Gerda Weissmann Klein Quotes

Ilse, a childhood friend of mine, once found a raspberry in the concentration camp and carried it in her pocket all day to present to me that night on a leaf. Imagine a world in which your entire possession is one raspberry and you give it to your friend.

I had created a happy world of make-believe around me during the long years of loneliness, a world of beauty and love. It had helped me to survive, this lovely world that was to be mine when the war was over.

He said I could make him happy. Then I understood the cause of my sadness. I didn't want to make anybody happy. I wanted someone to make me happy. I knew that there was laughter and I wanted someone who could laugh with me.

Survival is both an exalted privilege and a painful burden.

My experience has taught me that all of us have a reservoir of untapped strength that comes to the fore at moments of crisis.

My mind was so dull, my nerves so worn from waiting, that only an emotionless vacuum remained.

My thoughts and emotions center on him: there has never been a "you and me," but always "we" and "us".

That makes it more difficult to speak of the past, because the memories are apt to turn into the living present.

They faced what the morning would bring with the only weapon they had–their love for each other. Love is great, love is the foundation of nobility, it conquers obstacles and is a deep well of truth and strength.

Imagine a world, in which your entire possession is one raspberry, and you give it to your friend.

It was always uncertainty that i feared most.

I quickly get interested in people but just as quickly avoid them when they expect to be my only friends. I ams ure i hurt many people in that way.

Not fair to light a spark of hope, to see a grim mouth smile?

You are going through mud but your feet are still clean.

I fell in love with this country from the moment I first stepped upon its soil. It felt so right, so expansive, so free, so hospitable, and I desperately wanted to become part of the American mainstream.

We had all assembled. Why? Why did we walk like meek sheep to the slaughterhouse? Why did we not fight back? What had we to lose? Nothing but our lives. Why did we not run away and hide? We might have had a chance to survive. Why did we walk deliberately and obediently into their clutches? I know why. Because we had faith in humanity. Because we did not really think that human beings were capable of committing such crimes.

There he stood, already beyond my reach, my father, the center of my life, just labeled JEW. A shrill whistle blew through the peaceful afternoon. Like a puppet a conductor lifted a little red flag. Chug-chug-chug –puffs of smoke rose. The train began to creep away. Papa’s eyes were fixed upon us. He did not move. He did not wave. He did not call farewell. Unseen hands were moving him farther and farther away from us. We watched until the train was out of sight. I never saw my father again.

Then she sighed, released his hand and , looking at him, shook her head and whispered, "Too late.

There were no golden trumpets to proclaim our freedom. There were no liberators in sight.

I learned from my experience is that each of us has an enormous reservoir of strength to draw upon when needed.

Throughout my years in the camps, and against nearly insuperable odds, I knew of no one who committed suicide. I wanted to reach out to young people, make them aware of the preciousness of life, and show them that it was not to be thrown away thoughtlessly, even under conditions of extreme hardship. I always wanted to impress upon them how wrong it is to seek a permanent solution to a temporary problem.

After the lights were turned out I heard girls toss and turn and here and there weep quietly. The night was starry and beautiful. From my bunk I could see the hills through a window. Slowly the full moon rose. I spoke dreamily to her. I asked her if she saw Papa and Mama. It seemed as if she said yes. In the years to come the moon became my loyal friend, my only friend that was free. Each month I counted the days until she returned, and often when she hid behind clouds of thought that she was avoiding the horror on earth.

As if frozen in time and memory, I stood again in the doorway of the abandoned factory where I first greeted the freedom I had dreamed about for so many years. I paused at the graves of my beloved friends who were never privileged to know the joy of freedom, the security of a loaf of bread, or the supreme happiness of holding a child in their arms. I listened to the gentle wind in the trees, to the screech of a bird, and I looked at the flickering memorial candles on the headstones of their graves. It brought up the unanswerable question that has haunted me ever since the day I left them there: Why?

Carrie, Sheila, Sandy, Michael, my beloved husband and my family…I have been in a place for six incredible years where winning meant a crust of bread and to live another day. Since the blessed day of my liberation I have asked the question, ‘Why am I here? I am no better.’ In my mind’s eye I see those years and faces of those who never lived to see the magic of a boring evening at home. On their behalf I wish to thank you for honoring their memory, and you cannot do that in a better way than when you return to your homes tonight to realize that each of you who knows the joy of freedom are winners. Thank you on their behalf with all my heart.

I was fortunate to have had a happy childhood, one that in all probability was not as perfect as I have chosen to remember. But its memory has helped me survive, and I have used it as a beacon to illuminate the darkness of the tragedy that followed, just as I often use the darkness of past despair to show me the blessings which I might otherwise take for granted.

These thoughts were a wonderful escape from the present. Comfortingly, the past was unwinding before me, my wonderful childhood, safe and sheltered, too sheltered perhaps for what the years ahead were to bring, but full of lovely memories from which to draw strength.

Throughout my years in the camps, and against nearly insuperable odds, I knew of no one who committed suicide. I wanted to reach out to young people, make them aware of the preciousness of life, and show them that it was not to be thrown away thoughtlessly, even under conditions of extreme hardship.

What was wrong with me? Here I was, sitting in a warm, secure place with a whole loaf of bread. Why, then, did I feel so sad, so forlorn? Slowly, the answer began to dawn. During the long years of deprivation, I had dreamed of eating my fill in a warm place, in peace, but I never thought that I would eat my bread alone. Later that evening, I told Kurt that I had been thinking of my friends still in Europe, cold and hungry. I had to do something. Out of that need evolved my work with the local Jewish Federation, where I soon found myself putting stamps on envelopes and sealing them. I was immensely proud of having become a volunteer. When Kurt’s aunt cautioned me that volunteer work was really for the wealthy, I agreed wholeheartedly. I considered myself rich now.

Why? Why did we walk like meek sheep to the slaughter-house? Why did we not fight back? What had we to lose? Nothing but our lives. Why did we not run away and hide? We might have had a chance to survive. Why did we walk deliberately and obediently into their clutches? I know why. Because we had faith in humanity. Because we did not really think that human beings were capable of committing such crimes.

HBO working on the documentary about my experiences, One Survivor Remembers, went to Germany to film at locations where I had

Why did we walk like meek sheep to the slaughterhouse? Why did we not fight back? What had we to lose? Nothing but our lives. Why did we not run away and hide? We might have had a chance to survive. Why did we walk deliberately and obediently into their clutches? I know why. Because we had faith in humanity. Because we did not really think that human beings were capable of committing such crimes.

We reminisce about the past, without ever forgetting the fulfillment we have found in the present. I am most deeply grateful whenever my friends mention the skits I wrote under the cover of darkness, which for brief moments would make us forget the horror of the reality we were living in. I feel proud and humble at having been granted that privilege and consider it my greatest achievement, even though it may not have been an act of total selflessness. I have learned that when we bring comfort to others, we reassure ourselves, and when we dispel fear, we assuage our own fear as well.

The pictures of her parents and brother that the author carried in her shoe during the years she was in the hands of the Nazis. Lt. Kurt Klein in 1945.