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Thoughts from Terezin… Tom Weeks (Tenor), City of Sorrow
Here are recollections of their experience by several BCF choristers, and, at the end, an extraordinary statement by Edgar Krasa, one of the original singers of the Terezin performances, who attended the performance.
* * * “The experience of performing in Terezin was amazing, and very emotional, as one might imagine, made that much more so by our chance encounter with one of Terezin’s survivors, Edgar Krasa (now a resident of Boston, and in his late 80s.) Mr. Krasa was a member of that prison Verdi choir, and one of the people Murry Sidlin interviewed, clips of which form part of the audio/visual presentation during the performance. Mr. Krasa came to Terezin the Sunday morning of May 17 to attend the annual commemorative ceremonies at the cemetery, and to attend our performance of “Defiant Requiem” that afternoon. During our lunch break, a number of us choristers had the good fortune to encounter Mr. Krasa in the town’s main square. Mr. Krasa was most gracious and talked with us for some time, patiently answering our questions, articulately and with wonderful humor. Someone asked him if it bothered him to come back to Terezin. He said no, that revisiting Terezin no longer upset him. Rather he said that what does upset him, what he finds intolerable, is to witness (live, or on TV or in film) acts of violence, not just against other humans, but against any living creature. We thought that truly said it all. Edgar Krasa was imprisoned in Terezin for 3 years before being sent to Auschwitz, and subsequently to a work camp - this in 1945, a short few months before the Nazi regime collapsed. So in the end he escaped the gas chamber by “running out the clock.” He was “liberated” by the Russian army advancing through Czechoslovakia on its drive toward Berlin.
Supported by fine soloists and an excellent orchestra, we sang our hearts out, and felt at the end that we had performed well. The dramatic close of “Defiant Requiem” is gut wrenching. One of the final choral utterances, “Libera me,” is followed by a blast of a train whistle and sudden silence. The clarinetist starting to play softly the O Sey Shalom (part of the Hebrew Service for the Dead), which the choristers pick up humming as they begin to file off the stage. Meanwhile, on the video screen, silent footage of Terezin prisoners being deported to the trains was projected. We in the chorus were to continue humming as we proceeded down the side aisles toward the door at the back of the hall. The soloists, and the orchestra members carrying their instruments, fell in with us; together we continued past the still-seated and silent audience, and on out through the high center door into the street, to “disappear” (we were supposedly walking to the train that would deport us to the gas chambers).
* * * “Terezin - a place where I came to experience the emotionally high joy and utter amazement of singing an incredibly difficult choral piece, at the actual site of mammoth human sufferings and death, together with 186 of the World’s best choral musicians, to an audience that was so overcome by the music and the drama that at the conclusion of the concert, there were very few dry eyes in the concert hall, including many of us!! An especially emotional event was meeting and talking to one of the original survivors, Mr. Edgar Krasa, what a
* * * ‘And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light.’ “It’s easy to underestimate the power of beauty. In our commitment to the important work for justice and peace, beauty can often be dismissed as a luxury. But as John’s Revelation reminds us, beauty is a vital necessity for life, especially in difficult times. Exiled by the Romans to a nearly-deserted island, he dreamt of a heavenly city. In reality, John was surrounded by an endless sea with barely a bush for protection from the harsh sun. But in his Revelation, he saw a crystal river with sparkling fresh water and a tree with healing leaves. Long after the grandeur of Rome rusted into ruin, John’s vision of God’s glory continues to inspire. Beauty has that power. It restores our souls and gives us hope and courage. The women millworkers of Lawrence, Massachusetts, knew that. Beset by poverty and hunger, they went on strike for both “Bread and Roses.” Food for the body and the soul.
