T4 Read online

  A man named Dr. Jekelius

  Contacted me.

  He made it clear

  That he agreed

  With the Nazis' policies.

  I realized then

  That my son

  Was going to die.

  I begged Dr. Jekelius

  To make his death

  Quick and painless.

  He promised me.

  But later

  When I saw his corpse

  He had a pained look on his face.

  Most people I knew

  Disapproved

  Of these actions

  But they were

  Too afraid to say so."

  Father said

  He'd never heard

  Such a terrible thing

  In his life.

  He made a vow

  To protect me

  At the expense

  Of his own life.

  Father Josef said my father was noble

  But that he couldn't protect me in my home.

  In time,

  The Nazis would look for me and find me there.

  Father Josef told my parents

  That he would take me with him and hide me

  In a safe place

  Until the end of the war.

  My family was heartbroken,

  But they agreed to let me go.

  I packed

  A few

  Of my

  Favorite things

  In a shawl

  Grandmother knitted:

  A teddy bear named Emma,

  A spool of brown thread and a needle,

  An old fairy tale book with the story

  Of Hansel and Gretel,

  And my pocket-size pad and pencil.

  We all exchanged hugs and kisses.

  It was the hardest thing

  I ever had to do,

  But I tried not to look back.

  I fell asleep next to Father Josef. He had a

  Blanket over his lap. He tucked it around me

  As he drove his car out of our secluded town.

  The movement of the wheels under my seat

  Soothed me like a lullaby.

  I awoke in a barn

  Covered with straw

  And a woolen blanket.

  The moon

  Was still visible in the sky.

  I felt a pit in my stomach.

  I was hungry.

  I cried when I remembered

  I had left my family behind.

  Soon, a lady appeared in the doorway

  She waved for me to follow her into the big house.

  I sat at the kitchen table and

  She gave me bread and milk.

  She made certain movements with her fingers

  And took my hand to do the same thing.

  She was trying to teach me

  The official sign language alphabet of the Deaf.

  I learned to make the letters on one hand;

  It's called finger-spelling.

  She also taught me word signs for the objects

  I saw in the house and garden:

  Chair, bed, book, tree, grass, rabbit.

  Language is a key.

  I felt so many doors were opening to me.

  The lady in the doorway was Stephanie Holderlin.

  Stephanie Holderlin

  Was a retired schoolteacher.

  She lived alone on a farm.

  She knew Father Josef

  And agreed to hide me.

  She didn't agree with T4.

  She kept books in her attic

  That had been banned

  And burned by the Nazis.

  She had a Deaf pupil once.

  She learned to use

  German Sign Language

  So she could teach him.

  Not only did she teach me

  To sign,

  But I learned

  To be brave

  From her.

  I put on Stephanie's lipstick

  Staring into the oval mirror

  On her vanity table.

  It was a dark shade of red,

  Sort of like the wing

  Of a cardinal,

  Or a fancy automobile.

  I undid my hair.

  It had a natural wave.

  I noticed

  I was getting

  Little yellow hairs

  In my armpits

  And on my privates.

  Another Knock on the Door

  It was three in the morning and

  The Gestapo was at the door!

  By that time I had stopped

  Sleeping in the barn.

  I was curled up

  On a pile of feather beds

  In Stephanie's spare bedroom.

  She sent me running

  Out the back door to the barn.

  She told me to sit in the dirty pigsty

  In my white nightgown

  And to be still, keep quiet.

  I shivered from the cold

  And the smell and fear.

  After an hour of waiting,

  Stephanie came to get me.

  She was talking fast;

  I read her lips.

  "The monsters asked me

  If I have a Jewish child

  Living in my home.

  One of our neighbors

  Must have seen you,

  Although you rarely go

  Out of the house,

  And reported us.

  Why don't they mind

  Their own business?"

  She'd told them a former student

  Had stopped by briefly.

  The secret police listened to her

  And left. But it wasn't safe

  For me to be there anymore.

  Two days later

  Father Josef came to pick me up.

  I was happy to see him,

  But I was sad to be leaving Stephanie.

  I hoped I'd see her again someday.

  Father Josef

  Told me

  He had visited

  My family.

  He said

  Mother had been ill

  But she was feeling better.

  Father was working hard

  But he missed me.

  Schatze

  Still looked for me

  In the woods.

  Father Josef

  Reached into his pocket

  And pulled out

  A watercolor

  Painting of two flowers.

  And underneath them

  Clara had written

  Both of our names.

  We drove two hours

  To a church with a homeless shelter.

  A Lutheran priest,

  Father Michael,

  Looked after me

  During the months

  I spent there.

  He was nearly bald

  And his face was rosy.

  He had been concerned

  About the welfare

  Of the sick and Disabled

  Even before the war.

  Like a growing number

  Of clergymen,

  He wasn't afraid to speak

  Out against T4.

  At the shelter,

  I watched the people around me.

  They were talking about the crimes

  That were being committed.

  I learned things I couldn't believe were true.

  They said

  Disabled children

  Were being taken

  Out of their homes

  Against

  Their parents' wishes.

  They were put

  In hospitals and

  Nursing homes.

  They said a majority of two

  Among three or four

  Attending physicians

  Was enough to issue

  A death warrant.

  They said

  The children were transferred

  To six killing stations,


  The village of Grafeneck

  In the Black Forest,

  The "old jail"

  At Brandenberg,

  Berberg, Hartheim,

  Sonnenstein,

  And Hadamar.

  Nobody said

  Why

  The doctors

  Agreed

  To do it.

  Because nobody knew.

  Dr. Bouhler

  Insisted the deaths

  Should be

  Painless.

  He didn't want

  The patients

  To know what was

  Going to happen.

