Towards the end of November 1941, the Nazi authorities began to deport the Jews of Bohemia and Moravia (the Protectorate) to the fortress city of Theresienstadt, about 60 km north of Prague. The city’s 18th century fortress now served as a ghetto. Thousands of deportees were housed in the army barracks under terrible conditions. By depicting Theresienstadt as a "model of Jewish settlement" and thus concealing its role as a transit camp for Jewish deportees, the Nazis were able to camouflage their true objectives and policies namely, the mass annihilation of the Jews.
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Commencing in January 1942, transports began to leave Theresienstadt for Riga. Later, some of the transports were sent to extermination camps and murder sites, including Auschwitz, Treblinka and Maly Trostenets.

At the Wannsee Conference on January 20 1942, Head of the RSHA (Reich Security Main Office) Reinhard Heydrich announced that Hitler had authorized the evacuation of the Jewish population in Europe to the East. Heydrich added that the evacuation of the Reich’s Jews would be given priority because of housing problems and other socio-political considerations. Jews over the age of 65, war invalids, or Jews decorated with the Iron Cross would be sent to the newly established “old people’s ghetto” – Theresienstadt.

On 6 March, following Heydrich’s announcement, Adolf Eichmann, Director of the Department of Jewish and Dispossession Affairs (Department IVB4) in the RSHA, convened a meeting of Gestapo delegates from all over the Reich to discuss the measures necessary to carry out the deportation of 55,000 Jews from Germany and the Protectorate. Eichmann stressed not to include elderly Jews in the transports. Jews of this category would be deported to Theresienstadt. Eichmann also warned the Gestapo not to notify the Jews in advance about their deportation in order to prevent attempts to elude the transport.

On 15 May 1942, Department IVB4 issued new guidelines signed by Gestapo Head Heinrich Müller, regarding the deportation of Jews to the “old people’s” ghetto in Theresienstadt: The evacuation of the residents from old age homes was cited as the top priority. Jews of foreign nationality or those enrolled in the war industry were exempt from deportation.

Due to the Wehrmacht’s preparation for its summer offensive in southern Russia (Operation Blue), the Reichsbahn directorate in Berlin would not allocate special deportation trains with a capacity of 1,000 people during the period between 15 June and 10 July. New orders specified that Jews would be deported in a single rail car with a capacity of 50 people. The car would be attached to a regular passenger train. During 1942, small transports of 50 Jews departed only from Berlin and Munich. The deportees were permitted to bring a sum of 50 Reichmarks, a suitcase, a full set of clothes, suitable shoes, bedding, tableware and food supplies for eight days.

As in previous cases, the guidelines recommended that Gestapo units force the Reich's Association of the Jews in Germany and local Jewish communities to assist in preparing the transports.

The department for Jewish Affairs at the Berlin Gestapo, headed by SS-Untersturmführer Gerhard Stübs and his deputy Kriminaloberinspektor Franz Prüfer was put in charge of organizing the transports together with the Department of Jewish Affairs in the RSHA.

On May 31 1942, Franz Prüfer informed Philipp Kozower, council member of the Berlin Jewish community about the forthcoming deportations.
In the month of July 1942 the Gestapo launched 22 "small" transports from Berlin consisting of 2100 Jews altogether.

This transport departed from Anhalter Bahnhof in Berlin on 23 July 1942 and arrived in Theresienstadt in the early evening of the same day. The transport consisted of 100 Jews, 30 men and 70 women. The average age of the deportees was 68.1. The youngest was a 21 years old woman and the oldest was an 87 years old woman. Four among them were between the ages of 19 and 45, six were between the ages of 46 and 60 and eighty eight were between the ages of 61 and 85. Two deportees were over 85 years old.

The deportees were ordered to appear at the assembly camp in Grosse Hamburger Strasse or were taken from their homes by the Gestapo. A couple of Gestapo men, members of the Jewish desk, would usually show up, in order to round up the Jews destined for deportation. The Jews were requested to hand over the apartments in tidy form, after they had paid all taxes. The Gestapo men searched the deportees’ luggage, and the apartment, and often confiscated valuables. Subsequently they sealed the apartments. Jewish wardens who assisted the deportees in packing and carrying their belongings accompanied the Gestapo men. Trucks drove the Jews to the assembly site. This process usually took place one day prior to the actual deportation. At the assembly site the Jews were forced to sign a declaration, authorizing the transfer of their property to the state.

