I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree (18 page)

Dick was pensive and subdued these days.
“Something is wrong,” he said. He, too, was worried about Schindler's absences.

“Dear God!” I said out loud. “Do you think Liebholt has the power to send us back to Auschwitz?”

“Anything is possible. What concerns me is that ditches are being dug around the camp. I have a suspicion they are being prepared for us. Why send us back to Auschwitz? Liebholt can kill us here.”

“Schindler will not let that happen,” I said, not quite believing myself.

“You don't know the whole story. Lately Liebholt has been on the factory floor a lot. He brings inspectors with him, implying Herr Direktor Schindler is not putting out a proper product and that he is treating his Jews far too leniently. We are supposed to be an ammunition factory making shells. Most of the shells are defective—we make sure of that. Liebholt is on to us, and if he succeeds in his accusations, Schindler could
be arrested and we will be at the mercy of this hateful man.”

I stared blankly into the night. Only days earlier I had been euphoric knowing the Russians would soon be here to give us our freedom. Even the SS kitchen personnel talked about falling into Russian hands and how that would be worse than death.

•   •   •

It was April 1945 and Oskar Schindler had still not returned. This was a time of great anxiety. Not knowing what would happen set us all on edge. It was the same for the SS guards. They were restless but far less demanding. Even Crazy Johann let up on his complaints. The cook talked to me for the first time about something other than the kitchen.

“Germany is not defeated yet, but if the Russians should overrun us, I expect you to tell them how well you were treated.”

“Of course,” I answered, thinking,
Don't count on that
. Besides, I didn't know that I was
safe either. Liebholt might kill me first.

Then one day Oskar Schindler returned. On April 28 he celebrated his thirty-seventh birthday. That night I met Dick at the wire fence that divided the men's quarters from the women's. Dick seemed a little drunk. I knew the signs. From time to time the underground smuggled in vodka, and Dick had a liking for it. On those nights he swayed a little, as he did now.

“Schindler made a speech in honor of his birthday. He was drunk.”

“What did he say?”

“He was daring in his contempt for the Nazis, saying the Third Reich was soon coming to an end. He even addressed the SS men who were present, letting them know they were now the prisoners behind Brünnlitz's walls.”

“This speech could get him—and all of us—into trouble. What if Liebholt hears about it?”

Dick agreed and then went back to listen
to the radio. I was already asleep when Hella returned from the fence to tell me the latest.

“Wake up! This is important. Liebholt has left Brünnlitz. He is on his way to the Russian front. It was Oskar Schindler's doing.”

This was unbelievable news!

•   •   •

A little over a week later Oskar Schindler assembled all of us. He announced: “What I have to say is important. I want you to listen carefully. Germany has unconditionally surrendered. I have just listened to the BBC and to Churchill's victory speech. We have been through a lot together, but what we hoped for has finally happened.”

Except for Dick and his comrades, who already knew of the surrender, we were stunned at the words we had longed to hear for such a long time. Schindler paused only briefly.

“I have one more thing to ask of you. Do not take the law into your own hands. It's not up to you to take revenge. The murderers will
have to be judged in a court of law.”

As Schindler talked the SS guards quietly left the hall. Only we prisoners remained, mesmerized by what we heard.

It was impossible to absorb the meaning of freedom. But it was over. The nightmare had come to an end.

•   •   •

I had a dreadful dream that wouldn't leave me, even though I was fully awake now. “We are free, we are free,” people kept shouting, only I was being dragged into a furnace that resembled the crematorium in Birkenau.

Struggling to pull myself from the nightmare, I walked down the stairs of my barrack to get out into the open. People were talking freely with one another. “It's May 8th, 1945,” someone called out. The date triggered a memory. It was Mama's birthday today, exactly three years since we were deported from Weimar. The lilac tree would be in bloom, but Papa would never sing the birthday song again. And only God
knew whether Mama and Wolfgang were still alive.

Eva came looking for me. “Where have you been?” she wanted to know. “Come, upstairs there is a feast going on.”

Dick stood at the entrance to the camp, a gun slung over his shoulder. He was not happy to see Eva and me.

