Dora Zuer Iwler
b. Chodorów, Poland, 1923
There were only five or six hundred inmates left at Jonowski camp. The camp was to be liquidated and we were gathered for a roll call before going on a death march. We stood in the Appell place in rows of four.
The woman on my left had been in the camp for a long time, but the woman on my right was a newcomer, inexperienced in survival. The woman on my left had an injured leg and she couldn't walk. The Nazi guard knew that she would not survive the death march and he asked her if she wanted to ride in a wagon. She shook her head, and although knowing that she would not be able to survive the walk, she replied, “Please, sir, there is nothing wrong with my legs. I can walk.”
The woman on my right, the newcomer, asked if she might be able to ride in the wagon because her legs hurt her very much. I tugged on the back of her shirt, signaling her to be quiet, knowing that if I were caught I would be shot on the spot. The Nazi looked at me and our eyes met; he gave me an understanding smile. We both knew what would happen next. As I stood between them, he killed them both.