ABSTRACT
I saw a young mother run downstairs into the street to get milk for her baby. Her husband, who worked at the ‘Ostbahn’, had as usual left earlier that morning. She had not bothered to dress, but was in bathrobe and slippers. An empty milk bottle in hand, she was headed for a shop where, she knew, they sold milk under the counter. She walked into Operation Reinhard. The executioners demanded her Ausweis. ‘Upstairs… Ostbahn…work certificate. I’ll bring it right away.’
