Fela, who was born in 1918, was the eldest daughter of Abram Jicchak and Chawa Szeps, a loc, was educated in a home environment which blended tradition and progressivism.

My father served in the Russian Army in his youth and had even achieved officer rank. However, this did not impede him from being an Alexander Hassid. My mother, Chawa, worked in WIZO, and was known as a modern woman, and among other things she was occupied with mutual aid. Our father was engaged in trade and traveled daily to Katowice.

As I was a few years younger than Fela, I will skip over her youth. I only remember her graduation day from her day school, when the parents were called to the school principal and to the instructor in order to personally receive the matriculation certificate. She was praised as being the best student in her class. And those who recall the atmosphere [which existed then] in Polish schools can appreciate this.

This was the time of Hitler's rise to power in Germany, and a character of anti-Semitism pervaded the Polish street. While a few of the [Jewish] youth remained in Dąbrowa for high school, most went to nearby Będzin and Sosnowiec to further their education. Fela too, continued her education at a trade school in Sosnowiec, but this didn't satisfy her, and she sought various courses and electives for advanced study.

During this time, Fela joined the service of “Gordonia”. She soon became very active in the organization.

During the late 1930s, she was chosen to head the Dąbrowa branch and handled the correspondence with the main leadership [office] in Warsaw. I remember some of the visits of the leadership to our house, in particular Jehoszua Rabinowicz and Eliezer Geler of blessed memory.

In 1938 Fela went on a Hachshara to Tomaszów Mazowiecki and there successfully obtained workplaces for her friends with Boleslaw Szeps, a local farmer who we later found out was related to my father.

With the outbreak of World War II, Fela returned home with the intention of packing her things in preparation for Aliyah to Palestine, but fate decreed otherwise. After the German occupation of our town, all youth organizations, (at least on the face of it), were ended; however Fela was involved with those that went underground. This expressed itself in meetings that took place in private homes, where Torah was taught to help lift the sagging morale among the Jews.

In 1941, Fela and my sister Bat-Szewa were caught and sent to a work camp in Germany, where they were not separated until the day of her death. There, according to my sister's diary, she and Bat-Szewa continued clandestine cultural activities under miserable conditions in the concentration camp.


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One of the more appalling things mentioned in Fela's diary was the letter she wrote to her younger brother, where she lauded his bravery and was saddened that he remained an orphan alone at home, though he remained an inspiration to his sisters groaning in the concentration camps.

[However] one thing was unknown to my sister Fela: that our brother grew up [literally] overnight and that he was proud to shoulder any kind of help to his sisters.

Fela Szeps was blessed with literary talent. In her diary she described her experience in a women's concentration camp

One should not view this letter as that of a particular sister to a particular brother, but rather a symbol for the thousands of sisters who left behind younger brothers in cities across Poland, orphans and pitiful things all of them; they fought for their existence and that of their families trapped in the concentration camps.

To those who knew and worked with her, she was a spiritual giant even as she physically succumbed to the yokes of hunger and disease. She gave up her soul on the 9^th of May, 1945, after the liberation of Volyně (Wolin) in Czechoslovakia. A small wooden plaque was placed on her grave by our sister Bat-Szewa. It bore an inscription from Fela's diary:

Dzień wolności był dla ciebie gorzkim odlotem.

Here I quote:

Letter to my dear brother. I am writing today because I miss you [so much]. I write even though I'm sure the letter will never reach you. I wanted to write in language in which I could speak freely. Mosze, everything that you send us become a factor in our destruction. Is this beyond your power? Can you not endeavor to have more control of what you send? Remember Mosze dear, you must try to survive everything and stay alive. Write to us and tell us what's possible for you [to do] in the near future, because that's the only thing that brings us joy in these desperate days of miserable tomorrows and an unknown future. We are really proud of your behavior and your work since the expulsion of our parents.

We just received your postcard. What a treasure it is for us! We never stop thinking of you even for a minute and at night sleep doesn't come to us. When I eat I think to myself whether you have enough food and whether our parents have what to eat. I am cold, and I think you too must suffer from the cold. Is it too difficult for you? Our dear parents probably never foresaw how well you care for us, and that you are so brave after what's happened to us.

Mosze, at times I wanted to commit suicide! I understand why you went to the camps and I wanted at any price to prevent this, as I wanted a male to remain at home and I didn't want you to long for freedom as I do.

Keep well, my brother, and accomplish [the moto]: “Be strong and be brave!”

Your faithful sister

Fela

I was born in Dąbrowa-Górnicza in 1924. My father had a tobacco shop. At the outbreak of the war, I had already studied for 16 months in the Fürstenberg Gymnasium [high school] in Będzin. Before the start of the war I was advised to go home to Dąbrowa. My sister Fela studied at Warsaw University.

The ghetto was first established in 1941. At home meanwhile nothing had changed. We were frightened and uncertain about what was to come. Until January 1941 I was at home with my parents and siblings. We already had to wear the armband with the Magen David [Star of David].

