When we march out to work and return at night, now, there is a band playing and we're supposed to step in time to the music. 6 It is a paradox to everything else we do, a slap in the face to what dignity we have left. I think the Germans like the fact that it degrades us just one more rung down the ladder of life. The musicians have it better than we do, but we do not begrudge anyone who has the luck to find inside work. Besides, they're forced to play no matter what the weather, and they can be selected, just like anyone else, if they get ill or look poorly. They do not have it so much better. We're all slaves. One slave may have an easier job, but we're all still slaves. The only way to avoid sure death is to work inside, but even that doesn't mean you can escape death completely.
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We rise off our beds of icy, hard wood. It is difficult to move. We are stiff and worn out. Every joint and ligament cracks with fatigue. It is freezing. The tea has lost its steam in these sub-zero temperatures. Even the SS, who are so punctual in everything, take their time entering the gates, counting our shivering bodies. It is the first frost of the season and our bodies are not yet used to the chill in the air.
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My mind moves as sluggishly as the blood in my veins. A temporary lapse of conscious alertness, being at the end of the rows, and a brief pause crossing the yard to our detail, and Danka and I are late for Emma's detail.
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"I'm full," she tells us. An S S signals for her to march out. She shrugs her shoulders; there's nothing she can do. We stand there looking forlornly at the kapo we have adopted as our own guardian, but her kommandoour kommandomarches out, leaving
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| | 6. Wardress Maria Mandel, former supervisor of Ravensbrück, became head supervisor on October 8, 1942, and organized the female orchestra in Birkenau. (Source: Rittner and Roth, 29.) Mandel's sister, Wardress Elisabeth Hasse, is also in camp.
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