His right hand was lifted, and with the forefinger of that hand he pointed very leisurely to the right or to the left.
None of us had the slightest idea of the sinister meaning behind that little movement of a man’s finger,
pointing now to the right and now to the left, but far more frequently to the left.
It was my turn. Somebody whispered to me that to be sent to the right side would mean work,
the way to the left being for the sick and those incapable of work, who would be sent to a special camp.
I just waited for things to take their course, the first of many such times to come.
My haversack weighed me down a bit to the left, but I made an effort to walk upright.
The SS man looked me over, appeared to hesitate, then put both his hands on my shoulders.
I tried very hard to look smart, and he turned my shoulders very slowly until I faced right, and I moved over to that side.
The significance of the finger game was explained to us in the evening.
It was the first selection, the first verdict made on our existence or non-existence.
For the great majority of our transport, about 90 percent, it meant death.
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