January 27th 2025.
Rachel Levy, a Holocaust survivor, recalls her experience during a luncheon in the 1980s while seated at a table with other survivors and Sir Kenneth Olisa OBE. As she introduced herself, the weight of her words hit her and she became overwhelmed with sickness and trembling. She was among others who were sharing their stories of survival, but when it came to her turn, she froze and ended up being taken to a first aid tent, where she suffered from severe headaches for months.
Rachel was born in a small village called Bhutz in Czechoslovakia in 1930, the second eldest in a loving Orthodox Jewish family. However, their peaceful life was disrupted when the Nazis invaded in 1938. Rachel was around eight years old at the time and didn't fully understand the gravity of the situation, but she knew that things were changing. Jewish children were no longer allowed in schools and their non-Jewish neighbors were forced to give them up or face torture and death.
In 1942, the Nazis came to their village and took away all the young men, including Rachel's father. She never saw him again and later learned that he died in a forced labor camp. Over the next two years, the Nazis returned to their village multiple times to round up more Jewish people. The first time, their non-Jewish neighbors hid them in the forest, but the second time, they were given up and taken to a nearby ghetto.
Rachel remembers feeling grateful towards her neighbors, understanding that they were put in an impossible situation. But the gratitude didn't last long, as they were all eventually transported to Auschwitz concentration camp in overcrowded train cars without food or sanitation. Rachel was separated from her family and never saw them again.
Upon arrival at the camp, the prisoners were subjected to various forms of dehumanization, including having their heads shaved and being given striped pyjama uniforms. Rachel was relieved to find her friend Zeldie in the same block as her, but the next few months were incredibly tough. While they weren't forced to work, they were constantly counted and some prisoners were randomly selected and taken away, never to be seen again.
Rachel remembers the notorious Dr. Josef Mengele, who would examine the prisoners naked and send those with blemishes to the sickbay, where they would most likely be sent to the gas chambers. She was lucky to recover and be sent back to her block, but others were not as fortunate. The prisoners were only given one meal a day, which consisted of hard bread and watery soup. As the war drew closer, the camp was emptied and Rachel and Zeldie were sent to work in fields.
In January 1945, the prisoners were forced on a Death March to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, with almost 60,000 prisoners being made to walk for three weeks. Rachel recalls the horrific conditions at the camp, with dead bodies and lice everywhere. She managed to find her aunt and stay with her, but her aunt became very ill and Rachel struggled to find water for her. Despite the constant suffering and death surrounding her, Rachel was determined to survive and hold onto hope.
Months later, the camp was liberated and Rachel was finally free. She eventually made her way to England, where she was reunited with her aunt and started a new life. It wasn't until years later, at the luncheon, that Rachel was able to open up and share her story in detail with her dear friend, a psychiatrist, who encouraged her to speak about her experiences. Rachel's physical reaction to her own words was a manifestation of the trauma she had endured for so many years. But with the support of her friend and the passing of time, Rachel was finally able to heal and find peace.
I remember attending a luncheon in the 1980s with a table full of other Holocaust survivors, including Sir Kenneth Olisa OBE. As soon as I introduced myself, "My name is Rachel Levy...", I felt a wave of sickness and intense shaking overcome me. The other survivors were bravely sharing their stories of survival, but when it was my turn, I froze. I ended up being taken to a first aid tent, where I experienced severe headaches for months afterwards.
It had been almost fifty years since I had been in Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen concentration camps, and I had never shared my experiences with anyone in detail. I didn't realize it at the time, but my physical reaction was my body's way of trying to process the trauma I had endured all those years ago.
I was born in a small mountain village called Bhutz in Czechoslovakia on April 30, 1930. I was the second eldest of five children in a happy Orthodox Jewish family. However, our lives changed drastically when the Nazis invaded in 1938. As a young child, I didn't fully understand what was happening, but I knew that Jewish children were not allowed to attend school. Our non-Jewish neighbors were forced to turn us in or face torture and death.
In 1942, when I was around eight years old, the Nazis came to our village and took all the young men, including my father. I never saw him again, and later learned that he had most likely died in a forced labor camp. Over the next two years, the Nazis returned to our village multiple times to round up more Jewish people. The first time, our non-Jewish neighbors and friends hid us in the forest, but we were not so lucky the second time in 1944 when I was 14. Our neighbors were forced to give us up, and my entire family was taken to a ghetto in a nearby field.
After about a week in the ghetto, we were herded into railway trucks with no ventilation, sanitation, or food. I remember huddling with my siblings and mother while children cried around us. The journey was long, and not everyone survived. When the train finally stopped, the doors were thrown open and we were ordered to get out by the Gestapo. The separation from my family was heartbreaking, and I never saw them again.
I was then taken to Auschwitz concentration camp, where the first thing they did was shave our heads and take away our clothes. We were given striped pajama uniforms and placed in cell blocks with rows of bunks. I was relieved to find my friend Zeldie and some other family members in my block. The next few months were difficult, with daily counts and random selections for death. I learned about the gas chambers and the smoke and smell that came from them.
We also experienced visits from infamous Nazi officers, including Dr. Josef Mengele, who would examine us naked and send those with blemishes to the sickbay, where many were sent to the crematorium. I was lucky to recover and return to my block, but others were not as fortunate.
As the war planes got closer, the camp began to empty out, and we were eventually taken to a nearby camp where we were forced to work in fields. Many prisoners didn't make it back to the camp, as they would collapse from exhaustion and be shot. In January 1945, we were ordered to start walking on a Death March, where almost 60,000 prisoners were made to travel by foot for three weeks. Many died en route, and when we arrived at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, it was even worse. We were covered in lice and surrounded by piles of dead bodies.
I managed to find my aunt and stay in the same block as her, but she was very ill. One evening, I desperately searched for water for her, but couldn't find any. It was a nightmare living in such inhumane conditions, but I never lost hope.
After months of enduring this hell, we could hear the war planes getting closer, and the camp began to empty out again. This time, we were liberated by British soldiers. I was finally free, but I had lost my entire family and was left with the memories of the horrors I had endured.
It wasn't until many years later, at that luncheon with other survivors, that I finally found the courage to share my story. I was encouraged by a dear friend who was a psychiatrist, and slowly, I began to talk about every detail of my survival. It was a difficult process, but it helped me come to terms with the trauma and begin to heal. I will always carry the memories of those dark times with me, but I am grateful to be alive and able to share my story.
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