Every day was a battle for my life, and every day could have been my last.
I had never been truly alone before, and yet there I was, surrounded by strangers day in and day out, and more alone than I had ever been. When I had my mother beside me, I rarely spent much time interacting with those around me. Of course, Aussichtslos wasn't exactly a place to socialize with others, but in desperate times people came together for comfort. No one knew who I was since I had changed my name. Once my mother passed, a few older women took the maternal job of caring for me the best they could.
The women who slept next to me in the barracks at night would pray with me sometimes, telling me that we were God's chosen people and that we always managed to survive such things as this. She said if the Jews could survive Pharaoh's 400-year long rule, we could most certainly survive Hitler's. I did not mention to her that I was not a Jew, I thought it best to blend in as best as I could. I admired her hope and faith in God to get us through such times of darkness, and I thought that if he did save them, he might save me as well even though I was not a Jew. I didn't always believe God was listening to our cries for help, but I couldn't give up praying for help just in case God was our only chance of survival.
I slowly became numb to the constant death that surrounded me. I simply couldn't allow myself to cry every time I saw someone die. Men, women, children, were shot and murdered every day in front of me. The SS had no compassion or mercy for the Jews or to anyone in Aussichtslos. It didn't matter how you pleaded with them to spare you, they would simply shoot just to shut you up.
The ones that begged got a target put on their heads and were quickly eliminated.
I knew why they begged and pleaded. Many knew that it would lead to their end, but they couldn't die knowing they didn't try to do something to spare them. I would have done anything if I could have spared Mr. Becker or Anne. I would have begged, pleaded, cried, I would have done anything to save them, and they weren't even my blood. I couldn't imagine the fear and panic those fathers and mothers felt, knowing their children would never survive a place like that. I wished my own father cared as much as some of the fathers I saw holding their sons close to them as they entered Aussichtslos. Many of the men fought to keep hold of their daughters as well, but those men were almost always killed for being belligerent.
I would be lying if I said I didn't know my father kept a close eye on me even when I didn't see him. I knew a few of the guards knew precisely who I was, and their job was to watch me and make sure I never forgot to whom I belonged. I was frozen and starved like the rest, I was exhausted and worked to the bone like everyone else. However, the guards always seemed not to see me when it came to regular beatings. When they would shoot into a crowd, I was "accidentally" missed or pushed roughly out of the way. Even if not every guard in Aussichtslos knew me, those who did made it clear I was to be set apart, which was just another form of punishment from my father. He put a price on my head, he made me an obvious target among the other prisoners. The prisoners would look at me as though I were a Nazi myself. I clearly didn't receive the same level of punishment, which made people talk, especially guards who weren't in on the secret.
I did what I could to blend into the wave of prisoners. I had changed my last name to Becker so that no one there knew who exactly I was, which brought a bit of security to my mind.
Late one night, a woman walked up to me. I didn't know exactly who she was, but I had seen her around my village. I knew she knew who I was. I had seen her when she had first arrived at Aussichtslos and had hoped she wouldn't recognize me. I hid my face whenever she came near me and always managed to move out of her way when she walked by. But one night she walked up to me, her dark brown eyes glared down at me. She hovered menacingly over me, her hair was shaved just like the rest of the women's hair had been, and she wore the white and black striped prisoner's outfit.
"Beth Schmidt," She said with a gravelly voice, "What are you doing here?"
I looked around anxiously, hoping no one heard her. "No. You must have me mistaken for someone else," I said, hoping no one was paying attention to us.
"Yes, you are. You are Arnold and Elli Schmidt's daughter. My mother used to babysit you when you were small." She didn't seem angry, but I remained on edge.
My fists curled as I prepared to defend myself from these seemingly heinous accusations, "I'm sorry, you must be mistaken," I said, keeping my eyes to the floor.
"Beth, I know who you are. Why are you lying?" Her voice held concern, but I couldn't afford to let my guard down.
I looked up at her quickly and said, "I am Beth Becker now. I am not related to commandant Schmidt, do you understand me?" I spat, trying to keep my voice low.
She looked surprised at the urgency that was so evident in the tone of my voice. "The clock shop owner Mr. Becker? The old man? You aren't related to him; he had no family," She said, trying to make sense of it all.
"Please leave me alone," I said in a whisper.
"Are you hiding?" She said, lowering her voice and eyeing the other women around who saw us but were not paying close attention.
I gripped her arm tightly and pulled her closer so that those around us couldn't hear, "Listen, it is better if you do not know me, okay? I am Beth Becker. That is all you need to know for your own safety, please," I begged.
"Oh," She said with surprise in her voice, "I am sorry, Beth." She hesitated and then whispered, "Did your father put you here?"
"He's not my father anymore," I said as my throat constricted slightly from the words.
She looked closely at me. I saw no anger in her face, only sadness. She placed her hand on my shoulder, "May God bless you, Beth." And then she walked away.
