Food Stories

Like many others in our block, I had a daily routine. After roll call, I would just loaf around the camp for many hours among the multitude of people. One day, my attention was grabbed by the site of an old, respectable lady hanging a large piece of cardboard from her large body with the words "I STOLE BREAD" (kenyeret loptam) written on it. It was a shameful advertisement, but at least all she had to do was walk her allotted time as punishment for stealing bread from another starving inmate. She walked with her head bowed down, not looking, and not seeing anyone.

On 25 December 1944, our "delicious" lunch consisted of some green leaves mixed with potato skins. All over the world these skins are thrown into the garbage can or given - when cooked - to pigs. But I must say that this was the only time we felt we were eating something good and tasty.

To the best of my knowledge, none of us women inmates had their monthly period in Bergen-Belsen, except for - as gossiping tongues rumored - one "special" madam. She served as a whore to one of the SS Nazi officers. In exchange for her generosity, the officer gave her and two of her close family members the same food as the SS soldiers. This woman looked healthy and strong, like a stuffed pig. For obvious reasons, I am not writing her name.

With the conditions we lived in, moral, decent behavior reigned. Very few acted shamelessly and indecently, but I do recall one instance that actually took place before the eyes of hundreds of witnesses. Daily, a young female would shamelessly climb up to her boyfriend's bunk bed, with the barrack still flooded with light. The two lay entangled underneath their lice-ridden covers making their obscene, degrading act of sex. In those days, the decent majority did not accept sex for unmarried couples.

One day my attention was attracted by a young mother who asked her mother to feed her three or four year old daughter, as she had no patience to do so herself and wished to go for a walk. More than happily, the starving grandmother accepted the task of feeding this small child. It was close to my own bunk bed, so I could hear and see it: "Juditka (that was the child's name) put it in my mouth!" One piece went in the mouth of the grandmother and one piece to the mouth of Juditka. Who could blame Juditka's grandmother? At least she survived too.

© David Muskal, 2001