1943 to 1945, Poland and Germany

By Louis Neibrief, as told to Jeff Katz

The oldest of three children born to Sara and Leizer Neibrief, Louis Neibrief was born on May 4, 1915, in Szereszow, Poland.

After fighting in World War I, Leizer deported to America and continually tried to get papers for his family to join him, until his unexpected death.

Inheriting the role as man of the house, Louis felt an obligation to try and make a living to support his mother and siblings. At age 15, he joined the Zionist Organization so he could try to get permission to move to Israel.

His attempts to leave were continually shot down, and at 19, he joined the Polish army. Louis remained in the army until 1939, when the war broke out, and he returned home to be with his family.

In February of 1940, tension was rising, and rumors were constantly being spread that the Germans were getting ready to make an attack against the Jews near Louis’ home.

In hopes of protecting his family and keeping everyone together at the same time, Louis smuggled his family into a ghetto. They remained in the ghetto from 1941 until 1943, when the family was split up during a period when most of the Polish ghettos were liquidated.

Louis’ mother, sister, and niece were taken to Auschwitz, where they were eventually forced to their deaths in the gas chamber. Louis, his brother, and his brother-in-law were temporarily taken to Buchenwald, and after a brief stay, they moved into Auschwitz. This is Louis’ story:

In Auschwitz, my brother, Jack, had become very sick and very weak. He said he just wanted to be killed just so he could be out of pain. I decided to leave my job in the carpenter factory so that I could go be with my brother and help him, but you could not just ask to change jobs, so I did it on my own.

I went to work in the bakery and was very happy there. I got a piece of bread and was happy. I was able to get a little extra food for my brother, and I was happy. It took so little at that point to find pleasure in the day.

The Kapo from the carpenter factory reported that he was missing a worker with my number. I hadn’t gotten permission to work in the bakery; I just went on my own. I had to take the chance. If you didn’t take chances in Auschwitz, you wouldn’t survive.

So they started looking for me. It took them many weeks to find out where I was, over at the bakery. These camps - factories, really - were so big, and there were so many men that you could almost go unnoticed because you had lost your identity. But one day, I came to work at the bakery, and the guard told me I had to report to the Lagerfeld (the field). I knew they had found out.

Because I went on my own to work in the bakery without permission, they punished me. They had me take off my pants, and with a whip, they started to hit me. They told me to stand there and count as they beat me. One. Two. Three. I counted so long that I fell down from the pain. When I fell down, they threw me outside, and I laid on the ground, bleeding and screaming in pain. Never had I felt anything like that.

I tried going back to work in the bakery, but I had open wounds, and certainly, there was no way to take care of them. I was in a lot of pain, and it was very hard to work, and soon, the openings became dirty and infected. I knew I had to go to the doctor, but if you went to the doctor, that meant you were going to end up in the crematorium. You worked or you died in Auschwitz. But I had no choice. I had to go.

In the hospital, you were lined up in beds; Poles and Russians on one side, Jews on the other. I was there a couple of days when Dr. Mengele came to make a selection of the very sick and send them to the gas chambers.

We were told to stand in our lines for inspection, and as I was standing with the Jews, a Kapo told me to go lay down in this bed on the other side. I said this was not my bed; it was the Poles’ bed. The Kapo then slapped me in my face, and he said, “You dirty Jew, go over here and lay down.” So I went and laid down where he told me.

Then Dr. Mengele came in, did his inspections, and took all the people in the Jewish line outside. They eventually were put in the gas chambers and crematorium. After they left the hospital, the Kapo told me to go back to my bed. I didn’t say anything or ask why, and I still don’t know why, but he saved me. He saved my life.

After I got out of the hospital, I went to work back in the bakery and soon after was told that I was being moved to a labor camp. There I worked on the trains, unloading cars with cement and wood. We worked all day long and got very little to eat, but it was better then being in Auschwitz. I was there for two months, and then the death march started.

The Germans were worried that the Russian army was getting close, so we had to leave the camp, and they made us march. If you couldn’t go, and you fell down, that was it. You were shot and left to die.

We marched to Gross-Rosen. But when we got there, Gross-Rosen was filled up, and we were left outside. In the rain and cold, we slept on the ground and tried to keep warm. When beds opened up, the Poles were taken inside first, and the Jews were left outside.

From Gross-Rosen, we were taken to Flossenburg. We had to walk through the winter in shirts and pants - and shoes, if lucky. If you tried to run away, the dogs were right behind you. People tried to run, and they were killed right there. I never really thought about running. I wanted to get away so bad, but I knew that I would never make it. It just wasn’t worth it.

From Flossenburg, we were made to move again. And again, the Russians were said to be getting closer, so they made us march even more, this time to Buchenwald.

At Buchenwald, I fell down. I could not go any father. I had blisters, puss in my feet. I was so tired. I could not walk. I just couldn’t make it, and I fell down.

My friends told me to keep going, that I would be killed if I stayed there, but I couldn’t. I told them if they saw my brother or my brother-in-law, tell them that I died in Buchenwald.

They continued on the march, and I stayed. The Kapos saw me lying down on the ground and threw me into a pile of bodies. I was too weak to get up, and I just laid there. I could smell the dead bodies around me, but I was too weak to move. I had become one of the dead.

I remember opening my eyes, and I was in a bed inside the barracks. I was told that the American Army had opened the gates and that someone pulled me out of the pile when they heard me moaning. I didn’t get to see the Americans come in, but I knew that it was finally over.

Jeff Katz is a magazine writer and contributing editor currently living in Los Angeles. He has studied Holocaust history in various locations throughout Europe. After coming to America postwar, Louis Neibrief went on to live a successful life, raising two daughters. Now retired and a grandfather to three, he lives in Northern California with his wife of 60 years, Rose, who is also a survivor.

Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Tuesday, July 31st, 2007 | Email This Post

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