The Remembrance: Nathan's Memoir

By Larry Roth

What if you had to live with a gift you neither sought nor wanted…forever? Dr. Nathan Egin dropped to the dirt floor of his bunk in the now-notorious Auschwitz death camp in 1943. Believing he has drawn his last breath, he is surprised to see a blue-tinted white light. He is informed by a voice that he must survive this camp in order to tell the world what has happened. He is told that people will believe him because he will be given the miraculous power to heal people of their afflictions. When the camp is liberated, Nathan attempts to continue his career as a surgeon. He finds his "gift" has made all the medical knowledge he had acquired throughout the years virtually useless, as a simple touch heals all. The novel takes us from World War II to well beyond the present day where Nathan struggles to deal with his power and attempts to find happiness in a difficult and rapidly changing world. The end of the book reveals an incredible plot twist and the true meaning of destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645840855

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

When I awoke from my fitful sleep, I could barely move. This was normal. My physical pains were substantial but not nearly the worst part of my existence. It was my relentless hunger that was truly unbearable. The cupful of what they called food given to us each day was not nearly enough to maintain the life of a chicken, much less a human being. I was sure this was my last day on earth.

The prisoner next to me looked worse than I did. He looked like a living skeleton. I was startled when he arose and started speaking.

Another day, another day! he yelled. Let’s do a great job now!

The man was quite mad. His purple face and obvious delirium indicated typhus.

I didn’t know how my frail body would be able to move the large heavy rocks into the rusty wheelbarrows one more time. When I first started doing this thankless, monotonous task, it didn’t seem so overwhelming. Today, lifting just one of those rocks felt like I was moving mountains. I was told to transport rock-filled wheelbarrows a quarter of a mile to the other waiting prisoners who then pulverized the rocks into more manageable pieces in order to build and repair roads.

I frankly didn’t even know if I could get up out of my bunk. I needed to focus on one thing at a time. All I knew was if, somehow, I survived this day, it would certainly be my last.

I emptied my mind once again, as I had done every single day since arriving. I honestly didn’t know how long I had been at the camp. Every day was the same: exhaustion, horror, and hunger.

I dropped onto the floor of my bunk, struggled to my feet and shuffled to the lineup in the courtyard. We stood for nearly an hour. I shivered as my thread-bare prisoner’s uniform with the attached Star of David offered no warmth. Two people collapsed before roll call was even taken. They were shot by guards and carried away by other prisoners. We split into groups and once again headed toward the pile of rocks. I moved fast enough to satisfy the guards but slow enough to ensure that I could continue to function. At noon, we all stopped working to get a tepid cup of water. A few hours later, the man beside me stopped briefly to rest. Two guards simultaneously shot him as his head virtually exploded. The blood seemed to ooze out of his forehead forever. The guards laughed. Blood spattered on my prison uniform. I tried to ignore everything and to feel absolutely nothing. It was not that I didn’t care. I was just determined to finish up my work and die on my own terms.

The day mercifully ended. I dragged myself back inside my bunk, the last building I figured I would ever inhabit. This time I couldn’t take one more step. This time I couldn’t take one more breath. I dropped to the mud floor and lay on my back, looking up at the hollow eyes of the four prisoners. They seemed completely indifferent to my plight. One walked away. The others eyed my shoes. My world slowly faded to black.

Suddenly, I was conscious again. A blue-tinted white light beckoned. The color and intensity of the light was like nothing I had ever seen before. A hand reached out for me from what appeared to be a cloud. The hand felt warm. I grabbed it, and immediately, my soul was gently pulled from my physical body. I looked down at my pitiful wretched shell as I hovered above the ceiling, above the people, above the bunker, and then far above the extermination camp, leaving the smokestacks and the smell of death behind.

I knew I had died, but I didn’t care. My spirit soared through the atmosphere at breakneck speed, yet I was unafraid. In fact, I was proud that I instinctively knew how to travel across the universe. I entered a seemingly endless tunnel. When I finally emerged, I saw thousands of flowers with unimaginably vivid colors. There were fields of green with butterflies, bluebirds, and red cardinals. I felt freer than I ever felt before. The peace and love flowing throughout me was like nothing I had ever known. I no longer felt any pain, anxiety, hunger, or anger.

I floated toward some human figures in the distance. Upon closer inspection, they were people I knew. All my relatives were there: my wife, mother, father, sisters, and brothers. Some had died in the camps while others had never even made it to the gates, dying in the cattle cars used to transfer them from the Jewish ghettos across Europe. Now all were assembled under a giant elm tree on a hill. They looked at me and smiled. I was within a few yards of them all.

