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[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 75 (Monday, May 8, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S6240-S6241]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]

                   A PERSONAL REMEMBRANCE OF V-E DAY

  Mr. LEVIN. Mr. President, this morning Samuel Pisar, a distinguished 
survivor of the Nazi death camps at Auschwitz, Sachsenhausen, Leonberg, 
and Dachau delivered the keynote address at the U.S. Holocaust Memorial 
Museum's commemoration of the 50th anniversary of V-E Day.
  I was very moved by Mr. Pisar's expression of gratitude to his 
liberators, the U.S. Army. He recounted his first words to the GI in 
the American tank which rescued him, ``I . . . summoned the few English 
words my mother used to sigh while dreaming of our deliverance, and 
yelled: `God Bless America!'''
  That gratitude, in Mr. Pisar's words, ``as intense as it was 50 years 
ago,'' serves to remind us all of the role which America has and 
continues today to play in the world as a beacon of hope for oppressed 
people.
  I ask unanimous consent that the excerpt of Samuel Pisar's address 
printed Sunday in the Washington Post be printed in the Congressional 
Record.
  There being no objection, the address was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

                [From the Washington Post, May 7, 1995]

Escape From Dachau: My Own, Private V-E Day--For Prisoner B-
                 1317,  Salvation Was a U.S. Army Tank

                           (By Samuel Pisar)

       World War II was coming to an end, yet we in the death 
     camps knew nothing. What is happening in the world outside? 
     Does anyone out there know what is happening here to us? Do 
     they care? I was 15 years old, and I wanted to live.
       The day the Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy had 
     been for us a day like any other. The toll in the gas 
     chambers that day was higher than the losses suffered by the 
     combined armies under Gen. Eisenhower's command on this, 
     their longest day.
       Judging by the brutality of our guards, we had every reason 
     to believe that all of Europe was irrevocably lost, the Red 
     Army smashed, England fighting alone, its back to the wall, 
     against the seemingly invincible forces of darkness. And 
     America? America was so unprepared, so divided, so far away. 
     How could she be expected to reverse the collapse of 
     civilization at this penultimate stage?
       It took weeks for news of the U.S.-led invasion, beamed by 
     the BBC from London, across occupied Europe, to slip into 
     Auschwitz. There was also an amazing rumor that the Russians 
     had mounted a powerful offensive on the Eastern front.
       Incredible! So God had not turned His face from the world 
     after all. Could a miracle still prevent the millenium of the 
     Third Reich? Oh to hang on, to hang on a little longer!
       We could guess from the Nazis' mounting nervousness that 
     the weight of battle was changing decisively. With the ground 
     shrinking under their feet, they began herding us deeper and 
     deeper into Germany. I was shunted to Sachsenhausen near 
     Berlin, then Leonberg near Stuttgart, then Dachau near 
     Munich--camps normally reserved for political prisoners, 
     common criminals and homosexuals. [[Page S6241]] 
       It was a slave-labor enclave 50 miles away that I heard the 
     silence of night torn by powerful explosions. Fellow inmates 
     with military experience thought it sounded like artillery. 
     Within hours, we were lined up to be evacuated, ahead of the 
     ``enemy advance.'' These forbidden words, never before heard, 
     and even names of ``enemy'' commanders--Zhukov, Montgomery, 
     Patton--were now openly murmured.
       I was beside myself with excitement. Who are these merciful 
     saviors--Russians? British? American? Salvation seemed so 
     near, and yet so far away.
       Just as the hope of pulling through became more real, the 
     danger increased. We were headed back to Dachau, which meant 
     that at the last moment our torturers would destroy us. The 
     final solution must be completed, the witnesses of the crime 
     wiped out.
       The death march, through winding back roads, continued day 
     and night, halting only for meager rations of bread and 
     water. At dawn, on the third day, of squardron of Allied 
     fighter planes, mistaking our column for Wehrmacht troops, 
     swooped down low to strafe us.
       As the SS-men hit the dirt, their machine gun blazing in 
     all directions, someone near me shouted ``run for it!'' A 
     group of us kicked off our wooden clogs and made a clumsy, 
     uncoordinated sprint for the trees. The fire caught most of 
     us. Only I and five others made it into the forest alive.
       We ran and ran, gasping for breath, until we were sure 
     there was no pursuit. After nightfall we began to move toward 
     the Western front. When we came close we decided to lie low, 
     until the German retreat had passed us by.
       One bucolic afternoon, holed up in the hayloft of an 
     abandoned Bavarian barn, I became aware of a hum, like a 
     swarm of bees, only louder, metallic, unearthly. I peeped 
     through a crack in the wooded slats. Straight ahead, across 
     the field, a huge tank leading a long, armored convoy 
     lumbered my way.
       From somewhere to one side I could hear the sound of 
     exploding mortars. The tank's long cannon lifted its round 
     head, turned slowly and let loose a deafening blast. The 
     firing stopped. The tank resumed its cautious advance.
       Automatically, I looked for the hateful swastika, but there 
     was none. Instead I saw an unfamiliar emblem--a five-pointed 
     white star.
       In an instant the unimaginable flooded my mind and my soul. 
     After four years in the pit of the inferno, I, convict No. B-
     1713, also known as Samuel Pisar, son of a loving family that 
     has been wiped off the earth, have actually survived to 
     behold the glorious insignia of the United States Army.
       My skull seemed to burst. With a wild roar I stormed 
     outside and darted toward the wondrous vision. I was still 
     running, waving my arms, when suddenly the hatch of an 
     armored vehicle opened, and black face, shielded by helmet 
     and goggles, emerged, swearing at me unintelligibly.
       Having dodged death daily for so long, at the awesome 
     moment I felt immortal, though to the G.I. my condition, at 
     the heart of a battlefield, must have seemed desperate. 
     Pistol in hand, he jumped to the ground to examine me more 
     closely, as if to make sure the kid was not booby-trapped.
       To signal that I was a friend, and in need of help, I fell 
     at his feet, summoned the few English words my mother used to 
     sigh while dreaming of our deliverance, and yelled: ``God 
     Bless America!''
       With an unmistakable gesture, the tall American motioned me 
     to get up, and lifted me through the hatch--into the womb of 
     freedom.
       On V-E Day 1995, my gratitude to this blessed land, never 
     trampled by tyrants or invaders, is a intense as it was 50 
     years ago, on that German battlefield. So is my conviction 
     that the five-pointed star, which brought me life and 
     freedom, must remain a symbol of hope to all victims of 
     ethnic hatred, religious intolerance and terrorist violence.
     

                          ____________________
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