Dear Journal,

Oh God, as I think about it now, my hands are still shaking from the experience. It is only now, after I have left concentration camp, can I write about it calmly and share my memories to my journal. After all, when something like that happens to you, it’s a little hard to forget, but I still feel the need to get it down on paper.

I guess I have to start from the beginning. My family, which was my mom, my dad, my brother, and I, lived in Poland. Before the war, we had a very good life and I had a ton of non-Jewish friends but that changed in September of 1940. I was thirteen at the time. Before then, we had heard about a new man coming to power in Europe called Adolph Hitler. We had no clue what means of destruction he would cause once he got into Poland. When the Germans first started to invade Poland, it had little effect on us since we were such a small town. At first, all we had to do was where yellow stars over our clothes to prove we are Jewish. That wasn’t bad but people we had known since we were babies were now sneering at us with a horrible look on their face. My friends were suddenly not allowed to play with my brother or me. Our parents, however, were still cheerful in spite of people no longer wishing to be in the same room as us. They said everything would soon be better.

For about six months, everything stayed calm. Slowly, we started talking to the people we used to and even started to make fun of the stars we still had to wear. Soon after, another announcement came; Jews were no longer allowed to take public transportation and they had to be inside by 6:00 P.M. Again, we no longer talked to the people we used to. Our parents still had a cheery outlook so we stayed positive, but I was old enough to tell something was not right. Our parents now had a weary look in their eyes and each day went slower then the last. Finally, another announcement came and said the allies were fighting back stronger then ever. After that announcement came a second, all Jews must move onto the three streets that were fenced in. For us, it was not that bad of a move. We were only one block over and we had some Jewish friends who let us stay in their basement. Another good point was that our block that we lived on was inhabited mostly by Catholics who were not very friendly. In our little ghetto, as we later learned it was called, some order was established. Even though German guards were standing outside the fences, the adults had formed a little community and all the children were constantly playing in the streets having the time of our lives. Unbelievably we stayed in there for almost a year. By then, the Americans had joined the war because the Japanese had burned one of their navy bases and we thought the war was looking good. You could almost forget the German officers always watching our every move.

Then the day came for us to start packing our belongings together. We were allowed only twenty pounds each. My mother and father had brought some practical items like our food, clothing, and important papers, but those things didn’t even cross my mind. I brought some photos and a journal among other things like clothing. I thought memories were much more important then birth certificates. The German officers called the entire names from A to M. We lined up and the officers counted us to make sure no one had escaped. Anyone who had brought an expensive item, that item was taken away. We were loaded on the same cattle cars I used to see everyday filled with cows and smelling like dung. This time, though, it was filled with people and the smell wasn’t that much better. I don’t know how long we stayed in those cars but it was uncomfortable! The only food we had was the food we had hid and only a few could sit at a time. It was dark and smelled rank. When we got to the camp, we had all our items taken away. The men and the women were separated and I didn’t see my brother and father until after the war. When they started asking our ages, other girls younger then I were saying they were eighteen so I said I was too. My mother took my idea and said thirty-five for her age instead of forty-five.

We were stripped and given new clothing. It was then we finally learned we were at Auschwitz, a labor camp in Poland. For three years we stayed here, sometimes doing special jobs like being in the kitchen or playing marches for the women to march to, but most of the time it was hard, forced labor. The food was terrible and scarce and we could hardly sleep at all. We made sure not to stay in the hospital for too long for fear we would be killed and so we survived. When the Allies finally came to liberate us, we all cheered and a few women were bold enough to hand out kisses to their saviors.

We went to be registered in Poland to say we were still alive and went back to our town. Surprisingly, my brother and father were already there and our town had barely suffered any damage because there weren’t that many Jews in it. It was here my family decided to stay. I am sixteen now. I have a boyfriend who I think I may love, go to school and get good grades, and have a good job at a store but I will never forget the horrible period in my life known as the Holocaust.