A Brief Stop On the Road From Auschwitz

A Brief Stop On the Road From Auschwitz

Goran Rosenberg

Language: English

Pages: 336

ISBN: 1590516079

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


This shattering memoir by a journalist about his father’s attempt to survive the aftermath of Auschwitz in a small industrial town in Sweden won the prestigious August Prize
On August 2, 1947 a young man gets off a train in a small Swedish town to begin his life anew. Having endured the ghetto of Lodz, the death camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau, the slave camps and transports during the final months of Nazi Germany, his final challenge is to survive the survival.

In this intelligent and deeply moving book, Göran Rosenberg returns to his own childhood to tell the story of his father: walking at his side, holding his hand, trying to get close to him. It is also the story of the chasm between the world of the child, permeated by the optimism, progress, and collective oblivion of postwar Sweden, and the world of the father, darkened by the long shadows of the past.

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to throw yourself in the lake, and that you spent your first days in the closed ward for the disturbed at Sundby hospital looking for a live electric cable and a radiator to grab hold of, and that now you don’t understand how you could have done so, and that the sleeping tablets sometimes make you itch and it’s hard to get to sleep at night. But above all you tell them about the horizon that will not open up. About the intensified working pace at the big truck factory, and the time and motion

hand over the sacrifices ourselves, all will remain calm. What more is there to say? Only a misunderstanding can maintain the world in which such a speech can be made. Chaim Rumkowski misunderstands nothing. The children, the sick, and the old are to be delivered up in order to be killed. This you must all understand. It cannot be misunderstood. Nor can it be understood. The world in which something like this can be understood is a world no one in your world can imagine. Between your world and

Viking age, Södertälje has been a thoroughfare, situated on people’s way to somewhere else. It’s not such a bad thing really, to be a place people have to pass through on their way to somewhere else. The Vikings, or whatever we like to call the people who passed through here a thousand years ago, were on their way from Constantinople to Birka, or from Sigtuna to Novgorod, or more generally on their way between the Baltic Sea and Lake Mälaren. Initially, this just happened to be where there was a

a point of saying that we can’t simply assume such harm will be remembered. That the easier reaction is blatant lies or convenient silence, that he himself would prefer to have kept quiet rather than speaking out, and that amnesia has time on its side. They’re fine words, and perhaps essentially true, and that’s why I regard Dr. Liedke with a kind of love or tenderness as he walks quietly at my side, patiently showing me the memorial plaques and stones that line your road from Auschwitz and

whose representative in Trelleborg, Mr. Gunther Kohn, finds the Ulua in such a poor state that he wants a committee of passengers to approve conditions on board before departure. “A quick look at the ship’s facilities explains why Mr. Kohn is letting the passengers voice an opinion before they are crammed on board,” writes the local paper, Trelleborgs Allehanda. In any event, it’s “scarcely suitable for accommodating even 600 passengers for a number of days. The steerage has been fitted with a

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