“If the Czechs organize an uprising, if they force a confrontation and fight, they won’t be on their own. Hundreds, or maybe thousands of us will be beside them and, with a bit of luck, this could work out well. Go and talk to them. Tell them they have nothing to lose: They fight or they die—there’s no other option. But they haven’t got a chance in hell without someone to lead them.”
And in response to Rudi’s look of incomprehension, Schmulewski points out that there are at least half a dozen distinct political organizations in the camp: Communists, Socialists, Zionists, anti-Zionists, social democrats, Czech nationalists.… “If one of these groups takes the initiative, it’s likely to create discussions, differences of opinion, and confrontations with the others, which would make it impossible to achieve a united uprising. That’s why we need someone whom the majority respects. Someone with a great deal of courage, who won’t hesitate, who’ll speak out, and whom the rest of them are prepared to follow.”
“But who could that be?” Rudi asks incredulously.
“Hirsch.”
The registrar slowly nods in agreement, conscious that events have assumed an enormous significance.
“You have to speak to him, inform him of the situation and convince him to lead the uprising. Time is running out, Rudi. There’s a lot at stake. Hirsch has to rebel and take everyone with him.”
Uprising … an exciting, magnificent word, worthy of history books. A word that nevertheless falters when Rudi raises his eyes and looks around: men, women, and children dressed in rags, unarmed and starving, confronting machine guns mounted in towers, trained dogs, armored vehicles. Schmulewski knows that. He knows that many, if not all of them, will die … but a breach might be opened and a few of them—dozens, maybe, or hundreds—might escape into the forest and get away.
Maybe the rebellion will take off, and they’ll blow up vital camp installations. In that way, they might be able to disable the machine of death, even if only momentarily, and save many lives. Or it might achieve nothing more than people being mowed down by rounds of machine-gun fire. There are many unknowns lined up against the certainty of the overwhelming power of the SS, but Schmulewski keeps repeating the same thing again and again:
“Tell him, Rudi. Tell him he’s got nothing to lose.”
Rudi Rosenberg entertains no doubts as he returns to the quarantine camp—their death sentence is sealed, but they can fight for their destiny. Fredy Hirsch holds the key around his neck, that silver whistle. One blast to announce the unanimous, violent uprising of almost four thousand souls.
As he’s walking, he thinks of Alice. So far, he’s acted as if Alice weren’t part of the September contingent condemned to death, as if none of this had anything to do with her. She is one of the condemned, but Rudi keeps telling himself that she isn’t, that it’s not possible that Alice’s youth and beauty, her body full of delights, and her doelike eyes could turn into inert flesh in a few hours’ time. It isn’t possible, he tells himself. It’s against all the laws of nature. How could someone want to see a young woman like Alice die? Rudi quickens his pace and clenches his fists, overcome by a rage that is turning his despondency into fury.
He arrives back at the camp, his cheeks burning with anger. Helena is nervously waiting for him at the camp entrance.
“Tell Fredy Hirsch to come to my room for an urgent meeting,” he says to her. “Tell him it’s a matter of the utmost importance.”
It’s all or nothing.
Helena is back in a flash, accompanied by Hirsch, the idol of the young people, the apostle of Zionism, the man who’s capable of speaking as an equal with Josef Mengele. Rudi looks him over quickly: sinewy, his wet hair impeccably combed back, a serene, slightly severe gaze, as if he is irritated at being roused from his thoughts.
When Rudi explains that the leader of the Resistance in Birkenau has gathered definitive proof that the September transport from Terezín is going to be exterminated in its entirety in the gas ovens that very night, Hirsch’s expression doesn’t change. There’s no surprise, no response. He remains silent, almost standing at attention like a soldier. Rudi fixes his eyes on the whistle hanging from Fredy’s neck like an amulet.
“You are our only chance, Fredy. Only you can speak to the leaders in the camp and convince them to stir up their followers. To launch themselves as one against the guards and start an uprising. You have to talk to all the leaders, and that whistle around your neck has to give the signal that the uprising has begun.”
Still no response from the German. His expression is impenetrable, and his eyes are fixed on the Slovak registrar. Rudi has already said all he has to say and falls silent, too, as he waits for Hirsch’s reaction to this desperate proposal in the midst of a totally hopeless situation.
And Hirsch finally speaks. But the person who is speaking isn’t the social leader or the intransigent Zionist or the proud athlete. Rather, it’s the children’s educator. And he speaks in a murmur.
“And what about the children, Rudi?”
Rosenberg would have preferred to leave this discussion until later. The children are the weakest link in the chain. In a violent uprising, they’re the ones with the least chance of surviving. But Rudi has an answer to this, too.
“Fredy, the children are going to die no matter what—no question. We have a possibility, maybe just a small one, but a possibility nevertheless, of getting thousands of prisoners to rise up and destroy the camp, thereby saving the lives of many deportees who will no longer be sent here.”
Fredy’s lips remain tightly sealed, but his eyes speak for him. In an uprising involving hand-to-hand combat, the children will be the first ones they slaughter. If a breach is opened in the fence and there’s a stampede to escape, they’ll be the last ones to fight their way through. If the prisoners have to run hundreds of meters cross-country under a hail of bullets to reach the forest, the children will be the last to get there and the first to be cut down. And, if any of them reach the forest, what will they do, alone and disoriented?
“They trust me, Rudi. How can I abandon them now? How can I fight to save myself and leave them to be killed? And what if you are mistaken and there is a transfer to another camp?”
“There won’t be. You’re doomed. You can’t save the children, Fredy. Think about the others. Think about the thousands of children all over Europe, and all the children who’ll come to Auschwitz to die if we don’t rebel now.”
Fredy Hirsch closes his eyes and lifts one of his hands to his forehead as if he had a fever.
“Give me an hour. I need an hour to think about it.”
Fredy leaves the room with his customary upright posture. No one who sees him walking across the camp could know that he’s carrying the unbearable weight of four thousand lives on his shoulders. As he walks, he strokes his whistle obsessively.
Several members of the Resistance, who are already aware of the situation, come into Rudi’s room to find out what’s happened, and Rosenberg tells them the outcome of his conversation with the head of Block 31.
“He’s asked for a while to think it over.”