‘In such an ugly time,’ wrote the folksinger Tom Oates, ‘the true protest is beauty.’ That was true for John of Patmos, the women of Lawrence, and the Jews of Terezin. It is true for us as well.” Prayer
* * * THE BUTTERFLY The last, the very last, Such, such a yellow For seven weeks I’ve lived in here, That butterfly was the last one (poem from “I never saw another butterfly…. Children’s Drawings and Poems from Terezin Concentration Camp 1942-44) * * * THE BUTTERFLY Today the Sunday dawned sunny, warm, beautiful Terezin was quiet and peaceful as a May Sunday ought to be. Earlier in the cemetery, a ceremony of dignity, grace and respect,
* * * Terezin, Czech Republic, May 2009 “We drove from Prague about sixty kilometers north, I think, through verdant, fertile farmland. The fields were bright, vibrant shades of spring, interspersed with brilliant yellow-green fields of mustard. As we grew nearer to Terezin, distant mountains became clearer that Saturday in early May. It seemed idyllic as we exited the highway and turned onto the roads of a small town. We passed neatly cared for homes and an imposing monastery whose steeples punctuated the cloudy sky. Very soon, our speed much slower now, we came into Terezin itself, recognizable by the red brick buildings with tiny windows next to a good size moat which enclosed the village itself. Political prisoners had glimpsed daylight through these tiny spaces during World War II.
Terezin is now home to Czechs who are struggling economically. It’s homes showed signs of care, plants, and occasionally even window boxes. But everywhere there was a feeling of emptiness, of the struggle to live in this place which had known so much terror and hopelessness. A tired playground, empty of children, lay across the road from the riding academy, our concert venue, where our four buses came to a stop. In a previous century the building had housed the Emperor Joseph II’s horses in grand style. Now it was a shabby version of its former self, the windows covered in heavy black plastic. This country estate, named for Joseph’s mother, the Empress Maria Teresa, had clearly seen better days. And worse. The Nazis had used the structure as a storage building and garage for their jeeps and trucks. The front door, if you could call it that, was barely hung with part of a dark brown metal gate which blew open and closed in the wind. We needed to wait for more chairs to be placed on the platforms built for us inside the Riding Academy where our chorus of 185 singers and a massive orchestra would perform the Defiant Requiem under the rusted metal eaves of the ceiling. The music would thunder the next afternoon, bringing Verdi’s masterpiece to this place once again as it had sixteen times almost seventy years ago when a thirty-¬three year old inmate, Raphael Schaechter, led one hundred fifty other Jewish inmates in singing the piece they had learned by rote from a single score Schaechter had managed to bring into this place of desperation. A year ago when I made the choice to commit to this week of singing with the Berkshire Choral Festival - my “summer vacation” - I had some misgivings, but knew in my heart this was something I wanted to do. By going to this dreadful place, maybe I could bring some peace, some healing, right some of the indescribable wrongs that had taken place here during World War II when the Nazis goose-stepped behind terrified, starving Jewish inmates, pretending for all the world that they were creating an ideal community for them when it was all propaganda and a stopping place before Auschwitz. How would it feel going there, standing side by side with singers of many races and religions to help purge this place of horror, or old ghosts? I felt no fear and seemed to be able to do my job as a choral singer, knowing my notes after a week of careful preparation, rehearsing five hours a day with the chorus under the direction of Murry Sidlin to sing in the best voice possible. Even when the production started with the haunting sound of a train whistle, and a cacophony of music sung and played by soloists, I did not lose this purposeful calm. Beginning with Bach, a simple solo piano, Mozart sung on top of this and then eight bass violins intently playing “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoene,” I could remain detached enough to sing professionally. The power in the work, Verdi’s masterpiece, thundered and became dramatically soft. Behind us, a screen revealed sixty-five year old movies of Terezin as it was under the Nazis. The time the Red Cross came to inspect in 1943 was the central theme. We saw what the Germans wanted the world to see, happy Jews meeting and greeting, attending lectures and classes, tending a peaceful garden. We viewed children at play, racing, chatting teenage girls with smiles on their faces. Only, the narrator told us that all the principal players on the screen disappeared after the Red Cross left as did the producer of the film. Two hundred people were dying each day of starvation and disease at that time within Terezin’s walls. One hundred fifty thousand children imprisoned there, separated from their parents would perish. Of that number, only one hundred fifty would live into adulthood.