A Voice spoke to me.

Are you ready to cross over and be with us? the Voice asked.

Yes, I said.

Do you have any reason to go back? the Voice asked.

None, I said. Everyone I care about is dead.

Can you think of any reason to return? the Voice asked again.

And suddenly I wasn’t so sure.

Well, my life was just beginning, I said. I have more to offer the world. I studied so hard to get my medical degree, and now it just seems like it was all for nothing. I want to live but not in the camp. The camp isn’t living. It’s just a living death.

It’s not your time yet, the Voice said. There are things you must do.

I was so conflicted. This place was incredible. It’s almost indescribable, but I felt that I was experiencing perfect love. The longer I stayed the more, I didn’t want to go back.

It’s time to leave, said the Voice.

I felt a shock, accompanied by a strong pull that shook my body. It doesn’t make any sense at all to me now, because I didn’t actually have a body. There was now a great distance between me and my family, although I could still make out a few of my relatives on the hill. The Voice spoke again, but this time I felt his breath on the back of my neck. I turned around and saw a stranger, although his face seemed somewhat familiar. He had piercing brown eyes. Famous paintings always showed God and angels with blue eyes, so this surprised me a little. This person was young, perhaps in his early thirties. We stood, looking at each other face-to-face for what seemed like an eternity. The bluish white light that I saw in the camp was surrounding this man.

Nathan Egin, I have chosen you to be the Remembrance.

The Voice was regal, forceful, and full of great purpose.

You have been saved by God in order to heal others forever and be a living reminder of the Holocaust. People will know that you were touched by me as you heal all who you administer to. In that way, they will know what happened here. Go, heal and remind them all.

He touched me on the shoulder. As he did, I was immediately jolted back into the concentration camp in my bunk at Auschwitz in 1943. All my pain was back. The smell of death that hung over this place like a thick fog returned in full force. The gaunt and hollow ghostlike people that passed for human beings stared at me once more. I rose from the floor and felt the familiar wet, yellow claylike ground again and instinctively curled my toes so as not to lose my shoes in the mud. I was glad that the shoes were not stolen while I lay on the ground. My shoes were my most valuable possession.

I was alive, but I felt weak, hungry, alone, and most certainly not experiencing perfection anymore. It was at this moment that I saw an apple next to me. I didn’t question how it got there or why every other starving person in the bunk had not pounced upon it. I ate it. Somehow no one noticed. This was truly miraculous on two levels. First, how did any uneaten food get here? Second, why did no one attack and try to get it away from me as I ate? With my hunger alleviated, I fell asleep soon afterward.

When I awoke, I reflected on what had happened. As a doctor, I knew about near-death experiences. I dismissed them all, telling my patients that it was due to an oxygen-starved brain producing strange hallucinations. That is what I believe happened to me. Still, the experience seemed quite real.

During the next few days, I couldn’t get this imagined event out of my mind. The Voice told me that people would always remember these camps and how I would be the one to make sure they never forgot. The Voice told me I was touched by God. I thought that was funny because the word touched can also mean you were a little bit crazy. I would always be touched by this nightmare.

Days turned into weeks. Hunger was all I could think about. Then one day, I was commanded to see one of the camp doctors. This was not because I was ill. I had been a skilled surgeon before the war and the Nazis knew this. On this particular day, I was selected by a Dr. Mengele to assist him. As it turned out, this position entitled me to special privileges. I was given more access to food than my fellow prisoners. I was still weak though and still looked like hell. I had lost almost a third of my body weight. My hair, once jet-black and slightly wavy, was now white and straight. I could feel my rib cage through my loosely hanging skin. My eyes used to be hazel. I don’t know what color they were now. The last time I caught a glimpse of them, they looked cloudy and gray.

Dr. Mengele was young with dark hair, dark eyes, dark eyebrows, and an extremely goofy grin primarily because of the slight gap between his two front teeth. He had perfect posture. He was the only German in the camp that seemed to really relish his work. He was always smiling. I saw him give chocolates to little children then perform the most hideous experiments imaginable on them. Extreme cold, extreme heat, shots in their eyes—the list went on and on. He had a special interest in identical twins and made sure all were brought to him before they went to the gas chambers.

Mengele was frequently involved in the selection process when the prisoners left the trains. On those days, he was in charge of who would live and who would die. He loved playing God. Those he deemed fit for work would live. Those too old, weak, or sick would die. Those who qualified for his ghastly experimentation would also live. But eventually, we all came to realize that our destiny was to wind up as smoke and ash.

