From the Holocaust, a Brotherhood Ignites: Albert Beder

Just minutes north of Milwaukee lies Bayside, Wisconsin, a town of just under 4,000. Right off Santa Monica Boulevard stands a long-winding road, called Manor Circle. To the average person, it’s a normal street with older-looking one-story ranch homes full of knick knacks and trinkets. Albert Beder, an 87-year-old man, lives there with his wife.

Like any Wisconsinite, he joined his temple congregation on a beautiful Sunday in November to watch the Packer game. He lives a normal life now, but 74 years ago, he did not. Things were different. He went by the last name of Bederis. He lived in Kovno, Lithuania and was raised Jewish.

There is something that stayed the same, though. The creation of a friendship and a brotherhood that still exists today.

Beder endured the indescribable genocide of 6 million Jewish people. He is one of the few still alive to tell his story. He is a Holocaust survivor. A survivor who, without a companion, would have probably not suffered through the horrific conditions. The world and society have changed significantly since then, in some ways for the better and in some ways for the worse, but his friendship lasted.

His experience

When World War II broke out, Albert was away at a summer camp on the East Prussia and Lithuanian border in the summer of 1941.

“We knew it right away,” Albert said. “This is a nightmare.”

His family attempted to flee the Nazis, but only made it about 20 miles before the Germans caught up to them and forced them back to Kovno. His brothers were able to flee, one making it to Russia and another dying while serving in the Red Army.

Unfortunately, one of his sisters, Reva fell behind and was lost amongst the crowd on the road coming back home. They put her on a wagon behind a horse. German planes flew by the area, dropping bombs. The horses were startled and ran off. Later on, though, he would find out a Lithuanian women found her and took her in to take care of her.

From there, his family was collected and put into the Kovno ghetto, which was an area of the city, fenced in with barbed wire. It was a small area that could fit about 5,000, but the Germans managed to fit 30,000 people in the space. At first, they were allowed to bring everything they owned with them.

Eventually though, his family was moved into a schoolhouse with many other families where there was no furniture. This time, only beds were allowed and nothing else. They were to follow the orders of the Germans. They did what they were told or they would be shot. Of the orders given, Jews could not use the sidewalk and had to take off their hats within ten meters of a German soldier.

“The sanitary system didn’t get to that part of town yet,” Albert said. “There was no hot water. It was very hard to wash clothes and cook. If you wanted to cook, you did it outside on bricks.”

While in the schoolhouse, a series of “aktions” happened to slowly eradicate people and their possessions. 700 intellectuals were rounded up, as they were promised good living and great food. Those 700 were shot. The Gold Aktion was next, forcing everyone to summon their gold, silver, portraits, coin collections and stamp collections. If not turned in, they would be shot.

“I had a stamp collection and I used every penny on stamps for that collection,” Albert said. “I wouldn’t turn it in. I burned it.”

Here, in the Kovno ghetto, is where Albert first met Howard Melton. They were 13 and 9, respectively.

“It’s good to have a buddy,” Albert said. “I went to school with his sister, actually. I didn’t know him at the time, because we lived on opposite sides of the city. We became friends, because we were close in age and we knew what we had to stay alive. We depended on each other.”

From the Kovno ghetto, they went to Riga, a ghetto in Latvia, by train in Oct. 1942.

“‘Bring what you can carry’ they told us,” Albert said.

Fitting 50 people with 2 guards on a railcar, they were sent to Riga, where the conditions were better. That was, until the SS took over and turned it into a concentration camp.

It was in Riga where everything changed for Albert.

His father was sent off to another nearby camp, Kaiserwald, where he died. In 1944, the Kinderaktion came to Riga, executing children under 12 years old. Howard was 13 and Albert was 16, at the time.

“I was in the right place at the right time,” Albert said.

During his time in Riga, prisoners were forced to stand out in the cold for hours or days in a role call called “The Appel.” Many did not survive, as they were already weak with starvation, disease and physical distress. Two gassings happened in the Riga ghetto before a rail car transported Albert and Howard to Stutthof, a concentration camp in Poland.

A sad goodbye

Stutthof was where Albert said goodbye to his mother and sisters. Men and women were separated. He had the option to stay with them, but Howard and Albert had heard that the boys who stayed with their mothers were gassed. To stay alive, they went with the men. For a short while, Albert could still keep in contact with his mother and sisters through a fence, until one day when they were not by the fence anymore.

