The Mandolin Player of Auschwitz-Birkenau

“They established the orchestra not for us, they made the orchestra for themselves. Let’s say, you can imagine a whole camp goes out to work…Imagine how slow they would march without the orchestra.”

– Rachela Zelmanowicz-Olewski

In her 1984 testimony, as recorded in Hebrew by Yad Vashem in Israel and later translated into English by her family, Rachela Zelmanowicz-Olewski reflected: “I tell you, I arrived to the conclusion that it’s all a matter of luck, of fate and luck.” To a large extent, this seems to be true of Rachela’s experiences during the Holocaust, but her willingness to survive by any means necessary also demonstrates a level of courage and creativity in the most extreme circumstances, that cannot be attributed to luck or fate alone.

Born in Będzin, Poland, Rachela Zelmanowicz was one month shy of her eighteenth birthday when the war broke out in 1939. After her family was forcibly relocated to the Bedzin ghetto, she was deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau where she was encouraged to join the camp’s women’s orchestra, as led by the Viennese musician Alma Rosé. Playing the mandolin kept her alive for fifteen months before she was deported to Bergen-Belsen. After her liberation, she started a family and then made Aliyah to Israel. Although she did not pursue a career as a musician after the war, she made sure that her home was filled with music and that her children would appreciate the beauty and importance of music, which ultimately saved her life. She also remained close to a number of musicians from the orchestra and contributed to the Bergen-Belsen Survivors’ Organisation of which her husband Rafael was chairman. Although Rachela died in 1987, her life has since inspired a number of commemorative works, including the performance of a piece entitled “Rachela’s Mandolin” by Jacob Reuven in 2021.

Rachela’s story is an important example of how “ordinary” people honed their existing skills to survive the unthinkable. Moreover, her role as witness and her experience of performing with the women’s orchestra of Auschwitz is testament to the bravery of these individuals who managed to perform beautiful music in a landscape of death and suffering. Their talents helped them to survive not only physically, but also spiritually. Now, with the help of her daughter Jochi Ritz-Olewski and her son Arie Olewski, the translated memories of Rachela can be shared publicly, helping to keep her memory alive.

Pre-war Life in Poland

Rachel Zelmanowicz-Olewski (née Zelmanowicz) was born into a proud Jewish family on 8 October 1921 in Będzin, a city in the Silesian Voivodeship of Southern Poland. Her father, Leibek (Yehuda-Leib) Zelmanowicz worked as an accountant for David Zmigrod, one of the most affluent Jews in the region. He was also responsible for the public letting of Zmigrod’s many apartments when he met her mother, Jocheved (née Londner). Jocheved’s mother, Beila, owned a sweet shop (“cukiernia”), which her granddaughter would regularly enjoy visiting. Her older brother, Dov-Beniek (Zalman-Ber) studied agriculture, and was the commander of the Beitar Movement in Będzin. The family lived on Stanisława Małachowskiego street, close to the centre of town. Before the Holocaust, Będzin had a vibrant Jewish community which, according to the 1921 Polish census, numbered 17,298 people, or 62.1% of the city’s total population.

Rachela was a shy child, with a slim build and poor eating habits. After attending a public school, she later studied at the Fürstenberg Hebrew Gymnasium, and became a member of the Zionist youth movement “Hanoar Hatsioni”. She loved cinema, regularly attending local film screenings, and enjoyed Polish novels, which she read secretly under her desk in Hebrew lessons. Despite attending a Hebrew school, her Polish language was exemplary, and she also became fluent in German. She was described by her family as a “daydreamer” with a vivid imagination, who fiercely enjoyed life. Her parents, whom she remembered as being intelligent, caring and “on trend”, provided everything she needed at the time. She loved music and was able to learn instruments quickly, although at the time this was only one of her many interests. She learned to play the mandolin in primary school. All in all, she had a peaceful and happy childhood, with a family who lived freely as Jews and who prospered from their life in Poland. This would, however, change dramatically after the German invasion on 1^st September 1939, a month before Rachela’s eighteenth birthday.

Rachela was immediately taken to the location of the Auschwitz-Birkenau women’s orchestra. Alma Rosé, a prominent Viennese violinist and conductor (or “Kapellmeister”) of the group, gave her some music/notes and instructed her to play. She remembers: “I didn’t remember of course, how to read it. I knew a little bit about notes, but I had forgotten about the rhythm. So I sat next to a Greek women, and this Greek woman told me how to play after Alma Rosé told her: ‘You show her how to play!’” The “Greek woman” was called Julie Stroumsa and was one of the forty musicians who had joined the orchestra on their arrival. The women, most of them Jewish, came from all over Europe and spoke many languages. There were also non-Jews from Poland, France, the Netherlands and Belgium. Julie helped Rachela learn the new notes: “As she played – I have a good ear for music – I caught the rhythm immediately. Julie was giving me the rhythm; she simply helped me to stay in the orchestra.” She was permitted to join as a mandolin player, and given her instrument, later concluding that “In general, this was a real orchestra with many qualified musicians.” They practiced daily, performing at the will of the camp guards:

“In the morning, we stood for Appell [roll call] inside the block. To avoid it, we sat all day and played, and we were having rehearsal and another rehearsal and more rehearsal. And always there were visitors of SS men, Gestapo men, whoever were in the camp. The entire orchestra was the “baby” of [Franz] Hössler. He loved the orchestra.”