In the winter, I saw a man collapse just outside of Mengele’s labs. He was not moving. Normally, those who were that sick would be taken directly to a camp doctor and, shortly thereafter, would be sent to the gas chamber for disposal and incineration. Yet somehow this extremely sick man was still here. I was curious. I looked at his face and knew immediately that he was the person who had been subjected to one of the more hideous experiments I witnessed. Doctor Mengele placed him in freezing water for several hours until his body temperature was sixty-five degrees. I looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then I dragged him to my bunk. It was clear that he was dying. He showed all the signs of hypothermia. He had slurred speech, extreme confusion, was very weak, and showed no coordination whatsoever. I removed his wet clothes and put the bunk’s large disgusting old blanket over him. It didn’t appear to help. He was dying. There was a rabbi there. He said a prayer over him. His name was Daniel. Days like these, I tried hard to forget.

Later that same winter, they brought me and a group of nine other Jewish doctors to a hospital many kilometers away. I learned much later that the German army had suffered a major defeat and that they were in desperate need of surgeons to operate on their wounded. When one of the Jewish doctors was told that he must operate on German soldiers, he said he would rather die than help them. So a camp guard took out a gun and shot him right in front of us. I told the guard I had no problem with the assignment.

I was allowed a brief shower and given an actual meal. It had meat and potatoes and green vegetables. I’ll never forget it. During the three-day stint, I would operate and mend the wounds of German officers. I must have looked at dozens of them. I worked right next to one German doctor with silver hair. He never said a word to me. Even when he seemed stumped on how to treat a patient, rather than ask for my help, he just motioned for me to take over. He watched intently as I worked.

I worked on the German soldiers so they could go back to the war and kill more of their enemies. The soldiers the Germans killed were trying to destroy the Nazi regime, liberate our camps, and return some semblance of normalcy to the world. I tried not to focus on this. I focused on the teenage German solider with a stump where his leg used to be. I focused on the man with a severely disfigured face. I focused on the man with no sight. I did my best to help them. I thought there was little I could do for most of them. Other than the ones I just mentioned, I have very little recollection of specific German soldiers. I worked on many who were on the verge of death, but I don’t remember any of my patients dying in my presence. They probably would have shot me if they had.

At great personal risk to my well-being, I would speak to some of the wounded. It was strictly forbidden to talk to them unless they spoke to you.

You have been very kind to me, said a rather high-ranking soldier with a particularly severe head wound. I really don’t understand why you are so nice after all we have done to your people, but I deeply appreciate you helping me.

Maybe you will have me over for a beer after the war, I said.

The officer thought this was the funniest, most preposterous thing he had ever heard. He laughed uproariously.

Please stop laughing, I said. You’ll bust your stiches!

At the end of my three-day period, as I was leaving the hospital, the solider saw me.

Drop by my house any time! he said. The other wounded German soldiers with him laughed.

I returned to the bunk the next day. But it wasn’t long before I was called upon again to help out in the hospital. I found out later that Mengele was furious and that he almost came to blows with an underling that showed him the paperwork saying that I must continue working at the hospital.

This is my assistant, screamed Mengele. Mine!

This time, I was one of only five doctors selected to help. I don’t know what happened to the other four Jewish doctors who had previously helped. Once again, I worked nonstop on the soldiers for a three-day period. And once again, I took showers with hot water and received meals that I considered feasts. This time I slept on a cot with a real mattress and a pillow. I was exhausted, but the food and the extra comfort made me feel like I could do the work forever.

I sat down with the three remaining Jewish doctors for dinner the next night. I think I previously mentioned that there were four. That changed. During the day, a German official was dying and I was asked by a German doctor to stop work on my dying patient and to try and save him. I walked over to see what I could do.

No one told you to move, one of the officers shouted at me. He was wearing the Medal of the Iron Cross.

You, he said, pointing to the doctor on my right. Come!

Like hell he will, said another officer. This man is the best one, he said, pointing to me. Let him do it.

The other doctor and I froze in our tracks watching the scene play out.

You’re wasting time! screamed the officer with the Iron Cross medal pinned to his uniform. This man is a field marshal and he’s dying. He must live! Do you want to be responsible for his death?

My doctor can heal anyone! said the officer who was pushing for me. No one can do better. I have been watching this man for days. All his patients are alive and recovering.

Enough! said the other officer. You’re insubordinate! I order you to let my doctor operate right now!

Go! he said to my associate.

The doctor started working on his very important patient but soon realized it was hopeless. He glanced at me helplessly. The German officer screamed at him the entire time he worked. My associate did what he could, but the field marshal died a few minutes later. The Nazi officer with the Iron Cross took out a pistol and shot the Jewish doctor dead on the spot. I jumped. The four remaining Jews, me included, were made to clean up and sterilize the area before we all continued our work. My patient bled to death while we cleaned.

