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History, Geography, & Military Discuss Lovers in Auschwitz, Reunited 72 Years Later. He Had One Question. at the Political Forums; Lovers in Auschwitz, Reunited 72 Years Later. He Had One Question. The first time he spoke to her, in 1943, ... |
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![]() Lovers in Auschwitz, Reunited 72 Years Later. He Had One Question.
The first time he spoke to her, in 1943, by the Auschwitz crematory, David Wisnia realized that Helen Spitzer was no regular inmate. Zippi, as she was known, was clean, always neat. She wore a jacket and smelled good. They were introduced by a fellow inmate, at her request. Her presence was unusual in itself: a woman outside the women’s quarters, speaking with a male prisoner. Before Mr. Wisnia knew it, they were alone, all the prisoners around them gone This wasn’t a coincidence, he later realized. They made a plan to meet again in a week. On their set date, Mr. Wisnia went as planned to meet at the barracks between crematories 4 and 5. He climbed on top of a makeshift ladder made up of packages of prisoners’ clothing. Ms. Spitzer had arranged it, a space amid hundreds of piles, just large enough to fit the two of them. Mr. Wisnia was 17 years old; she was 25. “I had no knowledge of what, when, where,” Mr. Wisnia recently reminisced at age 93. “She taught me everything.” They were both Jewish inmates in Auschwitz, both privileged prisoners. Mr. Wisnia, initially forced to collect the bodies of prisoners who committed suicide, had been chosen to entertain his Nazi captors when they discovered he was a talented singer. Ms. Spitzer held the more high-powered position: She was the camp’s graphic designer. They became lovers, meeting in their nook at a prescribed time about once a month. After the initial fears of knowing they were putting their lives in danger, they began to look forward to their dates. Mr. Wisnia felt special. “She chose me,” he recalled. They didn’t talk much. When they did, they told each other brief snippets of their past. Mr. Wisnia had an opera-loving father who’d inspired his singing, and who’d perished with the rest of his family at the Warsaw ghetto. Ms. Spitzer, who also loved music — she played the piano and the mandolin — taught Mr. Wisnia a Hungarian song. Below the boxes of clothing, fellow prisoners stood guard, prepared to warn them if an SS officer was approaching. For a few months, they managed to be each other’s escape, but they knew these visits wouldn’t last. Around them, death was everywhere. Still, the lovers planned a life together, a future outside of Auschwitz. They knew they would be separated, but they had a plan, after the fighting was done, to reunite. It took them 72 years.
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![]() Part III
Within months word got around that Mr. Wisnia was a gifted singer. He started singing regularly to Nazi guards and was assigned a new job at a building the SS called the Sauna. He disinfected the clothing of new arrivals with the same Zyklon B pellets used to murder prisoners in the gas chamber. Ms. Spitzer, who’d noticed Mr. Wisnia at the Sauna, began making special visits. Once they’d established contact, she paid off inmates with food to keep watch for 30 minutes to an hour each time they met. Their relationship lasted several months. One afternoon in 1944 they realized it would probably be their final climb up to their nook. The Nazis were transporting the last of the camp prisoners on death marches and destroying evidence of their crimes. As crematories were demolished, there were whispers within the camp that the Soviets were advancing. The war might end soon. Mr. Wisnia and Ms. Spitzer had survived Auschwitz for more than two years while most prisoners never made it past a few months. In Auschwitz alone, 1.1 million people were murdered. During their last rendezvous they made a plan. They would meet in Warsaw when the war was over, at a community center. It was a promise. Mr. Wisnia left before Ms. Spitzer on one of the last transports out of Auschwitz. He was transferred to the Dachau concentration camp in December 1944. Soon after, during a death march from Dachau, he happened upon a hand shovel. He struck an SS guard and ran. The next day, while hiding in a barn, he heard what he thought were Soviet troops approaching. He ran to the tanks and hoped for the best. It turned out to be Americans. