I am fresh out of ideas on what to blog about, so today I decided to check out the blogs written by other people. I found an interesting blog at http://mygrandparentsholocaust.blogspot.com/
The title of this blog is My Grandparent’s Holocaust.
My blog has no title because I write about anything and everything, although mostly about the Holocaust.
The writing on the “My Grandparent’s Holocaust” blog is excellent.
The following quote from the blog, cited above, will illustrate what I mean by “excellent” writing:
My Grandparents’ Holocaust
For years, my grandparents had kept the stories of their Holocaust a secret. However, I was determined to uncover the memories of their past. Since 2006 I began documenting their lives and writing a book of narrative nonfiction: My Grandparents’ Holocaust. This blog will feature excerpts from the book and related stories.
By nightfall, the train crawled out of the station.
“Chana. Esther. Mama,” Leon shouted in vain.
The sappy smell of pine combs curling off the winds from the river and the intoxicating aromas of acacia were masked in the cattle car by diarrhea. The locomotive was a dark and crowded tomb. Now and again the train stopped and the doors slid open. Gunfire exploded. The doors closed and the train crept forward again. Sometimes the doors would not open; the bullets entered through the openings above.
Leon slinked through the mass of bodies to the bars on the window. He reached down to his waist and carefully removed a long sliver of wire that he had worn like a belt. Leon coiled the wire around his left hand and slipped the wire through the barred window overhead. Wrapping it tightly around his other hand, he dragged the thin cord back and forth against one bar for hours.
The heat, even at night, was unbearable. Thirst poured through the wagon. Bodies slumped against one another. There was no room to fall. Even the dead stood.
Leon noticed that the wire cutting through his palms was also cutting through the cage; but the train was nearing Treblinka. The sobs and prayers intensified. Others buried faith right there in that cattle car.
Then the bar gave out.
He looked around the cattle car once more for his family, but the darkness consumed everything.
As quickly as his tired arms allowed, Leon tied the cord back around his waist, hoisted his frail frame up through the hole, and slithered halfway through the opening. Every vein in his arm pumped violently. His entire body shook. Draped from the window of the cattle car, ten feet from the moving ground, Leon felt unequipped to handle the fall. If the drop did not end his life, the machine gunner atop the roof could. But entering Treblinka was certain death. This moment, hanging from the cattle car like a blanket drying, he at least controlled. Leon inched the rest of his body through and in one motion launched himself from the cattle car, tumbling into the night over shards of ground.
In a Polish field somewhere between Otwock and Treblinka, Leon Lederman watched as the train crept toward the gas chambers with his mother, father, and four sisters inside.
Life had taken a new purpose—some way, there would be vengeance. There was no choice now but to return to Karczew. He was seventeen years of age.
End quote from another person’s blog
The photo above proves that there were small openings in the cattle cars that took the Jews to the death camps. But was Treblinka really a “death camp”?
I believe that Treblinka was a “transit camp.” I blogged about Treblinka being a transit camp on this blog post: