at the time. my brother said no, we are not going to go, we will stay together. you need us. my father was ill. that a terrible shock. my father was the center of my universe. when papa decreed something, he could do anything. that he should suddenly ask us to make a decision, a tremendous decision, it was a terrible shock.

and it was a very turbulent night. and then it ceased in the morning. and my father said to me that i should go and apparently he wanted to talk to my mother and brother and i should not be around. he says i should call the family to see what everyone is doing. my father's brothers and my uncles and aunts. i went downstairs, and the ringing of the telephone, there was no answer. no one answered anywhere. and, you know, i remember suddenly it was like you are left in the world of the dead. phones were ringing and ringing. and there was no answer whatsoever. and when i came out, my father said no one answered, and i said no. and it was a wonderful saturday, everything was cut off, there was no electricity, no light, it was a beautiful september day,

flowers outside. my parents were sort of joking and my father came downstairs we were all sitting together and that was really the last beautiful day. and then in the evening, there was some shelling. and my brother went out to let his dog in and when he came back he had a hole in his trousers and he said they were shooting from the rooftops. the germans were coming. we went to the basement, with some other people, you know. it was morning i don't member -- it was morning, i don't remember those hours to well. what i remember most specifically is that my mother called that we should come. she had prepared some breakfast. and we came upstairs and we sat

down. then suddenly, this tremendous roar the roar of motorcycles. it was a motorcycle with nazis in it. one in the sidecar and one sitting up there. my brother just taken his watch out of his pocket and i saw his and go down. it was 9:10 in the morning. i remember everybody sat there totally stunned. and then we heard people running, bullets, more cars and more motorcycles were coming. and people were shouting heil

hitler. we saw the house and across theand street, this flag, the swastika was flying. it was our neighbors and friends, the new in this very first hour. to me, of course, you can only see it in retrospect, but it was one of the things that sort of changed, suddenly. i remember a coal fell out of the cradle of the fireplace and it went on the carpet in the carpet and was smoldering and no one paid any attention to it. i remember the house that my mother was when it happened before. no one paid any attention. shortly thereafter, more and more trucks of soldiers were coming. the voices grew more horse people shouting heil hitler, and

i saw a childhood friend of mine carrying white roses to the soldiers. somebody else giving the soldiers schnapps. i remember starting to cry. my brother said keep quiet. you can't do that. he took me up to bed and said don't make a sound. and it wasn't until after in the morning, the whole day sort of a malone -- melange of many feelings. one of the worst things happen that afternoon. a mother of a childhood friend of mine, kessler -- esther, her mother came and she asked for my father and she knew he was ill

she said no ma'amn should go on the streets because they had rounded up all the men they could find and locked them in the temple and set the temple aflame. and she went out by the back door. i think that was truly the first indication of what happened. interviewer: what happened over the next few days? klein: i couldn't tell you day by day. you know. people came, our neighbors came, our jewish neighbors came. oh, one thing, yes. you could see the homes which we lived in, not only where my brother was born but my mother had been born there. luckily for her, she died a year

before the war broke out and she never had to face that. a woman came and she asked where our flag was, the polish flag, which was to be red and white. my mother said why, and she said we have to make a german flag out of it. my mother pretended to look for it in all places where she knew she wouldn't find it. you know. and then the woman left and she said she would be back later maybe my father could help look for it. and i think it became very clear that we had better produce it because she really wanted it for our protection. she said all you have to do is keep the red flag and cut a round circle from the white and put the black swastikas on it. and she came to collect it and she did it, she said to my mother if the flag is not

displayed from here, it will be pretty obvious who you are. i remember we could look out the windows to see that flying. we had a people living in our home as well. who are not jewish but of course they wanted that because this was the part where germans were speaking. -- that were german-speaking. later he was also one of the first things that became deu tche. we were not too far from auschwitz. it was allegedly self-ruled.

of course, it was not. we immediately became under the same rules as germany. the people -- most of the german-speaking people, were shouting heil hitler, thank you for the liberation. things like that. they thought the austrian empire was coming back with franz joseph. i think there was a lot of perhaps misguided feeling on behalf of the people. maybe not so much pro-nazi at that point, but of course, all of that changed. interviewer: over the next few months, what happened to you and your family and how did things change? klein: that, i can unfortunately tell you. fairly soon, and order came that

all men between 15 years old and 60 years old, my father that point was about 50. since he was ill, he did not have to register for transport. my brother was 19 years old. and of course, every day, we would hear that england had -- and friends had declared war. -- and france had declared war. we were occupied sunday morning, sunday afternoon, england and france declared war on germany. and then, you know, most of the family had fled, however, my father's sister, who had been separated from her husband and daughter in one of the trains which were bombed, came back with her son, david, and she found her apartment occupied by other people, and she came to stay with us.

david was about my brother's age. david and my brother went to register to whatever they were going to do. they said they would be in some labor battalion to build up what was destroyed by the war. that was the 19th of october. when my brother left. anyway. i can tell you one thing, my mother refused to make his bed for months. she wanted to keep the imprint of his head on the pillow. and things got worse from day to

day. you know. we didn't hear from my brother for a long, long time. when we finally did, which i believe was months later, he was blessedly in the russian occupied zone. and what apparently happened was that they were brought into the interior of poland, i don't know exactly what location, pursued by bullets those who were good swimmers from the class. and he was a very good swimmer. they swim across. they were in an area occupied by russians. and he worked there. my brother was trained in chemistry. and he worked in some sort of

factory making jam or whatever. that was one of the most greatest, marvelous moments in the bleakness of our existence to hear that arthur was alive. i really -- i mean, i can refresh my memory by looking at some of the things that i have written from after the war, i have the most clear knowledge. i know that he was probably, a few months later we had to move into the basement of our home, it was very wet theirre and there was electricity. -- no electricity. fathers condition really deteriorated. he suddenly looked very old. my mother, who up to that point

