I have been asked to write an article concerning my deportation experience. These ordeals have been documented in hundreds of articles and books, and portrayed in many movies. What has not been described is how so many thousands of prisoners made their way from the various concentration camps to their homelands. Therefore, in this article I will narrate the circumstances of my deportation from Rome, the starting point of my odyssey, as well as my return trip from Buchenwald to Rome.
I had just finished my studies in medicine at the University of Rome and was facing a dilemma. Being a Jew, I was neither allowed exercising my profession, nor was I permitted to continue my studies, as I wanted to specialise in Obstetrics and Gynaecology. Furthermore, because of the war I was cut off from the rest of my family, which was partly in Egypt and partly in Rhodes. It was at this point, in September 1943, that the government of General Badoglio collapsed and the fascists took power in Italy. Upon the ascension of the fascists came the round up and deportation of the Jews.
The mother of one of my friends called me to offer her assistance in providing me with safe haven. Through her connections with the church, she was able to provide me and an officer of the Badoglio armies, (a common friend of ours) a haven in the Vatican. However, after two weeks, we called our benefactress to let her know that we could not stand the regimen of novena masses and night vigils. Once again she helped us and had us transferred to the Instituto Russico on Piazza Santa Maria Maggiore. The Jesuit Fathers and the Sisters managed the institute. At the Institute I felt at ease from the very start, especially after I befriended one of the Jesuit Fathers who spoke Greek. As it was December and close to Christmas, when I was tired of reading or discussing various topics with my friend, I would go to the kitchen and help the sisters in the confection of the many sweets for the holidays.
Twenty of us, ten Jews and ten Italian officers of the Badoglio regime, were in hiding at the institute. The fathers had shown us a trapdoor located in one of the hallways of the monastery, which lead to an attic. In case of alarm, bells, which were located in every room, would ring and we would go to the trapdoor and go into hiding. One night in December, at about ten o'clock, the bells rang and I immediately proceeded to go the attic as did everyone else. We were going as a well organised group in absolute silence towards our designated post when a young priest came to me and told me someone had been tripped in his haste to go to the attic and was now unconscious. Without a word, I followed him and was taken to a room where I saw someone stretched on a bed, unconscious, bleeding from the nose and the ear. I told Father Superior that the patient had a fracture of the base of the skull and needed to be sent urgently to an hospital specialised in head surgery.
At that time, such cases had a minimal possibility of survival and as there was nothing I could do for the patient I was ready to rush back to the attic when four people entered the room. They were from the pro-Nazi movement and among them was Koch, the chief for the Roman faction. They asked me what I was doing there in my pyjamas and dressing gown. I told them I lived at the hotel La Capitale across the street, and that one of the Fathers had called on me for an emergency, as I was a doctor. They did not believe my story notwithstanding my quick and firm reply. I was taken to the main entrance of the institute where I saw two other persons also waiting. They were two of the Jews being hidden at the Institute who had drunk a little wine and were so fast asleep that they did not hear the bells. They put us in a small van and I heard a guard say, in answer to a question, that we were being taken to « the Villa ». The Villa turned out to the prison Regina al Coeli where, after the usual admitting procedure, I was put in a small cell of 3x2 meters, with another Jew who was pretending to be Catholic.
Thus my odyssey began. Luckily, I was assigned to a convoy of prisoners just before the mass killing at the Fosse Ardeatine. We were taken to Capri which was a reorganisation camp for the Jews coming from all over Italy. From there they separated us into convoys of approximately four hundred prisoners. We were kept in Capri for about a month, until they reached the number of prisoners needed, and were sent to Auschwitz in cattle cars. We arrived in Auschwitz in March 1944, and remained there for about one month. I was then transferred to Yavishowitz, a small camp also in Poland located near a coal mine. There, the tribulations of my life started in earnest. Life became hard, sterile and hopeless. From Yavishowitz I was taken to Buchenwald because of the advances of the Red Army. We were transported between the camps in open wagons covered with snow. In Buchenwald I was put to work in a quarry. For six months, in the mud and snow, I had to carry heavy stones over the hilly countryside.
