Most people—for example, those here in Náchod—did not live through as much suffering and disappointment during the seven years of occupation, as we, the ten or twelve of us who survived the hell of Nazi occupation and returned home, alive, but not healthy, because many of us returned with serious illnesses.
I saw and heard so much during my years of persecution that I would like to write down succinctly what I remember. Last year, when I started to write the first part (of this diary) I still had many details etched into my memory. But today, two years later, what I want to write about I recall less, even though every day would provide a good author with an abundance of rewarding material.
I shall note only what remained in my memory, the most important events of my life during the war. Before ending this preamble, I would like to pay homage to those who did not survive the Nazi concentration camps. There were many of them, terribly many. They suffered unbearably. They perished under indescribable circumstances. And their sacrifices must not escape our consciousness, they must continue to admonish us: beware of Nazism, fascism and all unlawful authority.
It is now three years since I started to write my first diary. Already then we were preparing ourselves for Terezín,1 so there was no shortage of news or interesting things to report. I spent a lot of time on this diary, as well as on several of my own writings and poems. In Terezín this activity continued more intensively because the children's house in which I was placed issued a weekly newspaper on which I also collaborated.
In December 1943, I left for Osvěnčin,2 where everything was forbidden. My beloved books and notebooks were taken from me and burned. So no written memories of those horrible times remain. That is why I will start anew and briefly recount that which I experienced during the six years of German domination.
It is impossible to describe the horrors of the K-Z3 as they really were, because no mere words can accurately describe the reality of the hardships and horrors. Surely nobody can believe the SS methods if he did not feel them on his own skin.
Who can feel with us?
Who can understand us?
And believe me, even if physical suffering was unbearable and many succumbed, the psychological suffering was worse than the physical one.
And when I now recall what was, I don't want—I don't want to—remember the horror: that I lost my father, my mother and lived with the expectation of death, that I miraculously escaped. On the other hand, I want to record all that I experienced during the supremacy of national socialism, retain it so that my progeny will not forget to hate the Germanic hordes.
I use the term "hordes" because it is impossible in the 20th century to use the term "nation" for a highly cultured and civilized people that conducted its affairs with medieval methods that were used by people 700 years ago.
I call these writings "diary" although I am sure that anybody who reads this will realize that the title "diary" is incorrect. But they are my experiences, written after the fact and that is why I chose to retain the title "Diary" though it is not completely correct. I don't intend to elaborate. In this diary I merely wish to describe the worst days under the supremacy of the Hitler hegemony.