, you see, because we had looked with my grandmother -- lived with my grandmother, was rather pampered and given to be easily discouraged or upset about little things like the tablecloth didn't iran properly -- iron properly or the crease was wrong -- showed incredible strength and fortitude. as a matter of fact, she was the one who did not cry when one brother left. my father wept, it was the first time i saw my father crying. to me, it was a very devastating thing to see my father helpless. i never saw my father helpless before. and so we lived in the basement. i learned new skills. i saw my mother bringing an old

, it was called petroleum lamp which i learned to clean the chimney of the lamp and if we got some gas to have some illumination, because we had no light. pretty soon of course, we exhausted our funds because we had no money. you know, everything was frozen. my father didn't earn anything. other things are very hard to come by. where we lived, there were vegetables and things that were obtainable. our neighbor was wonderful to us, and she lived across the street and would go over and get vegetables and bring things to us. but my mother was a wonderful woman, she could do wonderful things with her hands. so we would be knitting, i

learned to knit before the war but i wasn't particularly good at it. i was more of a tomboy, running around with cats and climbing trees. i would settle down, and we would start knitting sweaters for people. my mother had a wonderful reputation, you know. she could embroider things on sweaters and did marvelous things. we would be able to get candles we had quite a store of candles because we couldn't use the lamp often because no petroleum was available. there was very little to eat. so my mother and i would knit for as long as they light -- daylight would allow. my father would sit and read to us. my father was wonderful, i went to polish school, even though my first language was german and we

spoke german at home. i would come home from school and switch to german. i couldn't read or write german. i spoke it naturally, it was my first language. so my father got my mother's books, he started teaching me to read and write german. my father would read to us. and we would let the candle go down and we would take the wax and my mother made little wicks and we would put the candle on again and we would net. -- knit. i remember very clearly knitting a sweater, i would that this -- the sleeves and my mother would do the intricate work. we would get 30 reichmarks. if you can buy food and rations was fine, but we had to buy food on the black market. a loaf of bread would cost 30

marks. you could buy a loaf of bread after knitting a sweater. that was how things went. every so often, a little card would come announcing that -- as a matter of fact, the first one came when we had not heard from arthur. i remember at that point my mother must have suffered a nervous breakdown. at least a momentary lapse because she was totally out of things. my father was up with her, my father told me to go and tupac -- to pack. we were leaving with 20 pounds of our belongings. my father brought us three suitcases, and told us to pack some things. and when word got around in the

community that we were selling things, all the jews thought that was the way to do it. people started to come and my father said whatever anybody gives you, take. he stayed with my mother. and then word got around that if -- i do not remember the exact amount. but say a kilo of gold, it might've been less or more. i do not remember. if that would be given, then that would save. so everybody scurried to get whatever jewelry people have. that was another ruse that the germans did to get the valuables that people were hoarding. whatever was needed for that purpose, because a note came to say we could stay. and that would happen roughly

every six or seven months. again, i do not know exactly. but shortly thereafter, my mother seemed to bounce back and became her strong sell. -- strong itself. -- strong self. i would say to the very end, my mother was absolutely a tower of strength. you know, looking back now, mother was a very young woman. at the time. she was 41 years old when the war broke out. of course to me, she was an old , woman. [laughter] to a 15-year-old girl. my father was 10 years older than my mother. so the existence went from worse to worse. this is how we survived, this is

three years, 1939, through the spring of 1942. to the very early spring, it could have been march. perhaps. when the order came we had to move to the jewish ghetto, which was a shabby, remote part of our town, quite far away from where we had lived, it was where the twin cities were. it was a very old cemetery. where we had to move. and as i told you my cart held most of my childhood memories, and fairly soon, i would say probably early 1940, there was a

sign on it that said node jews -- no jews or dogs permitted in the garden. so we naturally did not go. on the morning which we were forced to leave our home, i jumped over the fence and went to the garden. and i ran around and i remember the first violets, where we had broken the into the garden. the first violets for their which i picked -- were there and we tried that and i remember climbing a branch of a tree were used to sit, pretending about what it would be like if nothing happened. i would go in, my parents would be at breakfast, my brother would be going to school. i always firmly believes that go back home. it begins the crops throughout all of the years.

-- it became the crops throughout all of the years. -- crutch for all of the years. looking back now, i realized i must've had a premonition because i remember i started imagining what it would look like and i really would not see it. i didn't know if that would be finality. i really don't know. you sort of take memories out, like pinwheels, and hold them and look at them. and that was it. interviewer: tell us about going into the ghetto. klein: well, strange as it may seem, i guess i was happier in the ghetto than at home at home because i had friends there. well that isn't quite true. my father, there were several

girls, particularly the ones we -- who became tremendously close to me, my friend ilse. she lived not too far away, my father would teach us at home, he would take books out and teach us. a bit of history and other things. in a very fragmented way. i think in those first three years, almost three years at home, i think i acquired quite a bit of knowledge. my father was supposed to be a rabbi. and because, you know, he came from -- i mother was born in an austrian area. they prided themselves. as a matter of fact, my grandmother, my maternal grandmother, still celebrated kaiser franz joseph's birthday

on the 18th of august, which i still remember. i think they all talked about the good old days. everybody has the good old days. my father's family came from a place which was the seat and was very well known. and my father's family was related to them. i have wonderful childhood memories as a child going there. should i have continued with what i talked about before? you wish me to -- interview: -- interviewer: you are going into the ghetto, used to talking about that. klein: i don't remember why i wanted to tell this particular story. in any event, my friends, there were a number of girls. and we all lived in proximity. in the ghetto, it was one large building and a number of my friends were there.

so it really was in a way, a bit nicer for me. of course, there was a very sharp curfew, i could never see my friends in the evening, after 5:00 or what have you. living in the same building was sort of nice to see my friends. there were some babies there, i loved babies and i go play with the babies. for me, in a way, it was a bit easier. it wasn't for very long, looking back, i realize how little time there was. because very soon and order -- an order came that we had to go and work in a shop, sort of a factory. so my mother and i had to go. we went under guard to a train station, it was not too far away.

