On August 24, 1943, a trainload of 1,260 children from Bia?ystok arrived in Terezín. More than fifty thousand Jews had been interned in the ghetto of that Polish city and, over that summer, the SS had systematically exterminated almost all the adults.
The Bia?ystok children were lodged in a separate part of Terezín, a few blocks in the western section of the town, enclosed by barbed wire. The SS guards kept a very close eye on them. Strict orders were sent to the Council of Elders by the Hauptsturmführer of Terezín that any contact with this group of children was absolutely forbidden; they were merely passing through, and their final destination was a secret. Permission to have access was limited to fifty-three people, including health personnel. The most severe penalties would be applied to anyone ignoring these orders.
The Nazis hoped that, by prohibiting any contact with the Polish children—both witnesses and victims of the Bia?ystok massacre—they could keep the lowest possible profile for their crimes in a Europe blinded by war.
It was almost dinnertime in Terezín, and the air was starting to cool down. A thoughtful Fredy Hirsch was refereeing a game of soccer involving fifty players. He was actually concentrating harder on the colonnade leading to the street than on the swarm of legs chasing after the ball.
Despite having sent numerous written requests, he had not received permission for the Youth Office to intervene on behalf of the children from Poland. So when he spied the group of health workers returning from the banned section where the Bia?ystok children had been isolated, he handed his whistle over to the nearest boy and rushed off to meet them.
The medical team, their faces reflecting their deep exhaustion, were walking along the sidewalk still wearing their filthy lab coats. Fredy planted himself in their path and asked them what state the children were in, but they simply walked on. They had been ordered to disclose nothing. There was a nurse lagging behind the group, walking slowly by herself as if she was distracted or slightly disoriented. The woman stopped briefly, and Hirsch saw a look of tired outrage in her eyes.
She told him that the children were terrified and that most of them were suffering from acute malnutrition: “When the guards tried to take them to the showers, they became hysterical. They kicked and shouted that they didn’t want to go to the gas chambers. They had to be taken to the showers by force. One of the children, whose wound I was disinfecting, told me that he’d found out just before he boarded the train that they had killed his father, his mother, and his older siblings. He was gripping my arm with all his might and telling me in a voice full of terror that he didn’t want to go to the gas showers.”
The nurse couldn’t help feeling disturbed at the sight of these orphans trembling with fright, being guarded by the very murderers who had killed their parents. She told Fredy they clung to her legs, and faked pain and illness, but what they really needed wasn’t medicine but affection, protection, shelter, and a hug to relieve their fear.
The next day various workmen, kitchen staff, and health workers walked through the control barrier to the western section where the Bia?ystok children were being kept. The bored SS guards kept an eye on the activities of the personnel.
A squad of workmen carried through construction materials to do repairs on one of the buildings. One of them had his face hidden by the board he was carrying on his shoulder. He had the construction worker’s typically straight shoulders and muscular arms, but he was a sports instructor, not a builder. Fredy Hirsch had managed to sneak in.
Once inside, he could move around freely, and he quickly made for the nearest building. He felt a nervous twinge when he saw two SS guards in front of him, but rather than backtracking, he kept on walking even more resolutely toward them. They paid no attention to him as he passed; there were lots of Jewish civilians moving throughout the area working on a range of tasks.
He entered one of the buildings. It had the same layout as all the other buildings in Terezín: an entrance into a hallway with a staircase on either side and, if you kept going straight ahead, access to a large square inner courtyard formed by the four wings of the building. He randomly picked one of the staircases and headed up. He crossed paths with two electricians carrying rolls of cables who greeted him politely. When he reached the first floor, he caught sight of some of the children sitting on bunks, their legs dangling over the edge.
On the landing, he gave a slight nod to a corporal walking past. The SS man continued on his way. Fredy noted uneasily that it was too quiet for a place with so many children. They were too still. Just then, he heard someone behind him calling his name.
“Mr. Hirsch?”
His first thought was that it was an acquaintance from the ghetto, but when he turned around, he saw it was the SS guard he’d just walked past, who was smiling at him in a friendly manner. A gap-toothed smile. Hirsch recognized him as the player from the guards’ soccer team. His smile in return was steady, but a frown immediately started to form on the Nazi’s face, making it look like corrugated cardboard. He’d realized that the gym instructor didn’t belong here. He raised his arm and pointed at the staircase with his finger, indicating that Hirsch should walk in front of him, as a prisoner would. Fredy, adopting a light tone, tried to invent some excuse for being there, but the guard was adamant.
“To the guard post! Now!”
When they took him to the SS Obersturmführer in charge of the guards, Fredy stood to attention in front of him and even clicked his heels together loudly. The officer demanded to see his authorization for being in the precinct. He didn’t have one. The Nazi stuck his face right up to Fredy’s and, in a fury, asked him what the devil he was doing there.
Hirsch, looking straight ahead, seemed unflustered and answered in his usual, polite way:
“I was just trying to carry out my job as coordinator of activities for the resident children of Terezín to the best of my ability, sir.”
“So you aren’t aware that all contact with this contingent of children is forbidden?”
“I am, sir. But as the person responsible for the Youth Office, I thought I was considered part of the group looking after the children’s well-being.”
Hirsch’s composure reassured the officer and raised doubt in his mind. He told Fredy he would write a report to his superiors regarding the incident, and that Fredy would be informed of the outcome.
“Don’t rule out a court-martial,” he said.