In addition to the regular Sunday concerts for the SS, the orchestra also performed for Nazi officers, who could request a concert at a moment’s notice.

Rachela describes Alma Rosé as a stern woman, who ran a tight ship with her performers, and worked them hard: “For every mistake that someone did in the orchestra, we had to stand silently as a punishment. Alma heard; she heard everything. No one could hear as well as she did. Who was as expert as she?” She often used curt language and expressions to express her frustration with their playing. Alma played first violin accompanied by a teenage girl who played second violin. The group performed a variety of musical numbers by Saraste, Monti, Czardash, Beethoven, and waltzes by Strauss. Alma would correct them if they were “missing the swing”, reminding them that before the war she had practiced for “eight hours a day” at the wrath of her father. According to Rachela, Alma would forget where she was when she was playing. She was also not afraid to go against the wishes of the SS, testing the limits of their patience by performing forbidden songs, adapting them with her own lyrics. The group was forced to play chansons and light music, and to translate any foreign pieces into German – the only language permitted.

However, not all members of the group shared this sentiment, and did not care if there were small mistakes given the circumstances in which they found themselves. Like Rachela, they were not all professionals, and did not bear the same level of passion or skill as others in the orchestra. There was also “professional jealousy” among the women, especially between those who had had fruitful careers in music before the war.  But, for those who were not so enthused about the performances, it passed the time and ultimately saved many of their lives: “We always thought of one thing: that some day this will be over, that some day this will come to an end, for better or worse.” Despite the more questionable elements of Alma’s character, Rachela remembered her as a “fantastic conductor” who truly succeeded in making something of their orchestra. Indeed, Alma even had dreams of starting an orchestra together after the war.

In exchange for their talents, they received slightly better living conditions than other inmates. The women lived together and formed a close bond, although several testimonies recall tensions between the Jewish and non-Jewish members, as well as jealously from other camp inmates of their privileges. The musicians’ barracks had its own toilet, heater and practising rooms. The oven helped protect the instruments from cold and moisture. However, they were not exempt from the fate of those around them. They often witnessed killings and the violent torture of prisoners. Moreover, their block was close to the gas chambers and crematorium, and they could hear children crying out for their mothers and Jewish youth singing “Hatikvah.” On one occasion, one of the musicians became sick with typhus and was taken to the “hospital”, only to be killed in the crematorium. According to Rachela, Alma Rosé was deeply concerned that this would happen again, and informed the authorities: “Listen, you are destroying the orchestra! If there is typhus in the camp and each time you will take one of the girls, then…” After this incident, an order was issued forbidding anyone to touch a member of the orchestra. As Rachela noted: “They established the orchestra not for us, they made the orchestra for themselves.”

This new “rule” was put to the test when Rachela herself contracted the disease. In a gut-wrenching interaction with infamous SS-Doctor Josef Mengele, he stood next to her and asked what was wrong with her, but the workers in the infirmary informed him that she was part of the orchestra, and he continued on his way. On this encounter with Mengele, she earnestly described him as “Gorgeous. What a man! He was like a movie star, young, handsome. We all knew him.” Fortunately, she recovered and resumed her role in the group. The orchestra played every morning for the female prisoners as they were marched to their labour assignments, stating that it aided the Nazis with their efficiency:

“Let’s say,  you can imagine a whole camp goes out to work. Imagine how slow they would march without the orchestra. They marched according to the march tune’s rhythm. What went there in one hour could have lasted for several hours…So they placed us forward, near the gate. Every morning we sat and played the march when they went out to work.”

Their presence also gave strength to those who heard the music. At the same time, the upbeat welcome deceived new arrivals: a deliberate move of the camp authorities. The women’s orchestra also included singers, such as a Russian paratrooper who arrived at the camp with her “comrade”, who was a talented pianist. There was also a German soprano opera singer named Doris Wilamowska – “a prima donna of the opera of Berlin” – who had a tremendous voice. Even during a bout of typhus, the SS took her from her sickbed to perform for visiting members of the Gestapo and, barely able to stand, she managed to sing a song by Sarasate. Rachela painfully recalled another instance in which Yvette Assael, a Greek bass player and sister of Julie, began to cry when she saw the condition of the prisoners marching. A member of the Gestapo approached her and said “Everyone must smile. You are forbidden to cry here!”