A week later, I was selected to go back to the hospital again. This time there was only one Jewish doctor with me. The doctors that were not selected made it a point to visit me back in my bunk when I was done with my current three-day stint.

Why do they pick you? one said. Why are you so special? You’re young. You’re barely out of medical school!

I had no answer. I was beginning to notice, however, that I was doing all the work now on the higher-ranking soldiers. I was also operating on those in the most immediate peril. I had no way of knowing if these patients ever recovered, other than the remark that the German officer had said about me and the fact that no German officer had put a bullet in my brain.

I saw you operating, said another. You don’t do anything special for these men. You’re just a regular doctor. I’m a better doctor, a better surgeon, a better everything. Why do you get to take hot showers, eat real food, and sleep in a real bed?

I didn’t blame any of the other Jewish doctors for feeling this way. They saw the situation as life or death, which indeed it was. It wasn’t fair, but fairness was a foreign concept in this camp. Still, some still clung to this abstract idea.

The next time I was ordered to the hospital, I was the only Jewish doctor. I wasn’t happy about this. At least I could speak to my associates before. Now there were only a handful of German doctors there, all of whom refused to speak to me. Still, I was not complaining. Somehow I had found a way to survive, and that was more than I could say for practically anyone else.

I hated going back to the bunks between assignments at the hospital. The men looked emaciated, beaten, worn down, and ready to meet their makers. I did not look like them anymore. I could barely look at anyone there. Their hollowed cheeks and their deep-set, unblinking eyes looked more through you than at you. Knowing that I looked just like them a little while ago made me realize how close I was and how close each and every one of these men was to death. A profound sense of sadness permeated my being every single day. I observed that most people in the camps did not feel this emotion. It seemed that most shut off their emotions in order to survive. They only felt hunger and physical weakness. My deep emotional feelings were my own type of special hell.

When I could, I listened to what the German doctors said to one another about the Jews. Many did not consider what they were doing to be wrong. We were sub-human to them. When they killed us, it was as if they were stepping on ants or killing rats.

The Germans would frequently justify what they were doing by comparing themselves to other nations.

You know that Americans performed medical experiments on slaves, said a wounded SS soldier to one of the doctors. It’s not wrong when one race is superior to another.

I never found out if Americans tortured their slaves with medical experiments. I was sure, however, that the Americans never tried to systematically exterminate them.

You’re wrong to have any compassion for them, said a fellow bunkmate of mine known to the Germans as Prisoner 6724395. All these people may just be cogs in a machine, but cogs are what make a machine work. Everyone is complicit: the accountants, the lawyers, the judges, the doctors, the bricklayers. Every damn one of them!

Maybe he was right. Who knows? I used to be too hungry to think straight about such matters. Now these thoughts filled my head every waking hour.

In the evenings, when things were quiet in the hospital, I thought about the wounded German soldiers and why I was chosen to be the only doctor from the camp to help them. The Nazis concluded that I must be doing extraordinary work on these men. The fact was that my work on these soldiers was more than extraordinary. It bordered on miraculous. I thought about the Voice again and what he said to me. I still doubted that my encounter with him was real. But now I was becoming less sure.

CHAPTER TWO

I spent most of 1944 working in the hospital. It was only on rare occasions that I was sent back to the camp. When I did return to the bunks, I recognized no one. Jews were murdered by the thousands as new Jewish prisoners immediately sprang up to replace the old ones. I estimated that the number of Jews murdered here had to be at least two hundred thousand. As it turned out, my numbers were way short. It was over a million.

Often, while operating, I would feel the sharp scalpels in my hand and think how easy it would be to end it all. Yet, I continued to work on the German wounded. Although the numbers increased, the Germans refused to call any more Jewish doctors to help. The top German brass was beginning to show great interest in me and my exploits. I overheard one officer tell another that I would soon be leaving to become someone’s top personal physician. I heard the names of several. Most thought I was going to be Heinz Lammerding’s doctor. He was most famous for organizing large-scale massacres against French civilians. If it wasn’t him, others were saying I would be Dr. Albert Heim’s property. Dr. Heim was known as Doctor Death and carried out human experimentation at another concentration camp somewhere in Austria. He removed organs from prisoners without anesthesia.

Another name mentioned was Klaus Barbie also known as the Butcher of Lyon. Recently, there were rumors that I was to be sent to Berlin to be Joseph Goebbels’s doctor, but the other Nazis scoffed at the officer who brought up that possibility.

On three separate occasions in December of 1944, I was put into a car and waited to