and we worked sewing garments there. and then my father had to go to fortify the river. it was hard for him because my father couldn't bend his arm very well. but he started looking a little better. you see, he was very pale. from being home so long. it was deceiving but it seemed to me that papa looked better. it was a short time, it wasn't very long, maybe two months. and then i remember, may, my 18th birthday. i was 15 years old when the were broke out. three years to my 18th birthday. my mother decided we were going to have a party.

and it just was a wonderful thing, i just had big birthday, my 65th, and a friend of mine who now lives in detroit and my children gave me a party. she came to that party. she lives in arizona. and she was at that birthday party. the birthday party was rather grand because my mother had some oatmeal and she had made some wonderful cookies, which we all swore were absolutely tasted like nuts. and i had a birthday party which was crowned by an incredible thing -- i got an orange. i always loved oranges. only later did i find out that my mother had gone out of the ghetto, sold the diamond and pearl ring to get me an orange. that was the last birthday gift from my parents.

a couple of my friends were there. one of them lives in new york, and she reminded me of something not terribly long ago. because the orders came from the 28th of june, all the men had to leave. it was a sunday. my father. we went to the station. mywe went to the station. father stood on the platform. he wore the yellow star.

there is however, one thing i would like to mention. and it's a tribute to my parents. the last night before my father left, of course we all lived in one large room at that point. i heard my parents talking, i don't know if it was for them or for my benefit. they did not mention at all the parting in the morning. but they spoke about their years together, you know, about the happiness they had shared, about my brothers -- brother's birth and minde, about the hopes they had for us. i think in that, they instilled something in the which has been my legacy always. the value of the love, of the

commitment, of the pride in the family. and when the going was rough, as it was in subsequent times, it was a very comforting thing -- and i showhall always be grateful for that. i mentioned seeing my father for the last time, and after that, i went, they were taking all of the men on sunday, and this took place on monday morning. we decided, gretel and i, we knew what was going to happen to all the books, probably prayer books and there were books in jewish families that were treasured.

and after my father was taken away, we went and collected all the books. i was afraid that the germans were going to use it for unspeakable purposes. and we dragged it to the jewish cemetery, which was on the edge of the ghetto. and we buried them there. i'm sorry for not understanding my mother's grief completely at the time. you know, i was terribly close to my father. and that i didn't comfort my mother, i think i needed to be alone to lick my own wounds, so to speak. i'm sure that many people have

given you the descriptions of the leaving. i guess ours was not too much different. except that my mother decided to fast on that day, it was a monday and my mother fasted every monday since my brother had left. and she had a bit of precious cocoa which she had hoarded throughout the entire war for a special celebration. and she made that cocoa for me that morning. i must say, it did not taste very sweet. we were marched through the town under the whips of the ss.

you know, there are certain reflections, happened to me many times during the war. that one -- that when sees in rapid succession, the things which you see and the feelings which it evokes. like they were putting the new name of a movie on the marquee. marching by a shop which sold fabrics. and remembering the type of fabrics that my mother bought for a summer dress. but it wasn't colorfast. you know, it was very funny. i remember them then and i remember them now. seeing some neighbor peering from behind the curtain because

we went from the ghetto through the town, to the other side of the town. i marched with my mother. i stood with a man with a cane. he asked me how old i was in the -- i was and i said 18. he told me to go to the left. we were loaded and packed sometime later and i would like to get this over with this fast as i can, ok? and i heard my mother's voice, i did. and she was calling be strong. when i heard that i was in the truck.

i jumped off. and i said i want to go to my mother. the little man in the raincoat came by and i don't know how he had this enormous strength, he was quite short, it was raining, he was wearing a raincoat and a hat. he took me and through me back on the truck and said you are too young to die. so it was the man who probably sent my mother to her death. decided i should not run back to her. we went to a place which was a transit camp.

the day was the 29th of june 1942. a monday. a long story, i will confine it to my own -- i had the opportunity of leaving there. there was a boy who liked me his parents tried to get me out. interviewer: tell us a little bit about that. klein: [indiscernible]

anyways, in my naivete, i made the decision that i did not want to go out of the gulags. the young man was a very fine artist. and his family suggested that you could get out of the gulags if you have a place of work some working permit. you could get out. he had two sisters, and they had two sewing machines. and they were willing to put one in the shop to secure place for me, which was an incredible sacrifice. however, i knew that if i did that, i would have to marry. i made the decision not to go. maybe it is a good story to tell

because i know now that i wanted to stay with my friends. it was when i was going to camps. now by a strange and almost incredible coincidence, the men the gulags who came -- in the gulags who came and told me that i was able to go out, he now lives in buffalo, new york. where i lived for so many years. that decision proved to be a decision which saved my life. because unfortunately, his family, all of them, were deported and killed about two months later. and, you see, the bits -- leibit

z, my hometown was renowned for its textiles. it was in central europe. at the gulags, they registered your name, your age, the place you hail from. and industrialists from all over germany would come to my slaves. -- two buy-- to buy slaves. a man by the name of keller, i think it's good to use the names. he was from a firm that had several spinning, weaving, and textile oriented slaves. -- oriented firms. they needed people to work in the factories. when he came in he saw that x number of girls were there, for some reason he thought we might

have more dexterity for weaving or whatever. it was still fairly early, that was still in 42. they needed german-speaking people to be trained. so we bought all of us. for a place which was a new weaving camp where in fact, this is where we went. in all fairness, i must say, that that camp was probably better than most of what followed because it was new. there were only 50 girls there. and the person who became our -- [indiscernible] i first say, she looked like a bulldog and i thought she was going to tear us limb from limb. and she was a very kind person. she was probably chosen for her looks. but we all owe her, under