  But they died of

  Lethal injection

  And starvation.

  I was the only young girl at the shelter

  So I spent a lot of time by myself.

  I worked for my supper,

  Serving soup and cleaning up

  The tables and dishes.

  One man watched me

  As I swept the large room

  And made up the cots.

  He didn't frighten me.

  I found him strange

  And a little charming.

  Because his clothes

  Were rags pieced together

  And he sometimes smelled

  Like a wet animal,

  They called him Poor Kurt.

  Poor Kurt

  Wrapped his dreams

  Around him

  Like a patchwork quilt.

  He slept

  Almost every night

  At the shelter.

  He slept all day too.

  His bushy beard

  Appeared to be gray,

  But he never washed,

  So I couldn't tell.

  He said birds

  Sat on his shoulders

  In the park

  And nibbled

  Bits of bread

  Caught in his beard.

  Once I saw

  A fox walk

  Straight through

  The door.

  It drank milk from

  Poor Kurt's mug.

  He always

  Rubbed his nose

  As if he smelled

  Something bad.

  I pointed to his nose

  To ask what it was.

  He made the shape of

  A building in the air

  And pointed to the top,

  The chimneys.

  That was how

  The Nazis got rid of

  The bodies:

  They burned them

  In fiery ovens.

  The death certificates were fake

  Father Michael told us

  A woman whose sister

  Had been taken away

  Showed him the paper.

  It said

  The cause of death

  Was pneumonia.

  They wouldn't let

  Her see the body.

  She received an urn

  Filled with ashes.

  She didn't even know

  If they belonged to

  Her sister,

  Who was epileptic.

  I was at the shelter for five months

  When Poor Kurt

  Shook me awake

  And said, "Let's go

  To Berlin."

  "Why?" I asked,

  Shaking my head

  With outstretched arms.

  Poor Kurt did

  A pantomime

  To let me know

  His feet were itchy

  And he wanted

  A change of scenery.

  He took a bowl

  I was drying

  From my hands

  And seemed

  To show me

  I could help people

  In the big city.

  The Fathers

  Had inspired

  A feeling

  Of charity

  In me.

  But did I dare

  To walk into

  The lions' den?

  Berlin was the main

  Place for the Nazis to be.

  Father Josef hadn't come

  To see me in a while.

  I wondered if he had

  Forgotten me.

  I decided to go

  Rather than stay hidden.

  I wanted to see more

  Of what was going on

  In my country.

  We decided to walk

  All the way

  To the city.

  Poor Kurt said he knew the way.

  I wrapped

  My chapped feet in old cloths

  And put my boots over them.

  I still had my grandmother's shawl

  To wrap around my shoulders.

  We were in the middle of a forest

  That looked like it was made of glass.

  I wondered where the butterflies went

  When the world was frozen over.

  My hands had turned red and sore

  And sometimes I couldn't feel my nose.

  My blue eyes were large and dark and

  My blond hair was dirty.

  I had shrunk to the size of a beanpole.

  Poor Kurt had a whistle

  He said kept the bears away.

  But I was afraid

  He was calling them to us.

  A car driven by SS

  Drove past us.

  They didn't stop.

  The SS were an elite

  Group of Nazi military.

  They were scary—

  Scarier than bears.

  Germany's churches continued

  To attack T4.

  From a sermon

  Of Clemens August von Galen,

  Catholic bishop of Munster

  In 1941:

  "Woe to humanity,

  Woe to the German people

  If God's Holy

  Commandment,

  'Thou shall not kill,'

  Is not only transgressed

  But if the transgression

  Is both tolerated

  And carried out

  Without

  Punishment."

  We saw a light in the woods

  And stopped for the night.

  Poor Kurt knocked on the door

  Once, twice, three times.

  He put his ear to the door

  And then looked at me and shook

  His head, meaning he heard nothing.

  The light went out

  Inside the small cabin.

  Who lived there?

  An owl flew past me,

  Or a bat.

  I shook my hands

  In front of my face.

  I looked up.

  Orion's belt was visible above us all.

  I made a wish on the evening star.

  We were too tired not to stop,

  So we waited and Kurt called out: "Help!"

  Finally, a woman with sad, dark eyes

  And a worried expression

  Cracked open the door.

  She looked at Poor Kurt

  Suspiciously.

  But when she caught

  Sight of me,

  I smiled as wide as I could.

  She reached out a wrinkled hand

  And gently pulled me in.

  Poor Kurt too.

  Seven people

  In a room not big enough for three.

  Two old people, the woman with the dark eyes,

  A man who looked like he could be her brother,

  A ten-year-old boy, a six-year-old girl, and a baby.

  They lay on top of each other to keep warm.

  They lit a candle stub and prayed at sundown.

  They ate bread that had turned black.

  They put snow in a jug to make water.

  Why did they live this way? They were Jews.

  I shared my shawl and cloths

  With the other children. I liked

  Six-year-old Nelly. She

  Reminded me of Clara.r />
  We huddled together,

  All nine of us,

  And watched the door.

  I darned my stocking

  With the needle and thread

  I brought along.

  Nobody spoke.

  We told stories

  With our eyes

  As we stared into

  One another's faces.

  I realized

  I wasn't the only one

  Who was hated.

  Time passed

  As slowly

  As

  An icicle

  Melting

  When

  The sun

  Shines.

  I couldn't stay in that place

  Any longer.

  I told Poor Kurt, "We're going back

  To the shelter."

  I wanted our new friends

  The Lindenbaums

  To come along.

  They were scared

  To walk

  Openly

  Down the road.

  I hoped Nelly

  Would come with me, at least.

  But the family didn't want to

  Be separated.

  I had just turned fourteen.

  But I had a plan.