Every day was a new form of torture, and every night I went to sleep grateful that I was still alive. I became numb to the smell of death, and to the cries of the innocent, and of the sickness that surrounded me. I no longer flinched at the sound of a shot being fired in my direction. I no longer looked when the person closest to me was shot down and left to rot. I knew that if I were to die, the only one who would suffer would be my father, and he deserved much worse than my death.
One night I awoke to someone gripping my throat and another holding my arms. I tried to get free, but their grip was strong and relentless. I gasped for air and tried to fight them off, but I realized someone was holding me down so I couldn't fight. I struggled, desperate to get free until, all of a sudden, I heard someone shout at them. Whoever was holding me down let go, as did the person who had been gripping my throat. I sat up quickly, gasping for air. I looked around at the dark barracks, trying to make sense of what had happened. The woman who knew my true identity, I believe her name was Grace, held the arm of the woman who had apparently tried to kill me.
Grace looked at me with concern, "Are you alright, dear?" She asked gently.
I looked around the barracks with confusion and fear. "Yes," I said hoarsely.
Grace nodded and then turned her attention to my attackers. "Now, would you like to explain to me what you were doing to this young girl?" Grace said with a commanding tone.
No one spoke for a long time, and then a small girl that lay in the bed across from me spoke up. "She's the commander's daughter." The little girl spoke in a meek voice, not sounding convinced she wanted to get involved.
"And if we kill her, then he suffers the same way we have suffered!" Another woman shouted, with rage in her voice.
I felt my heart begin to race, I didn't know what to do. The women had every right to be angry with me, and I had no right to defend myself. So I sat in my bed quietly, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the women.
"What proof do you have?" Grace asked, knowing exactly who I was.
"I was cleaning the commander's office, and I saw a picture of her in his office," The woman who had tried to kill me said through gritted yellow teeth. She looked like she wanted to snap me in half, and I couldn't blame her either.
"What's your name, girl?" She asked again. I looked at her with confusion, wondering why she was protecting me. She kept eye contact with me and asked again. "Your name child, what is it?"
"Beth," I said in a whisper.
"Your full name!" One of the women shouted.
"Beth Becker," I said, hoping they would accept that answer.
"See," Grace spoke to the room with confident resolve, "She has no relation to the commander of this camp."
"He has a picture of her in his office!" The woman said. I felt my fate slowly being sealed.
Grace looked at me, then at the woman who she still had firmly in her grasp. "Is she not in this camp going through the same things we are going through? What does it matter if she is related to that monster or not? Killing her will only make us just as evil as the man that runs this place."
Grace paused for a moment. She let the younger woman lose from her tight grip and then walked over to my bunk.
"When did you all become God? Who gave you the power to decide who lives and dies? She is still just as human as you or me. She still feels pain the way you and I do. Do not think that you suffer anymore then she does, and do not become like the Nazis, thinking you have the power to decide who lives and dies. If we turn on each other, then all hope is truly lost."
"I have seen guards spare her from beatings," One of the other women snarled.
"Where is your evidence?" Grace demanded sternly.
"Why are you defending her?" The woman said, glaring at me.
Grace turned to her and got very close to the young woman's face. Grace was significantly taller than the other woman. She also hadn't been in Aussichtslos as long, so she still had the right amount of strength left. She glared down at her "Because just like you, she is hurting and s Everyone became silent. The woman who had tried to kill me looked like she was killing me with her eyes, but she also seemed to understand that turning on each other was not the answer. Everyone settled down after that and remained quiet and still. It seemed like a new fear had been placed in our minds, the fear of becoming just like those who tortured and persecuted us. If we were not safe among our own people, then there indeed was no safe place.
I walked over to Grace, who slept on the floor underneath the stacked beds, and I knelt down next to her. "Thank you," I whispered.
She smiled up at me, "You're welcome."
"You didn't have to defend me, I don't deserve it," I muttered.
"Everyone deserves a good defense," She stated confidently.
"Except perhaps...my father," I said very quietly.
"Perhaps," She replied, "I was once a lawyer, or studying to be that is," She said with a sorrowful smile, "Perhaps one day I will watch him stand trial for his crimes. By the looks of things, the evidence is stacked against him."
"I would have to agree," I answered.
"You are not guilty by proxy Beth, do not forget that. But the innocent do tend to suffer because of the guilty, I'm afraid," Grace said with great anguish.
I nodded, not truly convinced, "You will be a great lawyer one day," I smiled.
"I do hope so," Grace took my hand and squeezed it sympathetically.
I returned to my cot and wondered if it would have been better if that woman had succeeded in choking me to death. Perhaps my father wanted me dead and didn't have the strength to do it himself, and so was hoping someone else would do it for him. I knew he wouldn't need the prisoners to do that, he had plenty of men under him. Then I wondered if maybe I wanted to die, not for revenge for myself, but for everyone in Aussichtslos. Even if I wasn't guilty for my father's crimes, as Grace had said, someone needed to pay the price for those lost. I was tired and angry and ready to fall on my father's sword suffering. It may be different, but we all suffer differently. You are not judge and jury."