captivity under her old her a -- under her goal for a -- owe her a debt of gratitude. i think by her very decency, she pinned a lie to the lips of everyone who said they had no choice. i won't say she particularly loved us. she saved my life once. for which i'm eternally grateful. as far as i know -- i do know that as long as we were there, and later in the place where she also was. nobody was sent to auschwitz. from our camp, from those two camps. she showed that people could help, individually. and she did. i was with the nazis for six years and i only met two were really kind, and i think they

should be singled out for that. her name was frau kugel. within the -- with an umlaut. when we first saw her, she barked and i thought this was the end of it all. i was with my friend ilse, who i really would like to mention. and in the camp there, we became as close as sisters. ilse was a childhood friend only in the sense that her mother and my mother were friends. you know. but ilse played the piano beautifully, she was exquisitely mannered. my mother always told me i should try and be more like ilse. you know, and of course, i hated to play with her, she seemed to be the paragon of all virtue. and we became quite close already in the ghetto. the cemetery was the only place you could go. but in the camps, you see, she had a little sister, her name

was kitty. and kitty was sent to auschwitz. my other friend gretel, her sisters, everybody had a buddy. ilse and i became that to each other. she showed great promise as a pianist. she was sent to study at a conservatory, great future was predicted for her. and ilse sort of became my sister. as a matter of fact we looked quite alike. there was something else perhaps, give you sort of an inkling of what it was like. on the train to the camp, i met a wonderful girl. a vivid redhead, one of those what they call beautiful people tall, wonderful girl. her name was suzi kuntz. she was born in vienna, but her mother had died when she was quite young and then she was

sent to czechoslovakia to live with her grandparents because in that particular transport, most of the girls were from czechoslovakia. and we were all german-speaking and that is why we went to that camp. i was standing next to her on the train. it was a certain freedom there. we were not confined yet, when we were out of the gulags and going someplace. and susie said we will never ever get out from where we're going. and i said yes we will. and i said i am sure the war will be over in less than a year. and susie said no, we're not going to make it. and i said i bet you, and she said ok. she said let's bet. for a quart of strawberries and a quart of what -- what -- wh

ipped cream. and we shook hands on that. and susie died the liberation morning. i don't know if she knew her she didn't. she won the bet. anyway, we came there. it's terrible thing to say, but i think because we are recording , certain things should be said. actually, for me, it was easier. easier in terms that i didn't see my parents suffer. i could put things over there. i was convinced that my parents would survive, someplace. that they are probably working. i pushed all thoughts aside. and i was in a way liberated in the fact that i wasn't worried that each of my actions might spell danger for my parents. and, you know, i knew if some is going to beat me, all the

indignities that one was suffer. and vice versa. and of course, when you are 18 years old, you have resiliency. would you do not have later. -- which you do not have later. anyway, it was rough in terms of -- until he mastered what was expected of us, it was dreadful. i used to amuse myself when he told us about the things that we are going to be taught, decency and all those things. you know, the very things that we knew so well, which obviously were designed to break our resistance. you know. and that if we behave ourselves we can live through all our lives. you know. i used to sort of speculate what he would look like when he was dead and things like that.

fortunately, i was always alone when i was a little girl, i could lift myself from some of the things and do other things in my mind to remove that. i did that in the very first weeks were there. there was a watch, a stopwatch. very intricate -- what do you call it to tie something, a knot. you had to do x number a minutes. when you have someone with a stopwatch above you, to do that, but for some reason, most of us were able to do it. those who were not were put on other things. nobody was sent to auschwitz.

it was, by comparison of what came later, relatively easy. we were not that hungry, we got some food. we worked in a factory long hours. i think that was the very best thing. it was so exhausting. at the end of the day, you had to concentrate so much. your mind could not absorb all that. we were able to write letters. in that they were quite generous. i do not remember how often you are permitted to, the question was who could you write to? i was fortunate that i had my father's address where my father was allegedly working. on the fortification of that river.

i wrote to my father. i did not hear, of course i wrote to him and he started sending me letters as well as packages, which again, through the type of person that mrs. keegler was, those packages did not aririve. i wrote to my father and i waited here for my father. and one day, the most incredible thing happened. ms. kugler was taking the mail and she called my name and i saw a letter and i jumped to get it. and then i realized it was a letter which i had written to my father, and on it instead, without forwarding address.

i think that we needn't go into that. i lost my speech for a day and a night. i couldn't utter a sound. anyways, we worked there. and the thing was the type of things that i don't know if it really comes across. it's a tremendous support system which existed in the camps. the love and the friendship and the sharing and caring and loyalties that people had for each other. the girls had for each other. that was sort of the balance against the cruelty which we experienced. to me, i feel that was one of

the most important things that existed. i somehow wish that would filter down, i tell my children or grandchildren, because they are the spiritual heirs of those who did not survive. to know that the legacy of the camps is not the legacy of the horror, but of the greatness of our people. the humidity which existed in the face of such incredible in humidity. i want to talk about my friend ilse for a moment but that happened from a different camp. i will give you a progression from camp to camp. we were in one camp working on looms. pretty soon, the raw material started to disappear. pretty soon we had to work on paper. paper they were spending. in warm weather it brittle little break.

in cold weather it would disintegrate because it got soft. if those things tore, which once happened to me, for that, you could be sent to auschwitz. somehow mrs. kugler intervened, so they were not. i want to talk about her. it was shortly after i received the news about my father that i became very ill. i was running a very high fever. my fingernails had pus. i could not touch my hands. we had a little place where people who were sick for a day or two could stay. i was there. all of a sudden the ss came on

a sudden inspection. mrs. kugler charged into the room. i admitted to say my father made me where my skiing boots. the last time i saw my father was the 28th of june and i left home on the 29th. i separated from my mother the following day. before my father left he said to me, where your skiing boots. we lived in the ski mountains. we were all avid skiers. i said, why? father said, i want you to wear them. i said, father, skiing shoes in june? he said, you have to wear them -- you did not argue with your father in those days. i wore them every single day. the entire three years i was in camp. in the lining, i had hidden the

pictures which are in my book. i was able to keep them but later on on the death march i had concealed them there. mrs. kugler charged in and she dragged me out of the bunk. she said they're here, it is a matter of life and death. she stooped down and started to lace my boots and she dragged me to the factory. she set the looms in motion and she said, pull yourself together. i remember, i was running a very high temperature. he came for inspection. he went through and if he would have found me there, she could not have saved me. there was no question about it. that was frau kugler. pretty soon it became obvious that they needed us in another camp.

