Rachel's Son

By S.D. Shadden

A woman fleeing her past, a patriot saving his country, a soldier surviving another day, a boy searching for his father. Join the dangerous journey. Share the hopes, fears, and struggles of Rachel’s Son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639032747

Book preview

1

Number 4207175, step forward.

Rachel left the ranks of the morning head count and faced the stern female guard dressed in a green uniform, blond hair neatly pinned in a tight bun. The guard’s cap displayed a silver skull, and her hand carried a leather-wrapped baton. When the SS woman walked, her green cape flowed like the wings of a giant bat.

Show me your arm and your number. You are listed as Hanna, Rachel, Holland—correct?

Yes, ma’am.

This record states that you are an accountant. You have been reassigned. See the creature standing by that hut? He works at the collection center. He will show you the way. Now run.

Rachel smiled when she recognized Casimir, standing erect with his cap removed, staring down at the ground.

You’re Cassius, aren’t you?

No. Casimir. Don’t talk, just trot beside me.

Rachel whispered, What is the collection center?

We call it Canada. I’ll explain later. Jog and stare at your feet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Appear humble.

They ran along a dirt road with electric strands of barbed wire mounted on tall concrete posts. On the other side of the wire, inmates in stained striped uniforms scurried at a new construction site, directed by other workmen with special armbands. There was no rest for the thin, harried workers; the foremen with wooden clubs forbade it. Armed soldiers with fierce guard dogs watched in silence.

When they passed the main barracks and work compound, Casimir spoke from the side of his mouth, Never forget this day. Today you have been reborn. Sergeant Stein had you reassigned to be his accountant. The man just saved your life. Every time you take a deep breath, remember Wolfgang Stein. We are almost there.

2

Rachel stood in the vast warehouse, filled with mountains of clothes, suitcases, and personal effects, reminding her of scattered driftwood after a violent storm. Entire lives lay before her. The area that affected her most was the jagged pile of photographs—faces and family scenes tenderly staring at her—a memorial of the forgotten. The innocent images pierced her heart when she realized the remnants of her mementos and memories lay discarded among them. Casimir had told her that working here was a blessing; looking about her, she wondered if these daily reminders were now her curse.

Casimir saw that she was overwhelmed. Don’t worry, Rachel. You will get used to it. Give it time.

Rachel continued to look down at the photographs and replied, I am not sure that I will… I am not sure that I should. Deep within, she knew their innocent smiles would haunt her every day and visit her every night.

Casimir sensed that they needed movement—to save Rachel’s heart, to save his back. The guards were staring at them from their strategic positions; they were about to be punished.

Rachel, come over here. I will explain the process. It is very straightforward: The women sort the items since they are deemed to be more detail oriented and more afraid of the penalty for theft, which is death. Workmen, such as myself, take the sorted items and carry them to their specific sections. Specialists, sitting at those tables, evaluate the more valuable items, such as diamonds, gold, watches, and miscellaneous jewelry. Finished pieces are stored on the myriad of shelves along the opposite walls of the warehouse. Your job is to—

Casimir, I am a nurse, not an accountant. I have no idea how to calculate and inventory all this mess, this debris of others’ lives. I was taught to save people, not rob them.

Calm down and lower your voice. You assume too much. Don’t nurses keep records on specific items?

Yes, but nothing like this!

Rachel, you will only deal with one item: money. Much like a bank clerk, you will sort it, count it, and deposit it. Record the amounts in a ledger and drop the money in a locked box next to your feet. You are intelligent. Use this opportunity. If you do not, you are finished.

I still think that I would rather be a nurse and use my skills to help people.

Casimir looked around to make sure nobody was watching. He seized Rachel’s arm and squeezed it until she winced. He whispered into her ear, No, not here, not in this place. Listen, you spoiled girl. You have entered a different world, a universe full of ruthless creatures. Guards will butcher you for looking at them wrong. Informers will betray you for another slice of bread. Trust no one. Keep your secrets to yourself. Eat whatever you can, when you can. If you lose your health, you lose your life. The weak disappear forever. Forget Amsterdam. Forget the past. Survive one day at a time. Here endeth the lesson.

Rachel wiped a tear from her cheek. Casimir knew he had been cruel to her, but he feared for her and her desire for a past life, now lost in dust and ashes.

