There are few who can say they’ve seen the inside of hell, but Albrecht Weinberg is one of them.
From the safety of his living room, the 99-year-old describes how, as a teenager, he survived three concentration camps including the Nazi’s biggest extermination centre, Auschwitz-Birkenau.
“Jews were only for the gas chamber. You worked until you could work no more. Then you went to the chimney,” he explains in a soft Brooklyn twang he picked up after years of living in New York.
Born into a Jewish family of five in the East Frisia region of Germany, Albrecht was a teenager when the Nazis first sent him to do forced labour in 1939.
He was moved to various places in the next few years until, in April 1943, he and his sister were loaded on to a wagon to Auschwitz.
The Third Reich was accelerating its extermination of Jews as part of its “Final Solution” which would see more than six million killed in the Holocaust.
Albrecht had already been separated from his parents, who had been immediately sent to gas chambers.
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Now, he was being unloaded at a place where they, and ultimately more than a million other people, were murdered.
Albrecht remembers that around 950 men, women, children and the elderly were on the train but he had no clue what Auschwitz was.
“I’d never seen a prisoner in a striped uniform and cap,” he says.
As the train doors opened, he remembers soldiers shouting, “Out! Out!” in German.
Terrified, exhausted and dehydrated after days on the train, people rushed out, stepping over one another.
The group was then forced to march in front of one of the commanders so they could be selected.
Some would be sent to work, the rest to their deaths.
“He sorted us like big and small potatoes,” Albrecht tells me, “[If] he thought maybe that you could do a day’s work, he gave you a sign that you should go to the right and the others had to go to the left.”
Albrecht was one of around 250 chosen to be kept alive so that they could work.
He was sent to Auschwitz III (Monowitz) camp where by day he had to do backbreaking labour, laying cables in the freezing weather.
By night he had to sleep in a shared bunk in cramped, cold wooden huts, riddled with disease and with little sanitation.
This is how he spent almost two years.
“They came and they beat the daylights out of you and then you had to get outside. You can’t stay alive very long and do that kind of work with that little bit of food that you got,” he says explaining what his days were like.
In the camp, he met his older brother Dieter, who had been sent there before him.
The detainees weren’t seen as humans, he says they were reduced to less than animals.
Rolling up his sleeve, Albrecht shows me the now-faded grey tattoo scrawled onto his skin by the Nazis when he arrived.
“1-16-9-27: that was my name, my number, that was everything,” he says, lightly tapping his arm.
He remembers the SS guards would inspect them; if they looked too skinny, had sores or were too weak, they were executed.
“He wrote your number down, the next day you went to the chimney.”
Albrecht explains, quietly: “People died, that was their policy. Over a million people got burned.”
Somehow though, Albrecht managed to survive until January 1945 when the guards told him and a group of others they were leaving.
As Soviet troops closed in, the Nazis forced thousands of Auschwitz detainees on so-called “death marches”, moving people they thought could still work to other areas.
Albrecht was among them and remembers seeing starving and sick people die on the route.
Wearing thin clothes and ill-fitting wooden clogs, the detainees marched for miles.
Anyone who stopped or fainted was shot or beaten to death.
After the march, Albrecht was forced to work in a factory making rockets and bombs before finally being sent to Bergen-Belsen camp in northern Germany.
Years of forced labour, beatings, malnutrition and trauma meant by this time he was dying.
He remembers lying on the ground among a sea of corpses, too exhausted to go on.
That’s where he was when British forces arrived and liberated the camp.
“I must have moved my arm or something. I was 90% a dead man,” he says as he describes the scene that greeted the soldiers.
Albrecht says the Bergen-Belsen camp had become a “cemetery”.
“There were thousands of dead people lying on top of the ground. They were not buried, some of them were decomposing. The smell was awful,” he says.
After being worked as a slave and then left to die like an animal, Albrecht was finally free.
After the war, he was reunited with his brother and sister who also managed to survive Auschwitz.
He later relocated to America, only returning to Germany in 2011.
Albrecht will be at home as the world gathers to remember the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz.
He has only returned to the camp once – “once was enough,” he says.
Instead, he is one of several survivors whose memories are being broadcast online as part of a project by the Jewish Claims Conference to mark the anniversary.
In total, around 41 members of Albrecht’s family were murdered by the Nazis.
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He says he “cannot forgive” Germany.
He knows that younger generations are not responsible for the crimes of their grandparents, but he’s also deeply concerned about ongoing antisemitism.
Last year, someone knocked over the gravestones in the Jewish Cemetery in Leer where he lives.
Albrecht was so terrified he couldn’t go out.
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He says he thought it was a “second Holocaust”.
In March, he will celebrate his 100th birthday.
He doesn’t know for how much longer Auschwitz survivors will be able to tell their stories and he’s worried the world is already forgetting the horrors of the Holocaust.
For this extraordinary man, a survivor of indescribable trauma and a witness to some of the darkest acts in history, there is no peace.
“How can I forget when I think about my family, my mother, my father, my grandma? Every day when I wash myself, I see my number,” Albrecht says.
“How can I forget?”