Sunday afternoon we sang the Verdi Requiem with all our hearts. There was another train whistle piercing the silence after the final notes were sung and played. The story unfolded with an actor playing the part of Schaechter and a narrator, making clear to our audience the truth of this place. When we finished there was no applause as we walked slowly from the risers, humming “O seh Shalom.” Behind us, the film continued, showing a train ready to depart Terezin, heading for Auschwitz. A little boy smiled and waved to a man standing on the platform. I caught sight of his smile as I carefully walked across the riser, and for a second this child reminded me of my oldest grandson, Cole. He had been a little boy with a smile so like the child in the film. It was then that the tears finally came to me. Walking toward the door of the riding academy, humming softly, a mother sat, cuddling her baby with the utmost tenderness. Her body spoke the lesson of gentleness, so simply to us all, that life is love and quiet caring. That is all.”
To Prague and Beyond
- George B. Post (Bass) * * *
* * * “Dear Dr. Nemhauser and the Singers, The anticipations of the parents materialized in March 1939 when the Czech area was also occupied. The Nazis immediately proceeded to apply the so called “Jewish laws”. Among the restrictions and humiliations was ordered to turn in all music instruments. Access to public areas including playgrounds was forbidden and eventually students of all ages were excluded from attending education. In the spring of 1941 I was told that I can no longer work in the restaurant. The only job open to me was in a Dining hall maintained by the Jewish Community Officials for the Polish Immigrants who escaped before the German occupation of Poland. By Fall of 1941 the man who managed this hall who was a member of the officials, told me that he was designated to become a member of a Council of Elders to be in charge of supply and economy in a Ghetto to be created to hold all the Jews of the Czech area. He asked me to volunteer to go with the first group to prepare kitchens and train people to feed 60,000 people. He also said if I volunteer, he would protect my parents from being deported from there to the “East”. So it was not a Ghetto to hold all the Jews, but a transition station to transship the people further. East was only Poland, but nobody ever mentioned that. My parents protested, but knowing this man as an honest person, I thought if he will be able to keep his word, I will be ahead of the game by saving my parents. In 1780 was no train invented yet, so there is no railroad station. The nearest is 2 miles away. We were allowed to take 110 pound of luggage with us consisting of warm clothing, bedding and non-perishable food. The gates were guarded by Czech Gendarmes who were under German orders. We were guided to one of the military barracks, and as we entered the gate closed behind us, which made us feel like prisoners. The camp commander told us everything we are not allowed to do and there was very little left for us to do. The 342 men consisted of engineers, technicians, plumbers, carpenters and two cooks. The engineers’ and technician’s job was to transform the utilities serving 8,000 people, to now accommodate 60,000. The carpenters proceeded to build triple bunks in the wards of the barracks and the cooks needed help to make the kitchens functional, as they were not in use for 2 1/2 years. The Germans did not have soldiers in those barracks, they were all on the front fighting. There were some supplies in a warehouse. Six days after the first group arrived, a transport of 1,000 people arrived. 1,000 was the norm for every transport, and 110 pounds of luggage as well. The transport consisted of whole families, and so I had women to staff the kitchens. All able-bodied men were put to work on production of war material and consumer goods because in Germany were no men available to work. All were fighting on two fronts. Huge tents and pre-fabricated barracks were erected on the town square, machinery brought in, and men were assigned permanently to those jobs. After this transport every second or third day another transport arrived. When the barracks was full, the Camp Commander decided to separate women from the men, and to another barracks went the women and girls of all ages and boys under age fifteen. Fifteen and older were considered to be able to produce some work. Soon the Commander decided that women can also be productive, and those physically able women were put to work. Now a problem arose: what to do with the children who were with the mothers?! The Council of Elders decided to create homes for the boys and girls, and put former teachers in charge. The teachers were 24 hours with the children, had their beds in the room with them. Teaching was not allowed, but the teachers could not tolerate the