Martha Raviv
Holocaust survivor
Bergen-Belsen concentration camp
“I was born in Vienna on January 20, 1936, to Yehuda and Gena Gitttel Folkenflik, along with my sister Tzveka – Nitza.
Shortly after the Anschluss, my father was arrested and deported to Dachau but was fortunate enough to be released. However, in November 1939, he was imprisoned again. Because the prisons were overcrowded, he and many other Jews from Vienna were held in a large stadium in the city. Later, he was sent to Buchenwald, where he remained from November 1939 until February 1942. From there, he was deported to the Bernburg Euthanasia Centre in Germany, where he was murdered in a gas chamber.
My mother, a remarkably wise woman, had to make a difficult decision about my sister and me. She managed to send my sister to the Land of Israel, where she lived with our aunt and her family throughout the war.
We lived in Vienna’s third district in a large apartment, but later, we were relocated to the second district, which was effectively the Jewish ghetto of Vienna – though Austria did not officially call it a ghetto. I don’t know how my mother managed it, but she obtained a document from the Swedish consulate stating that she and I were Russian citizens under their protection. That document ultimately saved our lives.
We remained in Vienna until September 1943, when we were imprisoned. There, we met Russian citizens who had official Russian passports, but we were the only ones with documents from the Swedish consulate, which provided us with additional protection. What we didn’t know at the time was that between October and November 1943, the war was not going well for the Germans in their fight against the Russians. Believing that Russian citizens might be useful for a future prisoner exchange, the Germans transferred us as part of a special group from the prison in Vienna to other prisons.
From Vienna, we were sent to Pankrác Prison in Prague. I actually preferred that prison to the one in Vienna because the walls were whiter. When we arrived, we were told to face the walls and not move. in our group, there was a man with a shorter leg. He was standing near me, and when his shorter foot touched the ground and made him move, he was shot on the spot. That was my first encounter with murder, and I was only six years old.
From Pankrác, we were transferred to Halle Prison in Germany, which was the worst prison I had ever been in. We were placed with murderers, criminals, and thieves. It was so overcrowded that I could hardly move, barely even sit. Afterward, all of my life, I often said that during my time in that prison, all I dreamt of was to have one square of freedom. That was the only thing I wished for.
One morning, the door to our cell was opened, and the warders asked my mother, ‘Where is the child?’ They told her there were other children in the prison – a group of Romani children – and that they had come to take me to their cell. My mother refused, saying, ‘The child stays with me!’ In response, the warders hit my mother and broke one of her teeth. That day, I was saved by my mother’s resilience.
Years later, I learned that the Romani children from that prison had been used as guinea pigs in Mengele’s experiments. One of those children was interviewed years later and revealed that, due to the experiments, he was unable to have children of his own. My mother saved me from that fate, and years later I was fortunate to have children and grandchildren of my own.
We were moved to a different prison, and it was terrifying because we never knew where the train was taking us. Was it going east or west? If it was going east, we were sure to end up in Auschwitz. If it was going west, there was a chance we might survive. We were packed onto a train meant for prisoners, and it was cramped and suffocating. One of the prisoners suffocated and died during the journey.
When we arrived at the new prison – Hildesheim – we were forced to stand for a count. One of the prisoners, who had nearly suffocated, was very ill and could barely stand. My mother did the unthinkable – she asked the commander for a chair for the prisoner. Remarkably, she managed to convince him, and the prisoner survived the count.
From Hildesheim, we were sent to Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.
When we arrived in Bergen-Belsen, the Germans ordered us to strip off all our clothes and sent us to the showers. Everyone in my group was terrified, certain that we were going to be gassed. Instinctively, everyone began shouting the only prayer every Jew knows: ‘Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.’ On the other side of the wall, the Nazis heard this and laughed loudly. I couldn’t bear the situation, so I covered my ears, trying not to hear anything.
We survived Bergen-Belsen, and from there, we were sent to Vittel, an internment camp in France. In October 1944, we were liberated by Allied forces. We had survived. We stayed in France for another four years, and from there, we immigrated to the State of Israel to reunite with my sister.”