the world falls apart

Auschwitz – Summer 1943

The cold, unrelenting barracks of Auschwitz pressed in on Hannah from every side. The walls were made of thin wood and metal, barely insulating against the bitter air, and the beds—if they could be called that—were nothing more than rows of hard, wooden planks stacked with bodies, most of them too weak to move. The pungent smell of human sweat, unwashed bodies, and sickness hung thick in the air, clinging to her clothes and making her throat tight.

Her body ached, but the hunger gnawing at her insides was worse. They were given a tiny portion of watery soup and a stale piece of bread each day, hardly enough to sustain a starving person, let alone someone forced to work in the grueling conditions of the camp. Hannah clutched the thin blanket that barely covered her, trying to will herself to sleep, but it was impossible.

Every night was the same. The sounds of weeping, coughing, and the occasional scream pierced the stillness of the barracks. The other women didn't sleep either. They couldn't. The terror of what the morning would bring, the fear of the SS guards, and the grim reality of their situation kept them awake.

Hannah lay on her back, staring at the low ceiling, trying to remember the sound of her mother's voice, or the warmth of her father's embrace, but the memories were fading. What was worse was that she couldn't even mourn them properly. They were gone, and mourning seemed like a luxury that only those who had something left to live for could afford.

A voice broke her thoughts.

"Are you awake?"

Hannah turned her head to see Esther Goldstein, an older woman who had become like a mother to her in the camp. Esther's face was gaunt, her eyes dull with exhaustion, but her voice still held a trace of warmth.

"I couldn't sleep," Hannah whispered, her throat sore from the dryness of the air. "I never can."

"I know," Esther replied softly. "Me neither. But we have to survive. We can't give up."

Hannah nodded, but the words felt hollow. How could she survive when every day in this place felt like it was her last? How could anyone?

But Esther was right about one thing—if she wanted to live, she couldn't let herself succumb to despair.

The barracks door opened with a harsh creak, and a Nazi guard stepped in. His face was impassive, his uniform crisp, the swastika on his arm glaring in the dim light.

"Everyone out," he barked, his voice sharp as a whip.

Hannah scrambled to her feet, her legs unsteady from lack of food, but she forced herself to stand. The other women began moving as well, though they were slow and weak. There was no time for hesitation. If they didn't move fast enough, there were punishments—whips, fists, or worse.

Outside, the sun was a faint memory. The sky was overcast, a heavy gray that seemed to weigh down on their souls. They were marched out of the barracks in silence, the chill of the early morning air biting into their skin. As they shuffled toward the work area, Hannah's eyes searched for Rivka, but she couldn't find her.

"Where's Rivka?" she whispered to Esther, trying to hide the panic in her voice.

Esther shook her head. "I don't know, my dear. She was taken for a selection yesterday."

A selection. The dreaded word that haunted every prisoner's mind. It meant that some would be chosen for forced labor, while others would be sent to the gas chambers. Rivka, with her strong will and fiery spirit, hadn't deserved that fate, but in this hellish place, no one deserved anything.

Hannah swallowed hard. She had to believe Rivka was still alive, that she would somehow make it through. If she didn't, what was the point of trying to survive?

The guards pushed them forward, and they were forced into a long line. The work details for the day were announced—digging trenches, carrying heavy stones, scrubbing the latrines. Anything to keep them occupied, to wear them down. The work was brutal, but it was the only thing that kept them alive. As long as they could work, they would be spared the gas chambers—for now.

They were led to the work site, a large open area where other prisoners were already laboring under the watchful eyes of the guards. Hannah's muscles burned as she picked up a shovel, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Not yet.

The work felt endless, the hours stretching into infinity. The weight of the shovel felt heavier with each passing minute, but she kept digging, her thoughts drifting from one memory to another. Her mother's hands as she braided challah. Her father's voice, teaching her how to read Hebrew. Avi's laughter, so full of life.

She could still remember their faces, but they felt distant now, as if they belonged to someone else.

At midday, they were allowed a short break, but it was no rest. There was no food, only more marching, more work. The sound of the guards' boots clanging against the ground was constant.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, a loud scream pierced the air.

Hannah turned, her heart leaping into her throat. A woman—young, maybe twenty—had collapsed on the ground, her body shaking violently. The guards took no pity. They simply pointed, and another soldier raised his rifle.

The woman was dead before she hit the ground.

Hannah's stomach twisted. She had seen death before, but it never got easier. The sight of a fellow prisoner being executed in cold blood, with no remorse, made her blood run cold.

She tried to look away, but the image stayed with her, burned into her memory. In this place, death was the only certainty.

At the end of the day, they were marched back to the barracks, their bodies aching from the labor. The door to their barracks creaked open again, and the guards barked orders for them to get in line.

Hannah climbed back into her bed, her body shaking from exhaustion. The day had been long, and tomorrow would be worse. But somehow, despite everything, she was still alive.

And for now, that was enough