In fact, my having something to look forward to helped make my life in the camp more bearable. My looking forward to those Sunday afternoons helped me endure the rest of the week. Even the Nazi guards came to listen to her sing. It replenished my supply of hope, the most precious commodity one could have in Auschwitz.įrom that point on, Lili sang every Sunday afternoon. Words cannot describe how her simple act affected me so deeply. We were all starving, our heads were shaved bald, and we were weak from exhaustion, but when Lili sang she seemed powerful, strong, and beautiful. Our bodies had been pushed to their limits. It was hard to believe that such a beautiful and powerful voice could emerge from such a tiny, frail young woman. At first her voice was unsure from lack of use, but as she continued to sing, her voice became more confident and strong.
We were all sitting outside, numb with despair, when Lili stood up and started to sing a beautiful aria.
Lili first sang to us on a particularly dismal day when everyone’s hope seemed to have run out. With each note that Lili sang my spirits soared higher and higher over the gates of hell, lifted by the sheer beauty of the music and the sweetness of Lili’s voice. They were sung in Hungarian by Lili, a woman from my small hometown of Miskolc.
There were arias from La Bohème, Tosca, Madame Butterfly, and many more that I had heard one memorable Sunday afternoon in Auschwitz.
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