someone. Their attention is elsewhere. Gathering my self-esteem around me, I imagine the cloud of God descending down upon my sister and me, just as it did on the mount to speak with Moses. We take our first step out of line. Past roll call, past the watchful SS, past thousands of other female prisoners, Danka and I walk hidden in the mists of Zion.
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Passing Stibitz and Taube, we walk with the air that we are doing exactly what we've been told to do. My fingernails dig into her flesh; I'm not letting go of my sister's hand. We walk, convinced that no one will stop us. We are important; we have been ordered to return to the sauna. I repeat this to myself over and over. Chins up, eyes forward, never look back.
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The distance seems to remain the same. The sauna gets no closer. The lines and rows of prisoners seem to continue on forever. Through the desert of Birkenau we walk invisible.
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Seconds slow to hours as our feet trudge through the mud. Our heads held high, our gaze never veers from our path. Danka's hand turns blue from the tightness of my squeeze. Chins up, eyes forward, never look back.
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I open the sauna door without looking behind me. There are no voices behind us ordering us to halt, no gunshots firing at our backs. There's only roll call, the lifeline that we must grab as quickly as we can change our clothes.
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We step inside, shutting the door behind us. The silence of the sauna is dense as steam.
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"Quick, Danka. We have to hurry!" I whisper urgently. "Undress and give me your clothes and I will do the rest." Tearing the uniform of an experiment victim off my body, I search the pile of discarded uniforms in my underwear. Danka cannot move. She stares at me like a small animal frozen by fear, incapable of helping me, as I fumble through the clothes looking for her number, repeating ''2779, 2779" over and over, out loud. My hands tremble uncontrollably as my nerves unravel.
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There's no time. Our lives depend on getting back to roll call
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