Rachel, nurses are exposed to the worst conditions this place has to offer: rampant disease, total exhaustion, and blind submission. This camp is relatively new, but it is changing very rapidly. The man in the white coat at your selection site was Dr. Mengele. Himmler has given him permission to perform genetic and reproductive experiments, much of it involves twin children. I’ve heard of three male nurses who were forced to work with him. Two refused to participate. They were used as guinea pigs, then shot. One obeyed but committed suicide by jumping onto the electric fence that evening. It happens more than you think. Trust me. You do not want to be a nurse, not here, not now. You have a tender conscience. You would not last.

Rachel felt as if she had been dropped into a deep pit—damned if you do, damned if you don’t. I feel lost, but you have helped me. Thank you, Casimir. No more complaining.

Good! Let’s get you to your barracks. Your matron will provide you with new clothes instead of the rags you are wearing. You will have your own bunk, plenty of clean blankets, and enough food—all courtesy of Canada. Sergeant Stein takes care of those assigned to his staff. He even selected your matron. She is a kind woman who used to manage an inn.

Why is this place called Canada? And why are you smiling at me?

"Canada is fantasized as a large country full of opportunity and riches. It is more pleasant to think about that image than lost possessions of lost souls. I wouldn’t know. I’m just a farm boy who never left Poland.

Now we must part. Sergeant Stein asked me to get you settled. He will return from Berlin, tonight. Tomorrow, he will explain your duties and how he likes things done.

One last question, Casimir: Who is this Sergeant Stein? He seems different.

Stein is different. He’s a good man who doesn’t want to be here. There are a few that are like him, but most want only to avoid the Russian front and to steal what they can. I don’t know him well. I’m not sure anyone does. He has a checkered past. He doesn’t talk about it. Perhaps he will with you, but I would be surprised.

Casimir, is there anything else I need to do?

Tomorrow morning, when you see Sergeant Stein, remember to thank him…with all your heart. Good luck, Rachel. Occasionally, say a prayer for me.

3

Wolfgang (Wolf) Stein walked up the white marble steps of the large administration building on a fair summer morning in Berlin. Two red flags, embossed with the Nazi insignia in their center, moved in the gentle breeze like a waiving hand, as if beckoning him into the white cavernous structure. Wolf saluted the two sentries who guarded the entrance. Like many military men, he neglected to use the Nazi raised hand, calling out "Heil Hitler." He was a soldier, not a Nazi. Besides, he thought, what can they do to me? Will they send me to a concentration camp? I already live in one.

Colonel Speck, the courier from Auschwitz-Birkenau has arrived. Shall I have him take a seat?

No, Corporal, I’ll not keep him waiting. His plane returns to Poland in a few hours. Send him in.

Wolf entered the spacious office. The tall, distinguished, silver-haired colonel left his beautiful mahogany desk to greet him. Good morning, Sergeant Stein. How are you this beautiful Berlin morning?

Wolf glanced at the sunlight streaming through the multiple-paned window and compared how different this immaculate office was from the place he had left at dawn, where he saw the same sun rise to spread its fingers over a world of lingering misery. Good to see you again, sir.

It seems odd to call you ‘sergeant.’ I preferred ‘Captain Stein.’ A terrible decision! I feel you have been treated poorly. I did what I could, but my words fell on deaf ears. Please sit down.

Business before pleasure, sir. I will need your key to open this briefcase. I will try to keep the chain and handcuff from scratching your fine desk. The enclosed ledger is current. I just need your signature on the receipt to verify that you received the contents.

Wolf, I wish all my transactions went this smoothly. Your honesty and organizational skills were some of the many reasons I insisted that you receive this position. I almost exploded when I learned they were making you guard a latrine every night! I don’t know how you survived the cold.

Wolf looked out the window and remarked, I wore a warm coat and recalled warm memories. Thank you for standing up for me.

I owed it to you and to your good father. Your father and I served together in the last war, supposedly, the war to end all wars! Here we are—at it again. I was sorry to hear of his passing. He was an excellent engineer and a dear friend. And your mother is well?

Yes, thank you. She lives with my aunt, her sister, here in Berlin.

Colonel Speck walked to the side of his dark burled desk and poured rare French brandy from an elegant decanter into two crystal snifters. He handed one glass to Wolf and asked, What shall be our toast, my friend?

Wolf quietly replied, To warm coats and warm memories.

Well said, Wolf. Well said. I realize you do not have much time. Your airplane is waiting. I hesitate to ask, but I must know: What happened at Babi Yar outside Kiev?