“It's not safe to walk around,” he said. “Some Germans are still holding out around here. Go back inside. Both of you.”

“But it's over, didn't Schindler say so? The Germans surrendered,” I said.

“Officially it's over, but there is still some shooting going on. Do as I tell you. I'll come to see you later. And make sure to keep Eva with you.”

Once inside Eva and I were greeted with giddy excitement. Spread out on the floor was a blanket covered with delicacies: cheese, salami, sausage, and lots of bread. We were invited to join the feast.

“Where did all this food come from?” I asked.

“We went into the village,” Hella's older brother said. “It's the very least they could do for us. The good burghers of Brünnlitz thought we contaminated the air here. They petitioned Berlin to send us back to Auschwitz or some other horrible place.”

Toward evening Dick arrived with more food, including hot water and a tin of tea. “You once told me how much you loved tea.” He handed me the treasures, but then he was eager to get away.

I pleaded with him to stay, but his mind was elsewhere. The camp was not safe from German reprisal. He was needed to guard the entrance.

•   •   •

Two days later Dick came running up the stairs of the women's quarters. He was in high spirits. His eyes shone, his cheeks were flushed; I had never seen him look so strong, so vital.

“Come with me,” he shouted as he reached for my hand. His own was clammy with excitement. “We don't want to miss the Russians' arrival. They are at the gate now!”

Caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, I ran with him to the camp's square, where a slightly built Russian officer on horseback was dismounting. He had come alone and was immediately surrounded. Dick stepped forward, still holding my hand, pulling me with him.

“Welcome, our liberator!” he shouted in Russian.

We started to cry and laugh at the same time. The Russian did nothing to stop our hysteria. Instead tears welled up in his eyes as he spoke. Dick translated the Russian's words. “I am a Hebrew, like you. And so, my brethren, it is fitting that I give you your freedom. You can walk out of here at any time. We are making plans to expedite it.”

A great silence met the Russian's unbelievable
words, soon followed by jubilant cries in many languages and dialects, all carrying the same message:

We are free! We are free!

Dick and Hannelore Hillman with the Jewish army chaplain
(center),
who married them in Erding, Bavaria
.

Hannelore Wolff and Bernard (Dick) Hillman were married on October 22, 1945. They arrived in New York on January 4, 1947.

Except for two sisters, neither Hannelore nor Dick ever heard from their loved ones again.

LAURA HILLMAN
(née Hannelore Wolff) was born in 1923 in Aurich, Germany, near the North Sea. She was the third of five children born to Karoline and Martin Wolff. Five years after Hitler came to power, Laura was separated from her town and family. The events Laura witnessed in the camps kept her from writing for many years, but she finally set out to write her memoir, facing for the first time the circumstances that led to her survival.

Laura now lives in Los Alamitos, California, and devotes her time to talking at high schools and colleges about her experiences and being a docent at the Long Beach Museum of Art. Visit her on the web at
www.laurahillman.com
.

AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY MEGAN STIDHAM

SIMON PULSE

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 2005 by Laura Hillman

Map on pp. x–xi by Rick Britton

The reproduced portions of Schindler's list on p. 197 are courtesy of the Yad Vashem Archive.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Also available in an Atheneum Books for Young Readers hardcover edition.

Designed by Yaffa Jaskoll

The text of this book was set in Berkeley Book.

First Simon Pulse edition February 2008

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

Hillman, Laura.

I will plant you a lilac tree: a memoir of a Schindler's list survivor /
Laura Hillman.—1st ed.

p.   cm.

ISBN-13: 978-0-689-86980-8 (hc)

ISBN-10: 0-689-86980-0 (hc)

1. Hillman, Laura. 2. Jews—Germany—Biography. 3. Jewish children
in the Holocaust—Germany—Biography. 4. Holocaust, Jewish
(1939–1945)—Germany—Personal narratives. I. Title.

DS135.G5H48654 2004

940.53'18'092—dc22

2004010534

ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-5366-1 (pbk)

ISBN-10: 1-4169-5366-3 (pbk)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-0802-4 (eBook)