Remarkably, she saw her brother twice during her incarceration. She did not immediately recognise him; his time there had left him “skinny and broken”, but he recognised his sister. In a desperate meeting, he asked her to send him bread; she ran to her block to get some and when she returned, he was gone. Since his arrival in Auschwitz, he had been part of a labour unit working outside of the camp. However, after the large arrival of Hungarian Jews in 1944, he was selected as part of the new “Sonderkommando”. Through her connections in the orchestra, she tried everything she could to help him, to no avail. They communicated via letters, which she hid in the ground near to her block. These letters were never found.

Alma Rosé eventually met her untimely death in the camp. According to the testimony of Rachela, she was poisoned – possibly by order of the camp authorities. The mystery surrounding her death continues to this day. After her death, one of the Russian musicians took over as conductor, but the orchestra did not continue as before. Rachela expected that she too would die in Auschwitz. She remained in touch with her brother throughout, who knew that his Sonderkommando unit was due to be killed. Although it was only after the war that she learned specific information from other survivors that her brother was killed during the Sonderkommando uprising on 7^th October 1944, when Jewish prisoners assigned to Crematorium IV revolted. She painfully recalled: “They captured one of the SS guards and threw him into the oven and they blew up the crematorium. And immediately [German] reinforcements arrived and they took all of the guys. They died slowly, by gas.”

As the events of the war progressed and German defeat became imminent, the SS authorities sought to relocate prisoners back to Germany to avoid the approaching Russian army. On 1^st November, she and other Jewish members of the orchestra were gathered for roll-call, given a coat and some bread, and placed directly on a train wagon, not knowing where they were headed. On the 2^nd November 1944, Rachela arrived at the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp.

The living conditions in Bergen-Belsen during at this time were desperate, with overcrowding, widespread disease, food shortages, and an increasingly desperate staff. They were housed in tents that offered no protection from the cold of winter. However, the organised group of musicians stayed together, sharing their rations and supporting one another emotionally through the final months of the war; they shared bunks and ate together. When they informed the SS of their position as an orchestra, the commandant nodded and replied, “Here you are not going to play.” Indeed, their instruments remained in Auschwitz. There was no work for them at Belsen and, although there was talk of trying to form a new musical group, the British liberators drew close. Unfortunately, several of the members caught typhus, and did not survive due to the lack of medical supplies in the camp. Rachela also learned that her father had died immediately upon their arrival at Auschwitz-Birkenau.

On 15^th April 1945, she recalled hearing the announcement of the words: “You are free!”  Although this was a glorious moment for her, it aroused a mix of emotions, as she later pointed out: “I do know that many people died at the liberation. And us, we were fortunate. Almost fifty percent of us from the orchestra already recovered from typhus in Auschwitz, in Birkenau, so we were stronger.”

The British Army medical units and, soon the Red Cross, arrived at Belsen to help. The survivors of the orchestra had a common desire to emigrate to Eretz-Israel. Rachela and two of her girlfriends believed that they could start to make this journey on foot. The group made their way to Celle, approximately 20km away, to arrange for further transports. There, they visited a Jewish men’s camp, where she met another young survivor named Rafael Olewski. Rafael was also a Polish Jew who had survived several forced labour camps and a death march to Bergen-Belsen. He and his brother, Rabbi Israel-Moshe Olewski, became prominent figures in Belsen and in May 1945, were appointed by the Central Jewish Committee to organise Jewish life in post war Celle. Having quickly fallen in love, Rachela remained in Celle and married Rafael in the local synagogue. Their first child, Jochi (Jochevet-Rivka) was one of the first baby girls born in the hospital of the DP camp.

They stayed in the Bergen-Belsen DP camp for about four years, helping to rebuild the local Jewish community and raising their daughter. During this time, Rachela enjoyed her new role as a mother, and catered for their many visitors. Having arrived at the camp with nothing, she acquired a German-made mandolin and continued to play. She was a loyal aid to her husband’s many leadership roles. Rafael was later elected to the Central Jewish Committee of the British Zone in Germany, heading the Culture Department and History Commission. He became one of the leaders of the Belsen survivors, dedicating himself to their individual and cultural rehabilitation, and commemorating the recent atrocities of the Holocaust. A devoted Zionist, he and Rachela made Aliyah to Israel in 1949, and gave birth to their son, Arie, in 1950.

In total, 80% of Jewish women who were members of the orchestra survived the war. Eventually, the group went their separate ways. Some returned to their native countries, but for those who had come from Poland and Germany, Israel was the only option: why should they return to the countries which had rejected them? She exclaimed: “I’m not going to remain in the Diaspora. I had enough of non-Jews.” Rachela stayed in touch with several members of the orchestra, and regularly invited them to her home in Ramat-Gan. Rafael continued his activism in Israel. He became the vice-president of the World Federation of Bergen-Belsen survivors, and member of the Yad Vashem Public Council, president of the Auschwitz Committee in Israel, and more. He served in the Israel Defence Forces and organised a network of thousands of survivors and their families. His book, The Tear, was published in 1983.