As in previous transports, they were woken up on the day of deportation between two and three in the morning, received a simple breakfast prepared by the Jewish community and had to leave the building in Grosse Hamburger Strasse at approximately 04:00. They marched a few hundred meters to Monbijouplatz where a BVG streetcar (Berliner Verkehrsbetriebe - Berlin Transportation Company) awaited them. At around 05:00 they boarded the tram which transferred them expeditiously to Anhalter Bahnhof located on Schöneberger Strasse where they arrived by 05:15. There, through a side entrance, they were led to platform No. 1. They were ordered to board two old third-class rail cars, ordered from the Reichsbahn, which were connected to a regular, scheduled passenger train that left the train station every day at around 06:00 am for Dresden where it stopped for a few hours. In Dresden the cars with the Jews were connected to another regular train headed for Prague.

The train's route took the deportees from Berlin to Dresden and along the river Elbe to Decin (Tetschen), Usti nad Labem (Aussig) and finally to Bohusovice (Bauschowitz). The deportees were taken off the train at Bohusovice station and forced by the awaiting SS personnel and Czech gendarmerie to walk the approximate 3 km to Theresienstadt, carrying their backpacks. Only people who were unable to walk were taken in trucks. The transport was given the reference I/29 in the Theresienstadt ghetto listings where the Roman numeral I refers to Berlin. In Theresienstadt many of the elderly Jewish deportees who had arrived on these transports died of hunger and disease during the summer months. Others were later transferred to extermination camps in the East where they were murdered.

According to historian Rita Meyhöfer, four deportees from this transport are known to have survived.

This was the 29th of 123 transports organized from Berlin to Theresienstadt during the war that were made up mainly of elderly Jewish deportees (Alterstransporte).

Testimony by Philipp Manes

Philipp Manes (b. 1875 – d. 1944) and his wife Gertrud were on that transport. Manes and his wife were interned for two years in the ghetto. On 28 October 1944 they were sent to Auschwitz on transport Ev together with 2038 other Jews where they were murdered. Manes, a converted Jew and fur merchant from Berlin, wrote a diary in Theresienstadt. This is one excerpt.

‘I went home and saw that the cover letter indeed stated that we should be ready for evacuation at eight o'clock on the morning of Tuesday, July 21. […] Thus began the last three agonizing days of our life in Berlin, which are now behind us like an evil nightmare. […] It still seemed inconceivable that we had to give up our entire estate, leave behind everything that we had acquired over the 37 years of our marriage. Every object had a loving memory, every picture told a story, and every piece of furniture was like part of the family. All our possessions were to be appropriated by strangers. […] We begun (sic!) to clear things out and give them away. […] Our apartment was quickly emptied. […] I sat at my desk, my beloved desk, my faithful companion for 37 years […] I wrote farewell letters to all my friends and stuck our last photos inside the envelopes. […] Our last night at home came and went. We got up at 6am, our luggage had already been taken away the day before. We waited to be picked up by the police. Our home was spick-and-span. Everything tidy, clean. […]

At 9:30 A.M there was a loud knocking at the door. I opened up. Gestapo officers, with two Jewish helpers. Our hand luggage was taken away. I went with the men, who were perfectly polite as they inspected all the rooms. They looked in the cabinets and asked if there was any food that might spoil. We hadn’t left any behind. […] The last minutes in our home. The men urge us to leave. “It’s time,” they say. Without looking back, we go out. The door is locked and the keys surrendered to the caretaker who is afraid to say good-bye. There is a moving van parked in front of our building, and we climb up some steps in the back. The truck lumbers into motion. It has to pick up more passengers who, like us, are being evacuated. First, we go to Magdeburgerstrasse, then to Stettiner, toward Martin Luther Strasse. Frightened elderly people board at every stop, and we try to give them courage.