our camp was disbanded and we went to three different ones. i really don't remember the third one. i was sent to a horrible horrible camp. we were locked up on the fifth or sixth floor. every morning they would wake us with whips. i worked in the flax detail. they were doing linens with flax submerged in a swamp. you had to pull it out of a swamp. and then you open to the things. it was terribly hot in summer and mosquitoes were all over us. and then i was singled out to do something else, namely to unload

coal at night. allegedly i gave a fresh answer to one of the supervisors. for that i was banished to work flax during the day and coal details at night. it was incredibly tiring. we were able to load the flax into silos. i think now they were not 10 stories high. it probably was three or four. i remember it is nothing but torture. as soon as i got back to camp, i was called to unload coal. that was the only time -- my father had asked me earlier, i forgot to mention it. when my mother was so ill, i remember standing at the window and we heard that a family had

committed suicide together. i remember looking out at the garden, my mother being so sick. my father with his hand in the slaying -- in the sling. we had not heard from arthur. i wished that my parents would suggest that. my father and i were very close. heelys knew what i was thinking. he came behind me without looking at me and he said, when you are thinking now is cowardly and wrong. promise that you are never going to do that. i did not answer him. he took his hand and he turned my head towards him. he said, promise me now. i promised him. i remember working the coal trucks, there were trains going by, going to auschwitz or whatever. i remember the tracks beckoning in the moonlight.

i thought it would be over there are, one jump and one pain and that would be in. it was so dreadful there. at one moment i came fairly close. i felt a strange pain in my neck. anyway obviously, i did not do , it. things were very hard. we work in the swamp. that was one of my lowest hours. we had a lagerfuhrer, the opposite of ms. kugler. her great joy was to have a child's wagon and she had us pull her around in the wagon. she had a whip.

you can imagine the caliber of intelligence of that person. all of a sudden she came with somebody else, a man, and they were calling numbers. we all had numbers, of course. i was working next to ilse and i heard them call her number. i sort of looked up. i must have been dazed. the lagerfuhrer said you idiots don't you know your numbers? ilse pointed to me and said, that is her number. she obviously wanted to get me out from whatever it was. she slapped me and said, don't you know your own number, you idiot? then they called my real number. i did not know what was happening.

i'm not quite sure. as came to the camp. there was the director. an interesting thing to tell you about him. ilse said, my sister, you don't have your number. he looked at me, he said i know you, you work the looms. you are coming along. they needed more people for working on looms in another camp. this is how i got out ilse caught out -- got out too. we got loaded on a truck and we went to the sister camp. they had closed our previous camp and opened two more. when we got there, who would be there but frau kugler.

that was like a homecoming. i had one incident with i had one incident with herr keller. he called me into his office. i remember the most incredible thing. there was a huge room, a single carpet and a desk. he sat alone at the desk. what struck me is that probably in a room of that size, 50 of us slept. he had a letter in his hand. he said to me, you have smuggled out a letter. i said i never smuggled a letter. i said, i have written some letters. i had an uncle in turkey in a textile business. most people from bielitz were in the textile business.

my uncle, when he found out what camp it was, had written to keller. keller looked at me and asked me a number of questions. apparently my uncle had sent a package, and they encouraged me to write for more packages. the packages apparently contained chocolate and things which were not obtainable. which i never saw. they said the package had been ripped up, but it was in a sturdy wooden box. i was only too happy to write to my uncle. i received the packages in good order, apparently they wanted those things. this way i knew my uncle was safe, but he knew where i was. anyway, the camp was like heaven by comparison. only we then faced another difficulty. we worked the night shift only. we did not see any light of day except if you got up during the

day. we worked there for probably a year or even longer, the night shift. things got worse than because there was very little food. she went on in the same vein as she was before. interviewer: tell us a little more about frau kugler. ms. klein: for instance, if someone was ill, you got some sort of care or understanding, things were covered for you as far as work was concerned. she tried to get vegetables. whatever was so-called coming to us, things were laughable. but we got it. i remember one thing.

i always tell young people. they knew of the jewish holidays. one yom kippur they called us and told us about holidays and if anybody would be foolish enough as to fast, that would be construed as sabotage and sabotage was punishable by death. and everybody fasted. we were given food and nobody touched it. those are the things that future generations should know. i remember that night when we got our miserable smelling vegetables or whatever it was, there was such feeling of sanctity. almost holiness. they really tried to see that we didn't. everybody worked with such fervor. such a oneness, so much nobility

of spirit in the camps, which i wish would be better recorded. people reached out, somebody had a birthday, so we would save -- on sunday we had a little margarine on the bread. you would cut some of the fat and scrape the margarine and give it to the person so they would have a lot of margarine on their piece of bread. we knew it was hanukkah. that was still under mrs. kugler . she was celebrating christmas and hanukkah altogether. we made a menorah out of potatoes. i still things, i wrote a story about hanukkah. i would like to translate it and

give it to you. for one minute about happier things i went to israel for the , first time in 1961. my friend surprised me. i knew of three that were in israel. but actually 10 showed up. i was the 11th. they got out of the elevator in tel aviv, singing a song which we had written for the first hanukkah in camp, and she carried a menorah which i have now, a beautiful old menorah that they give me an memory of the menorah which we made of potatoes. if you made it of potatoes, that meant you did not eat that night because you did not have potatoes. you can imagine what that menorah means. that was possible under frau kiegler. one of the things that we did ilse and i dressed as grandmothers.

