"You want to know what it was like? Sit down, I'll tell you."

The old woman adjusted herself in the chair, her wrinkled hands resting on the table. Her eyes, sharp with memory, locked onto mine.

"People talk about the showers, about the gas. I hear the stories, and I wonder where they came from. Because I was there. I remember exactly what happened."

She took a slow breath, as if stepping back into that moment.

"We were led into this enormous room, a great big place with showerheads lining the ceiling. It looked like a giant bathhouse. They had benches, long rows of them. We were stripped - stark naked, all of us. Men in one section, women in another. Old, young, it didn't matter. We sat there, waiting."

Her fingers traced circles on the table, as if wiping away dust from the past.

"Then, finally, it came - water. Soap and water rained down on us from the showerheads. That's all it was. Not gas, not poison - just water. We were being deloused. We were covered in lice, all of us. The war made sure of that. It was normal. Everyone had lice, and this was their way of dealing with it. They shaved our heads and washed us down in that giant bathhouse. We called it a Banya - that's the Russian word for a communal washroom. It had to be at least 30 by 30 feet, built for exactly this purpose - to clean us up, to stop the infestation."

She sighed, shaking her head.

"I hear people talk about those showers like they were something else, something terrifying. Where do they get these ideas? Russian propaganda? Spielberg movies? I don't know. All I know is, for us, it was water. That's the truth."

She paused for a moment before leaning in, lowering her voice.

"And the cattle cars? People say they were unbearable. But you know what? We wanted to be in those cars. You think walking for miles, starving, collapsing in the dirt was better? Riding in a cattle car was luxury. Yes, we were crammed in. Yes, it smelled awful. But at least we were moving. At least we weren't left behind to die on the road."

She sat back, her eyes locked on mine.

"I hear people say losing their hair was some kind of torment. That it was done to humiliate us. Do you know what I say? Big deal. None of us had hair. It wasn't about humiliation. It was about survival."

Her voice softened, but her words stayed firm.

"This was war. And in war, everyone had lice. Everyone had to be cleaned. And everyone, at some point, had to ride in a cattle car. That's how it was. That's what I lived."

She exhaled, folding her hands together, and for the first time, she looked away.

Sources:

Fortunoff Video Archive for Holocaust Testimonies: fortunoff.library.yale.edu

Odysee.com/@JackFrostExperience