[…] At another apartment, it turned out that the man who was to be deported had taken his own life, which he evidently thought was the better choice. We sat in silence. We had been driving around the western part of the city and it was now three o’clock. Finally, we reached our destination for that day, the Jewish community’s Old People’s Home on Grosse Hamburger Street. We were registered and assigned to rooms. [...] We were cut off from the world, not allowed to go outside or send any more mail. From the back windows we could see ancient graves with weathered, half-sunken stones. The obelisk of Moses Mendelssohn’s grave rose high behind its railings as a call not to despair. […] The old people’s home has (sic!) become a beehive. Down below all the hand luggage and suitcases that we had been allowed to keep piled up. Policemen and Gestapo officers were everywhere. We did not know what awaited us, when or how the journey would continue.

Previously, we had trembled in the large room at the synagogue on Levetzowstrasse when we heard about evacuations – of the long march through the freezing cold or rain to the remote station at Grunewald. How arduous it was for the elderly to drag themselves along; they panted under the unaccustomed strain. We had heard of cattle cars, where large vats were used when nature called. There was big (sic!) talk of being crammed into open cars in temperatures that were well below zero. Questions went back and forth. Everyone had questions or claimed to have news from the most reliable of sources. But the leader could only tell us to remain calm; we would reach our destination in a safe, orderly manner.

We wandered up and down; people stood in groups everywhere. One was surprised to meet an acquaintance; connections were discovered in conversations […] At the entrance below was a crush of people; those too frail to travel were being examined to determine whether they should remain behind. The head (sic!) doctor paced gravely through the multitude, seeing no one, and deaf to any appeals.

The food was good and plentiful. […] In the afternoon, our luggage was searched. I could safely have brought my fountain pen; the fingers of the officials did not search too deeply. They were quite humane, and even made some little jokes. Then, the meeting with the officials of the Jewish community, to whom we signed over our bank accounts. In another room, we were given the official written notification that our property was to be confiscated because of communist activity. […]Then, we were supposed to hand over our watches. I kept mine. Our passports were stamped “Evacuated from Berlin on July 23.” With that, our life as citizens in Germany ended.
Now, there was only one formality left: the departure. We were finished with the authorities. In the afternoon we were told to be ready early the next day. Wake-up call at three o’clock, drink a coffee, and get ready for the departure. [.]..

Outside in the corridor, the knocking from door to door: “Three o’clock. Get up!” […] It was the dawn of our last day in our homeland. When we were ready, we had hot coffee and there was still plenty of bread left. […] Soon the call came: “Come down for the departure!” On the stairs, we were given sandwiches. […]
Outside, the new day was dawning. It was raining.
Calm and silent, we left the building that for two nights had been our last home. […]
Policemen blocked the streets and led our sad procession to Monbijou Platz. […] We boarded the waiting tram. It followed a route that was, for me, like the Stations of the Cross. Hackescher Markt. I saw Seemannstrasse in grey dawn. Neue Promenade, Kronprinzenbrücke, Museumsinsel, Singakademie, the University … Hedwigskirche, 10 Werderscher Markt, our old house. Dönhofplatz, Krausen Strasse, Jerusalem Strasse. [.].. Kochstrasse, Wilhelmstrasse, the Anhalter station. We boarded without needing to show a ticket. The first platform on the right. A mountain of luggage. Two cars reserved for us. Everything had to be stowed in the exits and aisles. The young helpers formed a line to quickly load the suitcases. We found a place for eight in a compartment. Outside, other passengers glanced at us and quickly moved on. We were not allowed to be at the window; we had to stay inside, although we would have liked to have seen if, perhaps, any of our friends had come. No one dared. […]

A lurch, and we were in our way. Karlsbad (south of the Tiergarten), Lützowstrasse, and Yorckstrasse greeted us on the right. […] my beloved Lichterfelde. […] We left behind the familiar stretch just past Lichterfelde and turned left toward Dresden.

