Eventually, like many other days, a train came into camp. I was ordered to help round up those inside the ghetto, bringing them into the square. Already a crowd was gathering. I complied, banging on doors and marching the occupants out to the square roughly, with my fellow guards. Everyone was scared, and children were crying. I was glad. Now they started to know how I felt when they committed their crime. I was only eighteen when I took part in this crime against humanity. I didn’t know better. Who was there to ever teach me right and wrong?
At my last house, I just barged in. There were two familiar faces. It was the pair from the fence, along with two men and a woman. I assumed two to be married, be the father and mother, another of a different relation. All were living in one room, along with the evidence of several other families. I looked around, now unsure. “You…. You’ve got to go to the square.” I choked out. They nodded, scarred silly. “Why the square?” The boy asked curiously. “Hush!” The lady shushed him, then talking in Yiddish rapidly. He was blessed, in St. Mary’s eyes. He didn’t know about the death trains. The adults and girl though, obviously did. I led them to the square, but not at gunpoint like the others. They went more willingly than most. The girl looked at me like I was a monster. Maybe I was. Maybe, as I look back, they realised they would die, and soon. I was leading them to their death. They had no chance of survival. I didn’t give them one. Should I have let them go? Maybe. Or maybe they would have suffered an even worse death at the hands of bored soldiers.
The ghetto was soon emptied, and I was sent else-where, as what point was it to have soldiers guarding an empty camp?