The year was 1943 and the first snowfall had occurred that night. It blanketed the rough, black tar that lay throughout the streets of Poland. Any other time I would`ve been happy to play outside in the show with the neighborhood children. But not this time. It reminded me too much of our home on Deenka street. This was no Deenka street. These were the Jewish ghettos of Poland. There was never any bright light that shone here. The only light we saw were the headlights of the Nazis coming to take more and more. The Nazi uniform scared me more than any Halloween costume ever would. It was like a small bunny rabbit in a fight with a cobra, the Apex predator. No matter how hard you fight, something bigger and stronger can easily overcome you. I was the rabbit and Hitler, and all of his men were the alphas.

I stood there and watched as the world around me crumbled to pieces. I didn’t go get help; I stood there in our small 10ft by 10ft apartment and watched. I watched as my older brother, Michael lay hopelessly in the only bed in the small apartment. He lay there coughing and moaning from the constant pain for four days. He had gotten Typhus disease, and every day he had it, he became less of himself. I watched as the Nazi’s forced my family out of our home and into the Warsaw ghetto with thousands of other Jews. Eventually I became sick of watching. But when I did, it was already too late.

On the fourth night of Michael’s disease, they came again. I could hear screams and pleading from outside our second story window. Everything outside was a haze of reds, oranges, and yellows. My nostrils were filled with the strong smell of gasoline. I stood there close to the window just watching the fire spread and the people flee. I was so absorbed by the bright flames that I couldn’t hear the commands my mother was yelling in Hebrew. She was telling me and my little brother Stephan to run while we can and promised she’ll be right behind us. What about Michael? We can’t leave him here to burn! Before I had a chance to ask my mother about Michael, she was hurrying Stephan and I through the door. It was clear that she had already made her choice.

“Goodbye brother” I yelled, although barely audible over the sounds of the raging fire progressing towards us. With that, I ran down the two flights of stairs following my mother and brother to a safer place, only to bring ourselves face-to-face with danger itself.

Outside there were lots of big army trucks and Jews being poured into them.
“Take those two, leave the woman, she’s no use to us” A nearby Nazi commanded his officers. Before I had a chance to protest, a large hand wrapped around my throat, restricting my air intake. Another Nazi carried Stephan violently and started walking towards one of the large trucks.
“Stop! Please stop! Leave them and take me!” My mother sobbed and I could hear the high pitched screams of Stephan growing farther and farther. The hand snaked around my throat loosened its grip allowing me to breathe again. I dared a glance toward Stephan being hauled away in one of the many large trucks. The officer continued forcing me in the direction of the trucks, while my mother pleaded and begged them to take her instead. I was about 20 feet away from the trucks when I saw my mother throwing rocks at the officer. I continued watching the scene over my shoulder and silently praying that the officer didn’t harm my mother. In a sudden movement, the officer drew his gun, pointed it at my mother, and dint hesitate to pull the trigger. In about three seconds, my mother collapsed to the ground. The usual up and down motion of her chest absent, and I was being thrown headfirst into a truck. Everything I once knew was taken away from me by one man. I lost my home on Deenka Street, Michael, and my mother. The worst part is that I’m losing myself.
I sat in the large train car for God knows how long. After the Nazi’s invaded our ghetto, the large trucks to us to the trains. During the transition, about ten people tried to flee but were immediately shot. I spotted little Stephan boarding one of the many trains and I instinctively hopped in after it after him. He sat cross-legged on the ground, considering there were no seats. He saw me and the sorrow in his deep, brown eyes seemed to lessen. I sat next to him and absentmindedly brought him in for a hug and he began to sob. His rosy red cheeks were tear stained and he had bags underneath his eyelids.
“Why did this happen to us?” He sobbed into my chest. In that moment, I knew I had to stay strong for him. He’s only six years old and has lost everything he has ever known. The train doors shut and we were left in the dark, confined space of the train car.
46 Days Later


46 days later we were all admitted into the Auschwitz concentration camp. Our heads were shaved, fingernails clipped, and given tattoos with a “serial number”. We ate very little, and lost a lot of weight. Everyday Nazi officers took more and more of us away to face death. Today, there was a train transporting a few hundred lucky ones to another camp. Stephan and I started towards the train car while the last of the numbers were being read. We were about 100 yards away when an officer caught on to what we were doing.
“Stop them!” He yelled in his thick German accent.
“Go! Go Stephan, I’ll be right behind you! I promise!” I yelled to him. He burst into a full sprint and hopped into the last train car right before the door closed shut. I ran towards him but was put to a halt when I felt the bullet pierce my back. My last thought before my mind became clouded was the promises I made to Stephan. Some promises are meant to be broken.