kids’ brains going to waste, they designed to engage them with puzzles, games and whatever else. Because there were no German guards inside the Ghetto, they became encouraged to create a curriculum for each age, and started serious teaching with one child watching at the window. The teachers had no books, so they taught what they remembered from before. The students had no paper nor pencils, but were so hungry to learn, that they absorbed everything by rote. The teachers did not only teach, they developed the children’s character, and even prepared them for life after liberation. While we are discussing the children: between 1941 and 1944 15,000 children under age 15 were brought to Terezin, and the war survived only 150 -1%. Now Schaechter took the men and the women who were singing with him and started to study and rehearse a popular Czech opera, The Bartered Bride. He had only one piano score, and we had to learn it by rote like the children learned their assignments. When it was up to his standard he took the singers to the local gym, till now abandoned, and as much space allowed other prisoners came to listen. Interesting is that they, just by listening, had the same uplifting impact. Now Schaechter affected hundreds more, on over the next two and a half year, thousands. Not to be “boring”, he studied with us also Smetana’s “Kiss”. Suddenly German Jews arrived. These were the so called “Prominent Jews”, the men who fought in World War I for Germany. The Nazis told them because they fought for Germany they will be rewarded by being sent to a spa. To leave everything behind, they will receive food service, house cleaning, beautician, a pool and other amenities. When they arrived in Terezin, dressed for a resort, there was no space for them, even the houses of the town’s people were furnished with triple bunks and filled with regular transport arrivals. They were accommodated in attics of the military barracks with straw mattresses on the floor, no chair or hook to hang a jacket. Many men had missing limbs from the war, very difficult to lay down or get up missing a leg or arm. Many of the men committed suicide for being deceived. Not having a bathroom in the attic, they had to descend a flight of stairs and in the hallway to reach a bathroom, and when they could not hold it, I do not have to describe the hygienic, sanitary, even health conditions that developed. The best doctors were there, but without medication there was not much they could do to combat dysentery, typhus, so many of them died. Schaechter rehearsed with his choir The Marriage of Figaro and The Magic Flute in German and brought the singers to the attics to try to help the mood of the German Jews. “Godsend” is not exaggerated. The rehearsals started with learning the Latin like everything by memorizing it, translated it movement by movement, so we know what we were singing, then played the part for the Sopranos and drilled them until they had it. Then the Altos, and when they had it, he had them sing it together. Then the male voices in the same fashion. Seven weeks into the rehearsals rumor sprang up that transports will resume. The singers wanted him to give a performance for their hard work, because they expected that some of them will be deported. He would not do it because it was not yet to his standard. But when it became known that on September 6, 5,000 people will be deported, he could not resist, and made a performance from them, their families and friends. When September 6 came and went, he lost almost half of the choir. He replaced them and started with them from beginning. Two more times he lost sizeable numbers of singers, and started with them also from beginning. The “Premier” was only in January 1944. There was a huge success and even all those who opposed were amazed, even Viktor Ullmann, a strict critic. He made a total of 15 performances, when he was left with only 60 singers, and uneven numbers in each voice. The “inspection” was successful from the German point of view, only one part expected the visitors. The Commander ordered a performance of Verdi’s Requiem for them and some high officials from Berlin, who came to butter up the Red Cross people for a good report. Schaechter had a problem with an unequal choir, but he never dreamed of having the Nazis sitting in front of him and singing to their faces what is expecting them. He manipulated the choir, a performance was given, and we all rejoiced of having “told them!” There was no applause for those Jews, and after getting to know the mission of Auschwitz, came to my mind the idea that the Germans present must have thought that these stupid Jews were singing their own Requiem. I was among those able-bodied prisoners, no longer needed because no new people were needed to be trained; it was the opposite, everything was consolidated and some barracks and kitchens closed.