Wolf drank half his brandy, looked directly into the colonel’s face, and said, "I’m going to be very frank with you. You are an old friend of the family. I trust you.

"Colonel Speck, I never wanted to be in the SS. I had just received my engineering degree. An SS officer placed me and several of my fellow graduates in a small room and announced, because of recent losses, the SS needed more engineers. He informed us that we were volunteering for the task, thanked us, and left the room. I assumed his reference to ‘recent losses’ meant too many skilled men had been killed."

Not very subtle, I admit. Your record indicates that you did well. Once again, Wolf, what happen at Babi Yar?

"My construction team was building a bridge over a narrow river so that troops and tanks could cross it. A messenger on a motorcycle said that reinforcements were needed, immediately. We thought that we would be encountering Soviet soldiers. Instead, it was hundreds of men, women, and children facing a deep trench."

The colonel rose to pour more brandy. Go ahead. I am listening. Let me guess—executing civilians?

That is correct. A drunken major told me to order my men to join the other soldiers and to begin firing on the people lining the ditch. He smiled and flippantly retorted, ‘We had more vermin show up for our little party than we expected.’ I refused.

I have heard of this major. He is a swine. What did he do when you refused?

He was furious. He aimed a pistol at my forehead and screamed, ‘That is an order, Captain! This is war! Disobey my order and you will join the bodies in the pit!

The colonel shook his head. I am surprised the alcoholic fool did not shoot you. How did you survive?

"I replied, ‘An illegal order is not a valid order and need not be obeyed. Therefore, I will not order my men to do something that I will not do, especially something I find to be not only illegal but inhumane. Shoot me, Major, and settle the question before us at your court-martial!’"

That took courage, Wolf. What were the repercussions?

The SS did not court-martial me. However, they did not want to encourage others in the ranks to disobey orders. To make an example, they stripped me of my officer’s duties and sent me to Auschwitz as a private, to ‘toughen’ me. They placed me in an execution squad. Again, I refused to participate. So they made me guard latrines at night until you intervened. Every month I apply to fight on the Russian front. Every month I am denied. I am a soldier, not a murderer.

The colonel abruptly walked over to the window and stared at the trees. Pondering the small green leaves, fluttering gently in the summer breeze, he saw a gray squirrel leap from limb to limb and wondered if he, as a military officer under this Nazi regime, did not have to do the same: leap from one assignment to another—to make a difference, to just survive. Keeping his back to Wolf, the colonel remonstrated, I did not hear that last comment. Never say it again. For what it is worth, I agree with you, and so do many others. Your situation is not ideal, but it could be worse.

How much worse, sir? I just go through the motions. In many ways, I am similar to the people in the camp: a member of the walking dead. I eat better and have better lodging, but all of us just seem to be waiting—either to be saved or for the end. I don’t consider that living. It is existing.

Wolf, you should be aware that you were promoted to be a sergeant in order to hold this position. A private would be out of the question. Normally, it is only for officers. I insisted. An honest man is needed. You are that man. Listen carefully! Let there be no more talk, ‘Soldier, not a murderer.’ Wolf, it could land you on the other side of that barbed wire…or worse.

Colonel, you are a good friend of my family, and I respect you, but we must all fight our own war: on the battlefield and in our heart, mind, and soul. Thank you for your advice. However, I will be making a request to personnel to fight as a soldier before I leave Berlin.

The colonel turned from the window and looked at Wolf with concerned affection. Good luck and Godspeed, Wolf. I fear you will need both to survive this war and to endure the days ahead.

Goodbye, Colonel. It is time. Please direct me to the Office of Personnel.

4

Rachel sat at her workstation in the large warehouse called Canada, nervously awaiting her first interview with Sergeant Stein. Casimir was already working with the sorters, pushing his money-cart with two locked wooden boxes upon it. Whenever someone raised her hand, he went to her. Paper currency and coins fell through the slot of his designated box. Casimir had nodded to Rachel whenever he passed near her, to encourage on her first day of work. Rachel acknowledged his presence with a slight nod of her head, but her eyes always returned to look toward the door, where the man, who would determine her destiny, was about to enter.

When Sergeant Stein approached her table, Rachel stood, lowering her eyes, just as Casimir had instructed her: Act very humble today. The guards always watch new prisoners carefully. She was pleased to hear a strong voice say, No need to do that, Rachel. Welcome! I am here to help you. Raising her apprehensive brown eyes, she saw Wolf Stein smiling at her. She could not help herself; she smiled too.

