Aaron Firstenberg
Aaron Firstenberg, also known as Aharon Furstenberg, was born on 4 April 1926 in the town of Sosnowiec, Poland. His early life was marked by the vibrant Jewish community of his hometown, but this world was shattered by the German invasion of Poland in 1939.
In September 1942, during a Nazi roundup in Sosnowiec, Firstenberg was separated from his family and deported to the ZAL (forced labour camp) Grünberg in Germany, a subcamp of Gross-Rosen. Life in Grünberg (now Żary, in western Poland) was marked by forced labour, probably in the textile industry, hunger, disease and constant fear. The liquidation of these labour camps came only with the Allied advance, as forced labour was a vital part of the Nazi war effort.
From July 1944, as the Nazis began to evacuate the camps in response to the advancing Allied forces, Firstenberg was transferred to Kitlisreben concentration camp. Kitlisreben, a subcamp of the larger Gross-Rosen camp system, was located in what is now the Czech Republic. Prisoners there endured gruelling labour in inhumane conditions. Like many subcamps, it was hastily built, overcrowded and lacked basic sanitation and medical care.
Firstenberg's time in the forced labour camps also reveals the structure of forced labour, particularly around Gross-Rosen. Originally an outgrowth of the Sachsenhausen concentration camp, Gross-Rosen became a major centre of forced labour in Silesia, with over a hundred subcamps at its peak between 1942/43 and 1945. These camps stretched between the German border, throughout Poland and into what is now the Czech Republic, and were primary models of Nazi Vernichtung durch Arbeit or extermination labour. For example, after being moved between Grünberg and Kitlisreben, Firstenberg was moved to Bunzlau (now Boleslawiec, Poland), another subcamp of Gross-Rosen. In Bunzlau, prisoners worked mainly in war-related industries such as munitions factories and construction. It was known for its harsh conditions and high mortality rate, especially during the winter months and forced evacuations towards the end of the war.
Despite the brutal environment, fragments of musical life existed within the Gross-Rosen system. In the main camp and some of its subcamps, prisoners occasionally created or shared music as a form of spiritual resistance. Songs were passed from prisoner to prisoner, often sung quietly to avoid punishment. These songs ranged from religious hymns and Yiddish folk tunes to improvised lyrics that reflected camp life and provided a rare emotional outlet in an otherwise inhuman world. Music was a way for prisoners to maintain a sense of identity, and this kind of clandestine musical activity was a key part of the cultural and individual preservation of Yiddishkeit throughout the war. Survivors like Firstenberg recalling personal songs was one mechanism of preservation, along with more official efforts such as the written scores found in the Oneg Shabbos archive in the Warsaw Ghetto.
After the war, Firstenberg immigrated to Mandatory Palestine on the illegal immigrant ship Tel Hai. The journey itself was perilous, as the British authorities often detained such ships. Nevertheless, Aaron reached his new home and joined Kibbutz Masada in the Jordan Valley, where he helped to rebuild Jewish life in the community.
He later moved to Kibbutz Kfar HaKhoresh, where he lived through the turbulent period of Israel's War of Independence. After the war, Firstenberg and his family settled in Haifa, where he lived for the rest of his life.
Throughout his life, Firstenberg carried with him the sounds and memories of his youth and years during the Holocaust. He vividly remembered the songs his mother sang after his sister was deported to a labour camp in Germany - songs of longing and sorrow. He also remembered the haunting melodies and lyrics sung by fellow prisoners - songs of resistance, despair and hope that echoed through the barracks and fields of the camps.
He was determined to preserve these memories and to articulate the traumas of the Holocaust in music and words. Towards the end of his life, he recorded a collection of these songs, which are now preserved in the archives of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem. These recordings serve not only as a tribute to those who perished, but also as a cultural legacy for future generations.
These songs are more than melodies - they were acts of survival, fragments of identity and echoes of almost silenced voices. Here are some of the lyrics Firstenberg was able to carry with him throughout the war. In the lyrics of the songs we can see a vacillation between the world left behind forever, a destroyed world that Firstenberg recalls through the memory of his mother and with highly evocative language. At the same time we see a documentation of the Holocaust, a knowledge of Treblinka and the larger camp system, a sense of foreboding or predetermined fate in the Nazi concentration camp system. In addition to the dual testimony in these songs of preserving a destroyed world and documenting the Holocaust, we also see a longing for Israel and the possibility of redemption.