We men began a conversation: One wanted to know what was going to happen. Opinions were exchanged. We agreed to paint our future life as plainly and simply as imagination permits. Not the comfort of the Old People’s Home, but a “camp” with all those attributes: confinement, filth, dejection, and imprisonment. But Theresienstadt had been described to us as a paradise – for which our fortunes had been sacrificed. That was what people had said in the small room where a table had been set up for officials of the Jewish community. They persuaded those being deported to transfer their property and bank balances to the community. They told us that on the next day everything would be seized by the State and could only be saved by transferring it immediately. The community would secure these endangered assets and put them to good use. One enthusiastically signed the forms and left the room with a good feeling. Now I owned nothing. […]

After Lichterfelde, the train turned and took us along the Doberlug-Dresden route. […] The train rushed across the plains. [...]. After two hours the hills of Kötzschenbroda appeared. Soon we saw the houses of Dresden-Neustadt, where we stayed in the station for almost two hours on a siding. We were not allowed to leave the car which was being guarded by the Schupo. The promised warm food did not materialize. An attempt to drop postcards into a mailbox failed. Departure. The passenger train slowly churned into motion. We crossed the Augustus Bridge, saw once more the panoramic bank of the river Elbe, the Hof Church, the Church of the Cross, the opera house [...] Then the Elbe on the left, which would accompany us along the entire route. […] But now we have (sic!) left the old German soil. We are (sic!) in a strange land. [...] Leitmeritz – we would soon be at our destination. After a few minutes, a small station: Bauschowitz-Theresienstadt.

On July 23, Berlin transport I/29 arrived at Bauschowitz. The 100 passengers were lined up three abreast. Young people wearing stars carried the luggage for those who could not. The suitcases were loaded onto cars, as were, in the end, the disabled. Those of us who were not fit enough to walk, slowly started down a street that led through a nice, clean neighborhood. There, for the first time, we saw Czech signs next to German ones. The residents paid no attention to the passersby; after several months, they were used to the sight. It was a hot day, and we soon felt the weight of our backpacks. Our hands were full holding our bags, and walking was increasingly laborious. The chain of people stretched out. Soon the guides urged us to hurry. “Look over there. The red roofs, rising over the dark green of the trees, are the barracks of Theresienstadt. We’re almost there.” But the road wound and snaked quite a lot, and every additional 100 meters of the unfamiliar walk was a torment. The Czech country police in their neat uniforms were indifferent to us, though they seemed to have sympathy for the plight of us older people. No angry word was uttered, despite our snail-like pace. At last, like magic, we saw walls and ditches straight ahead. That such a fortress should still exist – almost 200 years old, well preserved, the masonry like new; the deep, wide ditches of the ramparts, lush green underneath! Then the walls came closer together, meeting above a narrow passage guarded by inhabited casemates, the Bauschowitz gate. We passed through, unsuspectingly. Now, Theresienstadt – the ghetto, our new home – took us in. As we walked, we saw well-dressed people, pretty young women, and happy children on the streets. One could live here, we thought. It seemed that we had not been lied to in Berlin, when the community officials spoke of the “paradise of Theresienstadt” and congratulated us because we had been privileged to come here instead of being sent to Lublin. The street went on forever. Still no end to the torment. Dusk falls. Then our guides cried out – we have reached our destination: the Aussig barracks. We heard the word: Schleuse. We didn’t understand. We were received into a semicircle of casemates from which sloping passages led upwards. They broadened out into impressive, wide, long rooms with walls that seemed to be a meter thick. Tables: on one side the gendarmes; on the other, us. Now the Schleuse began. We understood quickly what it meant, and watched, shuddering, as the experienced hands searched every bag, backpack, and basket, taking away every valuable item. Medicine; scissors; blade sharpeners; and, to our horror, carefully filled thermos flasks – cognac, the last strengthening reserve; chocolate; and cookies – all disappeared in a flash. With fearful hearts we sat on the few narrow benches, waiting to see where our exhausted, broken bodies could finally come to rest. If only we could lie down, stretch out, and sleep! No feelings of hunger or thirst, just sleep. Suddenly again, a command: “Take your things. Now, into your quarters.”’
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