"Rachel, here is your key on this lanyard. Place it around your neck. Make sure the guards can always see it dangling in front of you, that way they cannot accuse you of loaning it to another. You have an important position. I told them you were an accountant, my new assistant. The guards will not bother you, unless they see an inconsistency. Did Casimir explain your duties to you?"

Yes, sir, briefly. He said that you would tell me exactly what you required.

That’s fine. To save time, tell me your duties as you see them, and I will fill in any gaps.

Casimir brings the money to me. Only I have a key to unlock the boxes. I sort the money according to its nationality, count it, bind it, record it, and deposit it in the large box under my desk. Only you have a key to the large box. I am not sure what to do at the end of the day.

Wolf smiled and handed Rachel a gray ledger. Well done! Casimir should be a teacher, or you are his star pupil. At the end of the day, motion for Casimir to join you. Both of you will stand by the large box. Do not touch it! A guard will come and allow Casimir to load the box onto his money-cart, and then escort both of you to my office.

Excuse me. You have a private office?

"Yes, I do. It is my office and my living quarters. A large safe stands in one corner of the office, of which only I know the combination. Stand at the doorway and hand me your key and ledger. With the guard watching, Casimir will place the box on my desk. After that little ceremony, you are free to go to your housing unit.

I will spend several hours verifying your ledger and placing the money in the safe. Every evening, I relay the final figures to Berlin. Any questions?

I don’t mean to be overly inquisitive. I only want to do a good job. Where does the money go from here?

Wolf lost his smile and looked over Rachel’s head at the rows of objects on the shelves at the back of the warehouse. I carry the money in a special briefcase. Generally, it goes to Berlin, but sometimes to Paris or Prague—wherever needed, whenever needed. Normally, I travel once a month, sometimes every two weeks. I regret to say that it depends on how many trains arrive each week. The currency comes from all over the world, a fact both amazing and sad.

Rachel saw the heavy-hearted disappointment in Sergeant Stein’s eyes. You don’t like this job or this place, do you?

Looking away, Wolf replied, No, Rachel. No, I do not. I hope to be transferred from here someday. Just as you are a nurse, not an accountant, so I am an engineer, not a money scavenger. May God forgive me. But for now, we both endure.

Rachel saw that she had touched a sensitive area in his life. Not wanting to shame him, she asked, May I sit and review the ledger to see how things are recorded?

Yes, please do. It is straightforward and recorded daily. You will do well and take a great burden off my shoulders. I used to work most of the night doing this myself. You and Casimir are my salvation.

Rachel peered up into Sergeant Stein’s kind face and thought, No, dear soul, you are mine.

Good luck, Rachel. I must attend a meeting. I will see Casimir and you this evening at my office. Is there anything else that I may do to help you?

Rachel hesitated, then blurted, Sir, I want to thank you for selecting me as your assistant. Casimir told me…well, you have saved my life. I’m not sure what to say. I’m grateful. I want you to know that.

Thank you, Rachel. Those words mean more to me than you can imagine. With glistening eyes, he said, Whenever the train stops and the bewildered people unload, I always turn to Casimir and tell him, ‘Casimir, if we can just save one, that will make a difference…if only one.’ Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t—but we try. In any case, you are welcome. Thank you for the kind words. Anything else before I go?

Sir, one last question: How should I address you?

Wolfgang Stein regained his handsome smile and retorted with a wink, Call me anything but lazy or late for supper. Around the guards, it is best to address me as Sergeant Stein. My friends call me Wolf, short for Wolfgang. Like Casimir, I want you to call me Wolf. I must go, or I will be late. See you this evening.

As Sergeant Wolfgang Stein walked away, Rachel glanced at him and knew that she was supposed to fear and to hate this man, this enemy of the Jewish people, but she felt no fear, and even more, she admired him.

5

The first month was the hardest for Rachel, but like any job, especially in the midst of an institution, she fell into an orderly routine. Casimir had been correct: Working in Canada was not pleasant but much better than what she had witnessed down the road, across the wire.

One evening, upon completing his duties, Casimir was assigned to sweep the floors of his section of the warehouse. Rachel volunteered to help him so that she could have extended time to talk with him; during the day, this was forbidden. Everyone had left, except for one bored guard who mostly dozed on his feet. Casimir and Rachel talked quietly while they swept the floor.