In the year 1942 the Jewish leadership [i.e. Judenrat] ordered all Jewish and “industrious” girls to register. After the registration we were allowed to go home. Later the Gestapo [came and] loaded us on to autos and for the last time in this world we saw the pale face of our father.

We were taken to Sosnowiec and a “Durchgangslager” [transit camp]. After about 10 days in this transit camp, me, my sister Fela and several other girls of about the same age were sent to the Grünberg/Schlesien camp in Silesia. We were the first transport to arrive there. We were a few hundred Jewish girls from Sosnowiec, Chrzanów and Będzin. Later women came from Hungary and Romania.

In the camp there was a weavers department. However my sister and I were assigned to work in the sewing department. The boss of the sewing department was a monstrous sadist who afflicted everyone. Thus my sister and I requested to be transferred to the weavers section. There we worked in 12-hour shifts. The weavers' work had to be production-quality and we were stable under the supervision of the overseer and foreman. We worked there until we were evacuated from that camp.

Fela Szeps a gentle soul, recorded in her diary the torture of women in the concentration camp

During the time we were in the camp, a few of us girls met early Sunday mornings and, under the leadership of my sister Fela, held discussions about various cultural themes. It also occurred that on our [so-called] “free” day we were ordered to an Appell (roll-call). At one such call we were ordered to have our hair cut. For insufficient work, we were punished with extra hours, so that our work day went from 12 to 16 hours. In general, on Sundays girls from our town of Dąbrowa got together. It's worthwhile to note that among our group existed a real spirit of comradeship and solidarity.


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Because my sister Fela was previously a student of psychology at Warsaw University, she was [suited to] begin a cultural life in the camp. On holidays, especially at Purim or Chanukkah, she would arrange special programs and spoke about the traditions associated with these holidays. She tried to arrange with the camp authorities permission to organize small skits which reflected the culture of such holidays.

From time to time, a Gestapo woman would come along with a doctor, who performed “selections.” The girls were made to strip in front of him and he'd indicate with a finger whether she should continue working at our camp. Those who failed this inspection were removed and sent to an extermination camp.

At the camp were also French laborers with whom we were in contact. They provided us with political news.

Attempts to organize an underground operation in the camp were frustrated because of the camp senior [Jewish] prisoner, Ewa Messer. Her brutality stuck in our memories. She would beat us with a truncheon.

In February 1945, before the death march began, my sister became sick. We hid in a bread sack all the notes my sister wrote in the camp. During our time in the camp we made sure all her writing materials were well hidden, as we knew the value of such items [for the future]. We were sent on the March, some of the girls sick with a fever of 39 degrees. Every day the snow-covered roads became littered with corpses. My sister was in a very bad way. I had to support and pull her along, so that she would not be shot. We marched in the direction of Czechoslovakia and Bavaria. During the march my sister pleaded with me to leave her and continue alone. Frozen, starving and thoroughly exhausted, we managed to drag ourselves along. At night we were packed like herrings in barns or sheds. In the morning those who didn't survive were left behind. Our transport, with its skeletons in rags, caused the local residents in the area to close their windows and to run from us as if from an epidemic. Many of the unfortunate were [simply] shot along our way.

Mass grave

During the night of 2-3 May, the Germans abandoned us near a forest in Volary (Wallern) in Czechoslovakia. In the morning we noticed that the guards were gone. Me and another person – the only ones who could still continue – left on the first American tank which approached.

The Americans brought us to the local hospital. My sister was in a really bad way, and three days later, on the 9^th of May, 1945, she died. She was buried in Volary. On her tombstone, I requested her epitaph be taken from her diary:

“The day of our liberation should just not be a day of bitter sleep.”

But I added:

“The day of liberation, my dear sister, was for you a day of bitter sleep.”

I remained in Volary for 6 weeks. The chaplaincy of the U.S. 5^th Army Division arranged for us to be sent to Salzburg.


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Salzburg already had a D. P. camp, and there we found a list which said my brother was [alive and] in Bergen-Belsen. He came [over] to me and together we went to live in kibbutz Gersfeld, where we remained for half a year.

We arrived in Israel in 1946. I got married in Ashkelon. My husband is originally from Galicia, he served in the Israeli Army. We have a son and a daughter. My brother also married and lives in Haifa.

28 June 1942

I have completely lost hope – a terrible loss of hope!

The summer is at its most gorgeous stage, and we hear nothing about an end to the abyss.

Everybody looks very badly – everything is dragging on so long. Special changes did not take place, and nothing has changed in the meantime.

We are working a bit more, we get less to eat – but that is not the worst of it.

Worse is the news from home about deportations, and the worst of all is – loss of hope.

I am still alive because in the depths of my heart a spark of hope glows; maybe things will get better.

If it will still continue like this for another winter, half of us will surely die – either naturally or by suicide.

One day I began talking, and I remembered having to depart from my home, and I sobbed.