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On May 17, 2009, in an old factory building in the town of Terezin, Czech Republic, the Berkshire Choral Festival presented a performance of The Defiant Requiem: Verdi in Terezin, a multi-media dramatic presentation of the Verdi Requiem with video projections, actors, a narrator, symphonic orchestra and a chorus of 180 singers. This production illuminates the courage and inspiration of Raphael Schaecter and his chorus of Terezin inmates who bravely gave 16 performances of the Verdi Requiem, with piano, during the years 1943-44. Singing sometimes to visiting Nazi dignitaries, the singers sang words that they could not speak to their captors: “Dies Irae” and “Libera me”. 
Our performance took place in the “riding academy” which, I’m guessing, had been an indoor riding facility for the military stationed at fortress Terezin during the 19th and early 20th centuries, and, again I’m guessing, was converted to factory use during the war. It seemed a fitting hall for such an event as ours: a drab, dim, vaulted space with crusty windows, dusty crumbling brick, and a concrete floor. 
It was that train whistle that finally overset me, and I could hardly hum. By the time we reached the door we were in tears, as were most of those in the audience, and as we continued walking along the street outside, each of us lost in personal, indescribable experience, I don’t think anyone said a word for quite some time. The busses (to transport the chorus back to Prague) were parked on a side street next to the “riding academy,” from which the audience was now pouring out into the sunshine. I was walking toward my bus when an audience member and total stranger approached me. In her best school English she tearfully attempted to convey to me her heart felt thanks, which touched me to the core, and reduced me to incoherence. Suddenly words in any language seemed inadequate; instead we shared a hug. Another ‘Berkshire Choral Festival moment’ that I shall never forget.”
special treat. The honor of being selected for this awesome event plus the emotion of just practicing the piece was significant; however, the actual presentation was overwhelming and almost more than any of us could bear. Emotions during the concert ran high, but were a two-edged sword. Frank warned us to make sure we did a professional presentation, but also that our emotions were an essential element of the music and if suppressed, would detract from its beauty, plus we would miss out on a significant experience – he was so right. However, balancing those two feelings was tough. My entire journey of the last six months learning the music and the Latin to the best of my ability enhanced my experience at the concert but the actual performance far exceeded my greatest expectations. For me, the music and Maestro Sidlin’s drama transcended Earth’s bounds and embraced God’s Spirituality like I have never experienced – it was truly a life-altering event. It will rank as one of the most noteworthy things that I have ever done! The sad part is that many will say that the Holocaust never happened and that even today, genocide continues throughout the World – will we ever learn of the sanctity of human life?? On the upside, I did meet some very wonderful, talented people that have and will continue to be my truest friends forever – after Terezin, we share a very special bond that none of us will forget. I am so humbled to be in their midst realizing my very small talent – I stand in awe and respect of them. Thank you Berkshire Choral Festival!!”
The Jewish prisoners of the Nazi concentration camp at Terezin knew it, too. Facing daily deportations to Auschwitz, ravaged by starvation and disease, they still made music—all kinds of music, classical, jazz, new compositions, even 16 performances of Verdi’s 
Next came a cemetery marked with two large signs of faith, a Star of David and a tall crucifix adorned with a crown of thorns. Below these monuments were rows of markers, and between them grew rose bushes, carefully tended. Peaceful, even serene, the resting place of so many who had died during the war, reminded us all of what we had come to do; honor those who had perished under the Nazis. 
In telling the story of our performance to the daughter of a former inmate, I learned that her father had endured nightmares all his life and never again had been able to listen to classical music. Inside Terezinstadt’s gates, classical musicians were playing constantly, giving the impression that all was well behind these walls, and Hitler’s plan to create an ideal town for the Jews was a reality. This man, four years imprisoned there, would never forget the smell from the crematorium used to burn the bodies of Nazi victims of starvation and terror.