Finally the third army of General Patton arrived in Buchenwald. The liberation of the camp was so simple that, even now, I remain amazed. The Germans left and the American tanks passed through. We were incredulous when we saw the American soldiers, smiling at us, making the victory sign with one hand while, with the other, they were distributing cigarettes and food cans. And we, the prisoners, finally freed, looked at them amazed, not realising what had happened. After fifty years, it is hard to believe that all this transpired then; yet it is, and will always remain, present in our memories and, once in a while, recalled from the past, it comes back vividly and is fully relived. I often thought of the difference in the manner we were handled after our liberation from the way in which the freed hostages of today are treated... Not only are they cared for physically, but they are helped, psychologically and emotionally, by trained people in their effort to alleviate the painful memories and ease the readjustment to a normal way of life. The only help that was available to us came from the kind and brave American soldiers who liberated us. They helped us in the only way they knew how; by sharing or even giving us most of their food rations. Many of us became ill and some even died, as our weakened bodies could not cope with this sudden intake of rich, fatty foods. Luckily the medical corps arrived shortly there after and put a shop to the soldiers' spontaneous generosity. The only person I recall seeing in the camp and communicating with us was a priest to whom I actually gave a letter to be posted to my family in Egypt. I realise, of course, that techniques have changed with time and that, at that particular moment, they still had a war to contend with. After the liberation, we were free to go as we pleased. Even though I was told that convoys would be coming to take us to various destinations, I could not endure to sit idly by waiting for these convoys. Although the allied forces were advancing and the third Reich was crumbling, I did not think that the allies had much time to think of the liberated prisoners and I assumed that these famous convoys would not materialise in a very near future. Therefore, after receiving a kind of identification card, I decided to leave for the Italian border with one of my fellow prisoners. I had already regained a few kilos by then and felt strong enough to start my return trip to Rome. We walked south and stopped at the first village we came upon. There, we asked to see the mayor to whom we explained our situation and our needs. Truthfully, we never had difficulty in finding food, lodging or transportation (car or truck) to get us to the next stop. Only in Munich did we feel certain reluctance in being given shelter. The city had been totally destroyed; there were just a few houses standing and the walls in the city no longer reached our shoulders. We stopped at one of these houses asking for lodging and food. The woman who answered the door seemed very hesitant and I must say I could not blame her, as our appearance was not very reassuring. However, after hearing our story, she left us spend the night in her home and it was indeed a very memorable night. It was the first time I ever slept on a mattress filled with goose down, so soft that I literally sank into it with ecstasy. The next morning she gave us a breakfast that exceeded all our dreams. We finally arrived in Innsbruck where we were told of a refugee centre that processed the repatriation of the refugees. There, we were put on a bus going to Milan where we were taken to the Gonzaga Institute, which was the cradle of the La Salle Brothers. To my great surprise and joy, I found Brother Beltrando who had been one of my teachers in my school in Rhodes. He did not know that I had been deported and it was an extraordinary reunion. He settled me in a room and then took me to the rectory for an excellent diner and then to their stockroom, in the basement, where he outfitted me from had to toe. I spent ten days in Milan, but after the initial euphoria, felt sad and depressed as all communications with Rome were cut off. Here again, destiny was on my side when I met a childhood friend of mine at the Piazza dell Duomo. This friend who had reached the rank of general despite his youth, had developed a side business, trucking cargoes of rice between Milan and Rome which were sold on the black market. Needless to say, he offered to help me, and the next morning I was on my way to Rome in one of his trucks. In Rome, I finally found myself coming back to normal. I rediscovered the old trattoria, unchanged, where one could still enjoy an al dente pasta with sugo and the famous soupli filled with succulent melted mozzarella. I rediscovered the blue sky, the streets flanked with trees, the great monuments that I cherished. I was finally at peace with myself. The past was still with me but it served as a stimulant to appreciate life and overcome the moments of depression rather than as a cause for despair engendered by my recent exposure to captivity, uncertainty, terror and death. I may say that the experiences in the concentration camps bring to a person a deeper maturity and a set of values in life of a different calibre. This past instead of making me insecure and depressed has reinforced in me the will to achieve and reach a happy and fruitful life. Dr. Nissim Alhadeff
Personal informations I was born on the Island of Rhodes which has been Greek, Turkish and Italian at various times. I was married to my wife Catherine on June 9, 1954 and we have two sons aged 33 and 38; the elder is a psychiatrist and the younger an attorney. My educational and professional resume follow in chronological order with the exception of the period during 1943 to 1945 when I was interned by the Nazis in the concentration camps of Auschwitz, Yavishovitz and Buchenvald. I have been in private practice since 1956 at office in Manhattan, the Bronx and Queens and have been affiliated with many hospitals in those Boroughs. I was nominated and served as Chief of the Department of Obstetrics and Gynaecology of Union Hospital from 1980 to 1983 and again from 1985 to 1990. I am presently concentrating my affiliation at Booth Memorial Medical Centre and maintain an office in Jamaica Estates, New York.