under the looms where we worked there was a white, powdery substance. we put it on our head. we had a performance between the bunks under one electric light. see the faces in the bunks, all we did, it started out we were two grandmothers. we predicted a brilliant future for everyone. then our two granddaughters came to listen to us. strangely enough, the person who played my granddaughter, she lives in israel. #was one of the heroes of the war. -- her son was one of the heroes of the war.

ilse never lived to have a grandchild. and her granddaughter did not survive, either. but our granddaughters listened to our tale of the past. i will say it in german. the exit line, and that was -- [speaking german] do you understand german? interviewer: translate it. ms. klein: come and look, i will show you my newest film. old people exaggerate so much. then we see them exit. mind you you were 18 years old , at the time. we say to each other -- [speaking german] dear children, let us just say that the humans endure more than they think they could. i think somehow considering how , young we were, we must've

touched the core of our existence, the hope that someday to live in a world for our children and grandchildren, but best of all, to live and such a climate that they would not believe our tales of the past, that was possible under frau kiegler. she did not exactly hear the performance, and we would sing songs that would probably make it sound like a summer camp. we would throw in a few things in polish that were not meant for her ears. by and large, that contrast -- you know, we were "fortunate" we were taken early, before auschwitz was in its full -- after that people did not go to , working camps anymore.

briefly, and finally, the camp was liquidated, and we went to the most miserable and bitter camp. greenberg was an enormous camp. its factory was one of the most beautiful in germany in that it boasted the most beautiful collection of roses surrounding the factory. it was direct contradiction, the beauty. i don't remember his name now. that was the most brutal sadistic -- i don't know if he was director, but he was one of the people. he wore a signet ring on his ha

nd. he would jump like a cat and beat his victim until blood showed, mostly to the victim's faces. he would have a glazed look on his face. i don't know if i suppressed his name. he was a beast. things changed very drastically then. i still worked a very little time in the weaving factories, but pretty soon they had very little raw material for that and i was moved into what they considered sentence of death.

spinnerei, the spinning factory. we were spinning fabrics rather, threads which came from raw materials. the raw materials consisted of clothing, which came from auschwitz. it came to a place with huge machines. they shredded that. it was not difficult to imagine that some of the clothes belong to our parents. i worked most of the time on the night shift there. i remember the horror of some of that became overwhelming. i played a game, and that was to imagine my homecoming. with all the details being there, including the things we had long sold.

that was the miracle, that it would be there. the most dreaded thing in greenberg was -- i'm not sure if it was every four or six weeks we would go to a doctor's office to be x-rayed because tuberculosis was rampant. whoever displayed anything was immediately sent to auschwitz. you had a lease on life for between four and six weeks. there was something there with those x-rays. i did a thing which i will always regret. the last i was with my brother we had to go to something like , the jewish federation and get registered.

next to it was the room of the temple. we climbed over the debris and we sat there for a moment. one column, the eastern wall stood undisturbed. everything else was in ruins. arthur picked up the little stone and he handed it to me and he said, just look at that column and always remember that. our people will survive. he gave me the stone. i carried it. when we went to have those x-rays, i took it off and i had it in my pocket. it was later, probably, that i lost it. i think it was on the death march.

the pictures survived because i have them in my boot, but i had lost the piece of stone. anyway, this was about greenberg. greenberg was a miserable camp. there were a lot of people being sent to auschwitz. i think then we knew things were going bad for the war. not bombings but we had to stop working there was no , electricity. they were going crazy, being vicious. everybody there was incredibly bad. they made us stand outside for hours.

they made us stand outside for hours in appell. if a piece of bread flew over the fence, everybody was beaten to say who got it. nobody gave away the culprit. we all knew who it was. what has troubled me so much, i have heard some of the accounts that say how cruel people were or they stepped on each other. they make it sound like it was a snake pit. i don't know what happened in other camps. this is why i have always used my maiden name on everything i have written. i would say that people behaved in the most incredible manner imaginable, by and large. i think this should be something that cannot be emphasized enough. it was in greenberg that ilse once found a raspberry in the

gutter on the way to the factory. she carried it in her pocket all day long and presented it to me that night on a leavf which she plucked through the barbed wire and gave it to me as a present. i asked her to take a little bit of a bite and she wouldn't. one single raspberry. a total possession. she gave it to a friend. there were other acts like that, many. that unfortunately are not recorded. and i think this is probably the greatest tragedy of them all the nobility and love that was there. anyway when things got really , bad, we sort of knew when

things are going bad for the germans they are probably going to finish us. when things are going well for them, they are not going to let us go on, we are going to be slaves. that became obvious in january of 1945. one day we were told we were not going to go to the factory any longer. to gather our meager belongings, whatever that was. the night between the 28th and 29th of january a great commotion, and suddenly the doors opened at camp. we were then 2000 girls. an additional transport of 2000 came from auschwitz.

they told us they had walked -- i don't know how long -- from auschwitz, and we were going to go on a march the following morning. the destination we later heard was a murder camp also near berlin which fell into the hands of the allies win general eisenhower made the swift move on berlin. we started the march, now termed as the death march, 29th of january. i remember i had a terrible cold. i was coughing terribly. we were told to assemble in four. with ilse, susie, and liesel. she was probably the most beautiful girl i had ever seen. she moved like a deer, with huge brown eyes. she and susie were like sisters,

like ilse and i. the four of us together. liesel was from czechoslovakia, ilse and i were from bielitz. liesel would look up and i would say it is raining today. should i wear my green raincoat? she would say no, wear the blue one. have you been to the garden to pick up apples yet? she would fall into any imaginary game. i remember that morning very vividly. there are scenes in "dr. zhivago" where you see scenes, almost a wasteland of fresh snow. in front of the camp was all covered with snow.

we were assembled. they lifted their whips, and forward march. i remember ilse said to me, i don't know how you are going to make it. we are all going to make it. i was coughing so hard. we started the first step in i remember saying to myself, this is the last chapter. but i never had any doubt that we will make it. ilse was to my left. liesel next to me and susie on the extreme right. i am the only one left.