The barracks in Stutthof normally held 72 people, but instead, they managed to fit 230 people into each of them. The boys were to get up at 5 a.m. every day and do nothing but sit in the sand. Two criminals were put in charge of the men. They were horrible people, beating the men to keep order. At a certain point, Albert and Howard both knew anywhere else was better than Stutthof.

“People didn’t last long there,” Albert said. “The Germans weren’t going to keep you long if you didn’t work.”

Fortunately, one of the criminals grew to like Albert and Howard, which resulted in them being transported to Camp 10, just outside of Dachau, the final concentration camp on the journey. The food was good when they first arrived. They had bread and two bowls of soup a day, but there was no hot water or soap. The bread was crucial at the time. Every single person ate it immediately. There was no time for savoring, except for one boy taking his time.

“Have you ever seen an eagle swoop in? That’s what this guy looked like as he stole his bread.”

Finally, there was work to be had. They were to build a factory that would produce concrete beams and walls for an underground airfield.

“This was real heavy stuff we were working with,” Albert said.

While in Camp 10 outside of Dachau, the prisoners were sent a Red Cross package in March 1945. When it seemed like nothing was left and life itself was over, they were given condensed milk, hard sugar, 10 cigarettes and a can of sardines. Albert and many others traded the cigarettes with the soldiers in the kitchen for soup.

“This condensed milk saved many lives,” Albert said. “At this point, we were just skeletons.”

The next month, one day while in the barracks, they were given orders to report to the gate. They were given a can of meat and bread in which they ate right away, even though it was supposed to last them awhile.

It was supposed to last them awhile, because they left on a march for 10 days. One by one, they walked out of the wrought-iron gate, which was decorated with the words “Arbeit macht frei” meaning “Work will set you free” in English.

In some ways, maybe those words were true. At least, for Albert and Howard. They worked to stay alive until the war was over

They marched for 10 days, walking next to each other.

“A couple times he fell down, a couple times I fell down and we would help each other out,” Albert said. “If you fell down, they would start the dogs on you.”

On the 10th day, they were given orders to march down into a ravine. Laying there, the next day, the Germans demanded another role call. At night, the Germans ordered the men to lie down again. Surrounded by the SS and their machine guns, they said their goodbyes, thinking it would be the last time they saw each other.

“We might see each other in hell or heaven,” Albert said. “We thought this was the end as they yelled ‘Fünf Minuten vor Mitternacht’ meaning five minutes to midnight.”

The Americans arrive

The next morning, the soldiers were gone. They disappeared.

“Naturally, people were laughing and crying at the same time,” Albert said. “They were hugging and kissing.”

Policemen led Albert and Howard to a small community nearby where villagers took them in and gave them oatmeal soup. The next day, around two o’clock, American tanks rolled through the village.

“They started throwing rations of food and cigarettes,” Albert said. “At that point, we were sick. Starved sick. The Americans had ample medication and ambulances. We were lucky that they had ambulances and medics. We were decimated.”

Albert spent two weeks in a hospital in Munich with typhoid fever. With the passing of a law that orphans 19 and younger could be let into the United States, he was sent to New York and then to Milwaukee in 1947.

“They took me to a German Jew’s place for rent and I stayed there,” Albert said. “It was right on Stowell, I remember.”

His story does not stop there, though. He worked two jobs in Milwaukee.

Three years later, in 1952, he was drafted into the United States Army to serve in the Korean War. He was sent to Germany where he was to run a youth center, teaching young Germans democracy after normal school hours. He played basketball, baseball and ping pong with the children. Going back as a victor, he had no resentment for the kids.

“If you carry on hate, it doesn’t do you any good,” Albert said. “You get sick.”

Though, Albert did say it was bittersweet going back, having endured what he did, and remembering all of the bad times. He lost his family. His mother ended up dying in Stutthof Dec. 12, 1944, as Albert received a death certificate for her. His older sisters were liberated by the Russians, but died from spotted fever. The sister who was adopted by the Lithuanian women survived and eventually moved to Los Angeles, but has since then died of old age.

Friends reunited

In 1949, Howard followed Albert to Milwaukee. Living a mere 15 minutes away from each other, they consider each other family. Their wives and children are close together too.

“He didn’t have a family in the United States. I didn’t have family in the United States,” Albert said.

In 1988, Albert returned again to Europe to visit the camps, but this time as a tourist.

“I saw it like you guys would see it,” Albert said.

Although they may be older now, the brotherhood and friendship they created in the Kovno ghetto still exists today. And, although they credit luck, their brotherhood is what got both of them through. A brotherhood that was created in the darkest of times. A brotherhood of 71 years and counting. A brotherhood that withstood the most indescribable conditions one will never be able to imagine.