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Since he was 10 years old, Mr. Wisnia had dreamed of singing opera in New York. Before the war, he’d written a letter to President Franklin D. Roosevelt requesting a visa so he could study music in America. His mother’s two sisters had emigrated to the Bronx in the 1930s, and he’d memorized their address. Throughout his ordeal in Auschwitz, that address had become a sort of prayer for him, a guidepost Now, faced with soldiers from the 101st Airborne, he was beyond relieved. The troops adopted him after hearing his tale, told in fragments of the little English he spoke, some German, Yiddish and Polish. They fed him Spam, he said, gave him a uniform, handed him a machine gun and taught him to use it. Europe would be his past, he decided. “I didn’t want anything to do with anything European,” he said. “I became 110 percent American.” In his capacity with the American Army, Mr. Wisnia became “Little Davey,” an interpreter and civilian aide. Now he got to interrogate the Germans and confiscate their weapons. Now he took prisoners of war. “Our boys were not so nice to the SS,” Mr. Wisnia said. His unit trekked south to Austria, liberating towns along the way. The troops protected Mr. Wisnia, and he in turn transformed himself into an American. By the end of the war, they made it to Hitler’s mountain retreat in Berchtesgaden. Here, they helped themselves to Hitler’s wine and myriad treasures. Mr. Wisnia took a Walther gun, a Baldur camera and a semiautomatic pistol. Even though, as a Pole, he never could become a full-fledged G.I., Mr. Wisnia performed numerous jobs after the war with the American Army. He worked at the Army Post Exchange, which provided basic supplies to soldiers. He also sometimes drove to the displaced persons camp in the city of Feldafing to deliver supplies. Once he’d joined the Americans, his plan to meet Zippi in Warsaw was no longer even a consideration. America was his future Ms. Spitzer was among the last to leave the camp alive. She was sent to the women’s camp at Ravensbrück and a sub-camp in Malchow before being evacuated in a death march. She and a friend escaped the march by removing the red stripe she had painted on their uniforms, allowing them to blend with the local population that was fleeing. As the Red Army advanced and the Nazis surrendered, Ms. Spitzer made her way to her childhood home in Bratislava, Slovakia. Her parents and siblings were gone, save for one brother, who’d just gotten married. She decided to leave him unburdened to start his new life. According to Dr. Grossmann, the historian, Ms. Spitzer’s account of her journey immediately after the war was deliberately vague. She alluded to smuggling Jews across borders through the Bricha, an underground movement that helped refugees move illegally across Eastern Europe and into Palestine. Millions of survivors were displaced, and Europe was teeming with displaced persons camps. Some 500 such camps materialized in Germany. Amid the chaos, Ms. Spitzer made it to the first all-Jewish displaced persons camp in the American zone of occupied Germany, which in the spring of 1945 housed at least 4,000 survivors. It was called Feldafing, the same camp that Mr. Wisnia would deliver supplies to. The odds they would be in the same place were remarkable. “I would drive over there to Feldafing, but I had no idea she was there,” Mr. Wisnia said. Soon after she arrived in Feldafing in September of 1945, Ms. Spitzer married Erwin Tichauer, the camp’s acting police chief and a United Nations security officer, roles that allowed him to work closely with the American military. Once again, Ms. Spitzer, now known as Ms. Tichauer, was in a privileged position. Although they, too, were displaced persons, the Tichauers lived outside the camp. Ms. Tichauer, then 27, was among the oldest of the survivors in Feldafing. Because of her husband’s position, she told Dr. Grossmann, she was considered “top management” at the camp. As such, she distributed food among the refugees, particularly the booming population of pregnant women. In the fall of 1945, she accompanied her husband when Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower and Gen. George S. Patton came for a tour of the camp. Ms. Tichauer and her husband devoted years of their lives to humanitarian causes. They went on missions through the United Nations to Peru and Bolivia and Indonesia. In between, Dr. Tichauer taught bioengineering at the University of New South Wales in Sydney. Throughout their travels, Ms. Tichauer continued to learn new languages and use her design skills to help populations in need, particularly pregnant women and new mothers. Her existence was not defined by her experience as a Holocaust survivor, said Dr. Matthäus. “She had a much richer life,” he said. “There was a lot that she achieved with her husband.” read the rest here
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