Thus I wandering for weeks and months
in the streets until late at night,
looking for a truth so that I can forget
that today I won't eat like yesterday
that way I wandering and think
suddenly I see, as if from the devil, a dog standing and biting a bone
a second dog comes and they fight over the bone
and I, the third, stand and gnash my teeth
Come, my child, to sleep already because it's time to sleep
I'll put a coat under you by your side
Since I don't have a pillow for you
And I don't have bread for you
So go, my child, to sleep
And I'll sing you Lolulu
And the child answers:
Mother, I can't sleep
I'm cold without you
So our father, why doesn't he come back to me
And the mother answers:
I've been waiting for days and weeks
And father isn't coming back
I've been waiting for three weeks
I've already grown very old and gray
Suddenly footsteps are heard
One, two, three
The door opens
And Freiser the Bandit (the SS man) comes
And he starts to smile and says:
Peace be with you Jews Dirty
I have an order for you
to send you to Treblinka,
and there you will end up...
Treblinka there
For everyone it is the same place
My father and mother are also there
With everyone together
My heart hurts when I remember
That all my loved ones ended up there
Treblinka there
For everyone it is the same place
My father and mother are also there
With everyone together
There you hear a scream
How a child calls for his mother
Don't leave me alone
Take me with you
But the police won't let you go forward
You won't know why you are hungry
You will receive two loaves of bread
And with the two loaves of bread
I will send you to death
Treblinka is my whole past
Outside the wind is blowing, the night is terrible and outside the cold wind is blowing
And I sit alone in the room and miss my child
Pictures of cold, darkness, storm, hunger and torture run through my eyes
And so I sit in my room and miss my home
A stronger person Of all, only he can stand it
Where was I born, where was I dead? Who will give me some comfort?
My terrible troubles, where was I born now? Give my only child back to the mother
Where was I born, where was I dead? Where is my life, where is my whole world?
Far, far away, deep in Germany in a camp in a field
Great God, hear my prayer, for I can no longer live,
I beg you that I may see my child one more time
Then I can die in peace, and walk happily to my grave
I want to live again, one more time, I want to be able to see my child
Enough, enough, our feet tread the hard road every day
But those feet, must walk even if they are tired, full of blood and want to stand
But my feet are tied with invisible chains
Maybe there will come a time when they will run fast
Enough, enough, our feet tread the hard road every day
I am traveling to my dear country, a country that you are known all over the world
Between valleys and streams, there is nothing like the dear Land of Israel
Eretz Israel, my dear land and the whole world hears about you
Between valleys and streams, there is nothing like the dear Land of Israel
I sat in a bunker for months, underground, like a snake
I had endless troubles, But I have not forgotten the Land of Israel
Among valleys and streams, there is no such thing as the dear Land of Israel
And I would like to take up arms and fight for the land of my ancestors
I want to take a plow, like I used to and plow you, the Land of Israel
In a dark and rather cold basement
Stands an orphan boy, standing and thinking, with tearful eyes
Stands and thinking about his future, since he was left alone in the apartment
There in the orphanage, there were loud shouts
And there he saw her for the last time
Until the air in his heart stood still,
When mother said: Help me, have mercy on me
They sent her with the transport and he knows nothing about her
I would be happy if I received a letter
A small letter, it would already do me good
Because then I don't know where I can look for her
Suddenly he gained courage, but he was very sad
When he heard his mother's last words
She said:
Don't cry, my child, give me a kiss
I am being sent to the camp and you will remain healthy for me
Firstenberg's legacy lives on in Haifa, leaving behind not only survivors, but a sound archive that defies the Nazi attempt to erase Jewish cultural memory. His recordings are more than personal testimony - they are an acoustic document of the Holocaust's impact on individuals and communities. When we listen to these songs today, we hear not just melodies and lyrics, but the texture of Jewish life before, during and after the destruction. The songs that Firstenberg has preserved exist in a liminal space between lament and resistance, between documentation and creation. They reject both sentimentality and despair, offering instead a complex account of how individuals negotiated survival through cultural expression. As scholars continue to study these recordings, Firstenberg's contribution reveals how music functioned as both witness and participant in the Holocaust story - conveying knowledge of atrocity while creating space for humanity within inhumane conditions. His preservation of these songs transformed personal memory into historical record, ensuring that these voices, though often sung in whispers, would not ultimately be silenced.