Casimir, when you brought me here to Canada, you mentioned that you came from a farm.

Casimir made sure the guard was not watching and replied, Yes, it is only a few hours by train from here. The farm no longer exists. It was destroyed.

Why would they do that? Why are you here? You look so young in some ways, yet, well…somewhat old at the same time.

I am seventeen, going on seventy. I’ve been here almost three years. This place has a way of aging a person. I began at the main facility down the road, Auschwitz-One, and was transferred here to Birkenau last year when Sergeant Stein received his new assignment. He was a camp guard at the main camp, and he insisted to the authorities that I be allowed to come as his assistant. Just like you, he saved my life. I was a strong farm boy and large for my age, but my health was beginning to falter. He reached out and protected me just in time.

Why would they send a fourteen-year-old boy here? Are your parents here?

Casimir glanced at the guard, now sleeping in a chair, before he answered. "My father fought against the Germans when they attacked Poland in the autumn of 1939. Poland did not receive any help from other nations, as promised, so the surrender came very soon. My father continued to fight, not as a soldier but as a partisan.

The partisans are very organized now, but at that time, they had more zeal and courage than anything else. His group was captured before the winter ended.

Casimir, you don’t have to talk about this. I should not have asked. I was only trying to understand your situation. I just seemed odd to me.

It is odd in some ways. I should be dead. To discourage further partisan activity, they made an example of my family. At gunpoint, the entire village gathered around a large tree near our farm. My mother and I were forced to watch when they hung my father on that tree, to be left there for weeks. My mother was loaded onto a truck. They told the villagers that she was being sent to the concentration camp Ravensbrück, where they performed medical experiments on women. I was marched down a dirt road to a small rail station and sent to Auschwitz. Our home and farm was burned to the ground. The example was made.

Rachel fell silent and continued to sweep. Every stroke of her straw broom seemed to echo against the brick walls of the warehouse, a fitting sound for a boy and his family whose lives were swiftly swept away.

I’m sorry, Casimir, about your family. I am glad Sergeant Stein could help you. I am beginning to appreciate him more and more as each day passes.

You should, Rachel. I owe him everything. He was just a guard, given the most unpleasant duties, but he noticed how young I was. He smuggled extra food to me whenever possible. He did not have much authority, yet he never allowed anyone to beat me. He was my guardian angel. I will never forget his kindness.

Why were you both transferred here to Birkenau?

"The first camp, Auschwitz, was renovated to house political prisoners, particularly from Poland. Once the war with Russia began, the camp overflowed with Russian prisoners of war. Auschwitz-Birkenau was built to house a workforce for new substations, but also to eliminate…the overflow. What a wretched term but the truth!

Private Stein was suddenly promoted and transferred to the new facility. Wolf argued that he needed a person to help him, one that he could trust. He insisted that it be me. He could see that my strength was failing. Without his help, I would have joined my parents. Instead, I live to fight another day.

To fight! What do you mean? Rachel asked.

"Rachel, open your eyes! We fight to survive, we fight to endure, we fight to make a difference, and we fight to win."

Rachel felt alarmed, hearing Casimir’s impassioned words. Perhaps stirring his memories had caused his outburst.

"Rachel, the guard is waking up. I spoke too loudly. We need to finish this. Just remember what I said: ‘We fight to win.’ That is all you need to know at this time. That is all you have earned.

"The enemy made an example of my family. The struggle is not over. Even here, maybe we can make an example for them, make an example of them. As long as we struggle and believe, our parents still live. They live through us. Remember me in your prayers, for what I may have to do in the days ahead."

6

As the summer passed, the transports to Auschwitz increased. Consequently, more currency needed to be couriered to Berlin. Because of this increase, Wolfgang asked Rachel, and sometimes Casimir, to help him prepare every evening before he left for Berlin.

Wolf’s accounting procedures were straightforward but left no margin for error. Once the large briefcase was locked, only Colonel Speck had the key to open it. If the amount Sergeant Wolfgang Stein had reported to Berlin did not match exactly with what he delivered, it would appear that Stein was stealing funds. Wolf could not have that implication exploited against him.

At first a guard watched over the proceedings from the doorway of Stein’s office. The guards began to complain that it was not only boring but unnecessary. Besides, they were missing their evening meals. Wolf convinced his superiors that since he