i think the march is documented in so many other stories. it was unspeakable. i had my skiing boots. i was the best equipped because i had my boots. at first we had a little bit to eat. we marched, i don't know how many miles a day. we came to rest sometimes. in a barn. not often. we stopped in a camp where blessedly, a few of our girls

escaped. i didn't. people were shot continuously. somebody stepped out of line then you would see smoke and red. the forest, beautifully covered with snow, and birds chirped sometimes. the marching, every day the number got smaller. and then we came to a place

called flossenburg. ilse was already very sick. susie and i were still going pretty strong. one time we had nothing to eat so we started eating snow. a terrible thing to do because the more you eat, the more thirsty you are. and of course, diarrhea and all was rampant. we left one morning, one time they put us outside. they would spray us with water. and then they would herd us. literally hundreds. people started to perspire, they put us out again. people died like flies.

one morning we were told to assemble. i remember ilse was frantic. she said, that is going to be the end. if we were better off in the open, maybe we would have a better chance. all of a sudden came an incredible announcement, that president roosevelt died. i knew it was true later on because we reconstructed the timeline and it was. jubilation broke out that all the enemies of the fuhrer would perish in such a manner. it was horrible, but we found something that day that

compensated us for that. we found margarine. a wrapper. there was still some vestiges of margarine in it, so we licked it dry. things got very bad from then on. ilse was really very, very bad. one night we slept we used to sleep outside. it started to snow. it reminded me of the story of the little match girl. we went around and said everybody, get up. if it starts to sleep and you do not know it, you will not wake up. some people said the best thing we can do is fall asleep like that. we came to an orchard. before we came to that orchard something incredible happened. one time before that, i saw ilse

was so sick. i said -- we saw a lot of people on the road already. there was an evacuation. people were on wagons, sort of similar to when the war started. those people were running away from the front. we heard somebody talking in a similar german dialect that we had we concocted a story that we . what a runaway -- we concocted a story that we would runaway. we would take our stars off. we would say that we were with our mother in the wagon and we got lost. we had a similar dialect because we were bielitz. with names like ilse and gerda it was good. liesel were doing something similar. we had a whole thing how we were going to do it.

we said our father was ordered to get the numbers. we used our house numbers in 1939. so they would see that we were telling the truth. we came into that little forest where we rested. we took a signal to each other that we are going to stay there when everybody assembles. suddenly ilse looked up at me and said, i'm afraid. i was going to say, come on. and i didn't. and we got out of the forest they rounded up 14 girls. some of our best friends were in the forest and we saw them being shot. then and there, i decided no matter what happens i am not going to run away. i'm not going to attempt to run away.

people were already running. the gestapo, the the ss was not too much in charge. it would be ok. we made a pact. i said, we are never going to run away. we were saved by her saying not to run. it was that day or the next day, i don't remember -- an incredible thing happened. people ran into the streets and threw bread at us. and so we had bread. that night we rested in an orchard. the snow had started -- it was spring already, april. it was after president roosevelt's death. must have been the third week in april. i told ilse to watch the bread and hold onto it. she was very funny.

another woman who survived. she is in detroit. it is quite a story how i found her after the war. but we did not realize was that we had crossed over into czechoslovakia. those were the czech people throwing bread. if i had known that, i would've stayed because they would have hidden us. if you could make it and went to a barn or something -- the czech people threw us things. there was a wagon, they threw something it landed, and it was , an egg. i was sure that that egg would make ilse well. i hadn't seen an egg in years. and ilse didn't even feel like

having it. one night we were again out in the meadow, snowing and raining. a dear friend of mine, her name is helga, she came by and brought two potatoes. i don't know where she found it. i remember i devoured it mine, i was so hungry. ilse said, i'm not hungry. i could not believe it. she said to me, you eat it. i said, maybe she will feel better later. i kept it. i said i will hold it for you. she said she was thirsty and i went to try to get water for her. the ss men came and kicked her and she said, why? i tried to catch some water in my hand for her.

she said something incredible. she said, i'm not angry at anyone. i hope no one is angry at me. and then she said to me, you are going to survive. she said, if my parents survive, don't tell them how i died. then she said something else. she said, you have to promise me that you are going to go on for one more week. a week was a very long time. she said, promise. i said, i will try.

when daylight broke, there were blossoms on the trees. i had gone earlier and got a blossom for her to smell. the blossoms were all dead probably from her fever. when the sun got up -- it was awful for her. we were told to bury the dead of that night. i could not do it. i know she was. i know she was buried because my friend told me, under a tree. i remember the most minute

details of places -- names of cities and towns that we went through. but i cannot remember the name of the place where she died. i cannot. sometimes i wonder -- everyplace reminds me of her. she has become over the years my alter ego. a young girl from my childhood. every year the 29th of april i step back. some incredible things happened on the 29th in the past how many years, 40? interviewer: 45. ms. anti-semitic -- ms. klein: the 29th of april, 1945.

i did not see susie and liesel. i did not know where they were. at that point i could not walk very well myself. i don't know if it was a few weeks later, a few days later, whatever. they really descended on us, with tremendous vengeance. screaming, it is all our fault because the fuhrer, hitler is dead. we figured they would kill us now or maybe we would survive. we came to a place in czechoslovakia. it was quite crazy. a lot of people were on the roads. soldiers running away. we were still with the group. we had one woman ss with us and a couple of men.

i don't know too how few our group had diminished. enormously, from thousands to maybe a little over 100. i think i was quite ill already. i was ill anyway, and terribly upset about ilse's death. one evening we came to rest. we were in czechoslovakia at that point. the place was called volary, which i realized later. we were sort of outside. it was quite quiet suddenly. a truck came. we were going to go someplace.

