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Kasriel K. Eilender, M.D.

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THE BARBER OF GOERLITZ - A MEMOIR

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Chapter Eight

I took a large pail 

of water with a good

amount of urine,

and asked the

Russian officer

to sit in it. 

After one week,

the sciatica 

disappeared.

The hall was huge, usually cold and noisy. The foreman and boss of this establishment was a middle-aged, short, stocky man with a big nose and a large mouth, and at many times, nasty. Apparently, he used to be some kind of a manager of a Soviet factory. However, sometimes he did have some human traits.

As I came, he looked at me with suspicion. Then he said, "What can you do here? As a Polish Jew, you are not used to work. Most of you people are only businessmen, capitalists and no-goodniks. We Russian Jews know what hard work means, but I will let you add to the stock of chopped wood."

With the advent of the destruction of previously mentioned houses, we had been inundated by bedbugs. They were more democratic than other ones since they infiltrated not only our dirty bunks, but also the quarters of the German guards, the police and the Russian collaborators.

Following my removal from the soapmaker’s quarters, the under-ground army arranged that I be billeted in the room with inmates who had been drivers who transported by wagons the camp food and other articles for the prisoners and guards. Some of them were professionals in this endeavor and others had to learn how to handle horses and wagons. 

Living with them was a very important improvement for me. In exchange for extra food, I did clean their quarters at night, and also heat some water for tea. Among them was a Russian officer who worked very hard. It was winter and very cold. It appeared that this individual was suffering from sciatica. One day after working in the cold weather, he had a particularly severe episode of it. He said to me that he was going to commit suicide, because he could not take the pain anymore. There was no medication of any kind to be had. 

I remembered that growing up in northern Poland my brother and I suffered from frostbites, and our toes were red, itching and painful. Our grandmother had a remedy for it, which was hot water with some urine.

 Urine had chemicals and the redness and itching disappeared. I told the officer if he gave me a chance, I would try to help him by using an old method. I took a large pail of water with a good amount of urine, and asked him to sit in it, if possible, twice a day. After one week, the sciatica disappeared. 

The man was very happy and thankful. He said: "You practically saved my life; therefore, I will include you in the secret breakout from the camp that has been planned by the underground army. We will join other fighters in the forest. You are from a different country, you came from the west, from a capitalist country, and we should not trust you, but since you are a nice fellow who helped me, I am going to make sure that you are taken with us the moment we break out. However, you have to swear to me that this information I just divulged to you, remain with you. If you do not go with us, we will have to kill you."

Shortly after this conversation, one of the camp inmates told me that a German police lieutenant mentioned my name, saying that he would like to see me. I was surprised, because nobody spoke to us except to command us or drill us. I thought maybe that was the one who knew my parents and connected me to the name Eilender.

A week or two later, a lieutenant by the name Tramp, a short, middle-aged man, and not too arrogant, called me and took me up the stairs where the camp’s food supply storage area was located. He gave me a loaf of bread and half of a large Swiss cheese, which was by itself, like winning the lottery. He started to question me about my qualifications as a soapmaker. I told him that I was experienced in this area. Suddenly it dawned on me that they were probably going to get rid of my former boss Lipa Rosenthal and put me in charge. 

I knew if this happened, Rosenthal would lose his life. A feeling of fear and remorse consumed me, and I said to the lieutenant that the only thing I did not know in soapmaking was how to make a shaving soap, hoping that they would allow Rosenthal to stay on.

Naturally, this was an unwise move on my part, which could have cost me my life. He answered me: "It is OK. Do not worry about shaving soap," and we parted without any further comments.

I told Lipa Rosenthal about this incident. He had an uneasy feeling learning that I was questioned about my qualifications in soapmaking. It is possible that he remembered the threats made by Hubertus Kolblinger that he would someday pay dearly for lying to a German officer.

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