By the conclusion of the day, the following events had occurred:

One girlfriend was badly beat up by a Kapo for sewing on her Jude patch poorly, and she fainted and fell down. I roused her and shared her pain.

One girl came to me crying, raised her hand high and said: “It is already time for God to have mercy, and take us to him…”

This was a terrible day.

Our days are varied: today one faints, tomorrow another, and only a few look bearable.

*

Today is already Thursday, I wanted to finish something, I wanted to write something – but will I get to do this today?

It is difficult to squeeze all changes and events into the boundaries of a page.

All measures are overflowing – when will the end come?

We joyfully met the orders about darkening lights, not because this indicated a beginning of the end, but because it foretold bombardments that would lead us earlier to our deaths, which would free us from all humiliations.

The desire for death is not completely woven into our thoughts. If there were no obstacles, Death would get his victim every day

*

Today I want to write something that has value and leave it all as an inheritance for those who will be saved.

But how do I write it and where do I begin?

I reread again what I have written the last time in my diary. There I dumped all the curses in the world on the heads of my tormentors. I wished for them and their children, until the end of all their generations, that they should never know any peace, that they should throw themselves from one place to another, as though they were in hell.

But even that is not enough for them!

Is it possible to think up a punishment for them?

*

*

Now we already make up 405 girls. The crowding is indescribable – and we expect another transport. In K. not one Jew remains. The young ones were sent off to forced labor, parents and children – deported to unknown places.

The same will no doubt occur in the entire Zagłębie region.

The girls arrived half dressed, barefoot and resigned.

The new pictures darkened our eyes, froze our blood – and it seems to me that our hearts also are frozen forever.

*

We labor hard without a stop and we do exact work for our oppressor. One wants to outdo the next person. Out of fear we subscribe “willingly” to work, even in our free Sunday days of rest.

Panic took over the girls as they felt a need to demonstrate their abilities. Some of them, out of their foolishness – and maybe also because they dreamed that they would earn freedom because of this – answered the call of the brutes, and signed up for special work in Germany. Some of them understood the foolishness of what they had done, but there was no way back.

I clearly understood what was happening. I could have explained this to everybody, but I did not, because I was ruled by an oppressive apathy, and my own pain gobbled up my heart. When I aroused myself, it was already too late.

Our girls do honest and exact work. Unwillingly, they help their own murderers.

Woe unto us slaves!

*

Is this really true?

Joyous sounds are coursing through; I am afraid to believe them. Maybe they will also disappoint me? Will I soon be free and live like a person? Will I be able, without obstacles, to enjoy all of God's gifts?

I will wait no more for the murderer's “Genod” [mercy]!

I will walk freely, without supervision, and I will do whatever my heart will desire and go wherever I want: movies, theater, concerts, readings, trips and airline flights, like before, like before!

I will eat, drink, and take a bath whenever I want. I will no longer do forced labor.

I will no more sleep in the huge hall, filled with human complaints, woes, and with cellar mold.

I will have my own room with real windows, with curtains, small tables, and small chairs, and I will sleep on my bed. I will become human again!

Is that possible?

And maybe the hope will disappoint me further? I will leave G. and go home. To where? Home? To what home? Do I have a home? To whom will I go? Will I still see any of my near and dear ones?

A painful stab in the heart.

The sun had warmed me for a second – and now it is dark and cold again.


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To whom will I go and why do I now need freedom?

My thoughts darken.

I ask myself for the thousandth time: how will my so – desired freedom look?

I don't have the courage to kill myself, because an inner force screams, “Life! Life!”

However, I cannot imagine my life without the longed for future, without my nearest ones. I do not have the audacity to think about that – I cannot.

*

Today we have a holiday. The last evening of an unhappy year. What will you bring us, year 1944? What surprises are you preparing? Can you still scare us with anything?

We have become so wise, experienced, and old! I am frightened that the coming year will certainly bring the armistice and freedom. All of that will be too late for us: we are resigned, and our health – destroyed.

Many lie in the barracks with lung disease. Two are dying in the isolation room, and entrance is strongly prohibited. Their souls will surely fly up in gray loneliness.

Last week two men died of tuberculosis. The same fate awaits every one of us, if we will remain under the present conditions.

*

The word is going around that soon all the sick will be deported.

I have decided, in case the x-ray will show that I also am sick, to kill myself. Not all are ambitious enough to perform the bold deed, like Dorke W., who ran away.

*

I strongly desire, that I will not have more to write.

Should I once and for all end everything? An emptiness has conquered us and drives away every speck of hope or faith.

Emptiness, nothing…

*

We cannot even imagine what a normal, free life looks like.

After such a long age of slavery, humiliation and bestiality, it is difficult to believe that we will ever be free people again.

Our faces, our minds have become crippled.

More than once I look in my little mirror and I have the impression that Fela Szeps is somebody else: yes and no: – Fela Szeps?

My head swindles – maybe I have lost my reason? I look at myself: My childishly small face shrunken, oy, like an old, pointy visage.

And so are all the women transformed into caricatures.

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