one ss woman came and told keller to take off my boots. she said to me, i'll hide you. she had me behind somebody. she never took them off. then helga said to me the truck , came, and the truck was going take us someplace, i have no idea where. she said, you better get under the truck so they do not see you. i said, i want to stay here. i am in no hurry. whatever. it was the feeling that it is probably going to happen now they are going to kill us. it was quite warm after all the snow. it was a balmy night.

i said, i'm going to start thinking about what it would be like to be at home on a night in a garden with my parents. if they kill me, that is the memory i want. the truck came and some of the other girls went on it. i didn't. we waited and waited. the truck did not come back. unfortunately, i heard that on the truck, there was one of the ss women who was pregnant. i did not know that. they were shooting and she was hurt. the ss woman then turned and killed 14 girls on that truck. it is funny how you play with numbers -- 14 or is it funny. i do not know, but it was a good number of girls. and we stayed there. they came back for us and took us into sort of a barrack or hall or something like that, and they locked us up there.

we heard a lot of commotion. there was shooting and planes overhead and everything. then the story, they had attached a time bomb. my husband and i just went to a reunion of the fifth division medical corm, who were our liberators, they spoke about that bomb. we thought maybe they threatened it was a bomb, but apparently that was so. they barricaded the doors with chains and things. we sort of new they told us we , are going to be killed. i think before that there was some shooting going on.

at that point, i must confess i am not absolutely clear. must have been quite ill already or whatever. i remember that night was quite turbulent. i remember sort of curling up. the ss left their coats behind. i tried to sleep there. a lot of people were very ill. we knew the americans were coming. there was a crazy night. in the morning, i asked liesel -- this was the biggest irony of all. they were shooting from planes and susie was hit in her foot. she was lying there on the straw.

i asked her morning. -- i asked her where susie was. it was morning. she told me susie went to try to find some water at the pump. i went to look for her. and there she was, laying in the mud, and she was dead. i did not want to go back to tell liesel that. so i went out. i had seen two americans the night before, i spoke to them, sort of. that is very vague to me. i remember all the things of that morning. it was after i found susie and i could not tell liesel.

so i went outside and i stood in the doorway. it was a brilliant morning. i have to tell you what i saw that morning. on the steeple of a church, a homemade white flag of peace. i remember that was the first time i cried in many months. it was strange things i remember. it is funny now i cry at the , slightest provocation. i cry when i see a dog or cat but i didn't cry for many years. i was standing there, and all of a sudden i saw a strange car

coming down. no longer green. not bearing the swastika. but a white star. it was a mud splattered vehicle, but i've never seen a star brighter in my life. two men jumped out, came running towards us. one came towards where i stood. he was wearing battle gear. he was wearing dark glasses. he spoke to me in german. towards us. he spoke to me in german. he said, does anybody here speak german or english? i said, i speak german. i felt i could tell him that we were jewish.

i didn't know if he would know what the star means or anything. i was a little afraid to tell him that. i said to him, we are jewish you know. he did not answer me for quite a while. then his own voice betrayed his emotion. he said, so am i. i would say it was the greatest hour of my life. then he asked an incredible question. may i see the other ladies? you know what we has been addressed as four years -- to hear this man -- i weighed 69 pounds. my hair was white, and i had not had a bath in years. this creature asked for the other ladies.

i told him that most of the girls were inside, they were too ill to walk. he said, won't you come with me? i said, sure. but i did not know what he meant. he held the door open for me. and let me proceed. that gesture restored me to humanity. and that young american of that day is my husband. and that is my story. i was very ill after that.

they established a hospital. i was in the hospital for quite a while. i was told i was going to die. liesel, unfortunately, died a few days later after wounds she sustained. i was in the hospital for quite a long time. he asked me if he could do something for me. i said, if you could write to my uncle in turkey and tell him i was alive, any news about my parents and my brother? i did not see him for quite a long time. the following day the war was over. and how i found out -- they made a hospital out of a schoolhouse. interviewer: you came to america? ms. interviewer: we were married

a year later in france. my husband came back to be discharged from the army. we were married in paris. i came with him to the united states. i landed here in august, 19 46 came to buffalo, new york on the 13th of september. i have three children and eight grandchildren. i have one minute to make one statement. i wrote in the process of my first book -- i wrote in the preface of my first book something that is very dear to me. it goes like that. i finished the last chapter of my book, i feel at peace at last. i have discharged a burden and paid the debt too many unnamed heroes. unmarked graves. i am haunted of the thoughts that i might be the only one left. happy in my new life, i've penne d the last seconds of my past.

-- sentence of my past. i have written my story with tears and love, and hope that my children asleep in their cribs should not awaken from a nightmare and find it to be reality. i have just put my eldest grade child to grandchild -- of his grandchildren. the world will remember. >> you are watching american history tv. 48 hours of programming every weekend on c-span3. follow us on twitter on c-span history for information on our schedule of programs and to keep up with the latest history news. monday night, on the communicators. members of congress on the collection of phone records privacy, and net neutrality. >> the section 215 arises the metadata collection, the full election, or a sensibly

authorized, because last week we find out that the second district federal court agrees that this patriot act never often rise these programs. without these programs are a legal proof of the nsa would tell you that these programs were authorized by section 215. in the pfizer court -- and then the fisa court proceeded to write a warranty that covers every american. i think our founding fathers would be appalled. >> i think our policy is far from up to date. it is woefully out of date. we have copyright policy from 1976. a lot has changed since then. we have the electronics privacy act. i started working on e-mail in 1989, and now we have e-mail as a standard form of

communication, one of the most popular forms. and yet we still have a situation where a pace of paper in your desk drawer, they would need weren't standard for it. >> we are not making a comment at this point but what we are saying is that this needs to be open and free, and it needs to be something that the government of any times they get involved with there is this open-ended pandora's box. in the judiciary committee, they cannot answer some of the basic questions about what their own rules do. at this point we are saying let this be an issue for congress and the elected officials. not put in place by bureaucrats who have no consequence from the elected populist. >>