"Ibi!" the boys called.

She and her friends were taking a stroll to the flower patch. Even at age thirteen; her beauty radiated from her every pore. Her body developed faster than most. Boys would follow her everywhere she went fawning over her flawless features. Every movement from her fragile figure was elegant, the epitome of perfection. Her snow white skin was almost fluorescent; her new white dress that her father had made especially in Hungary was the closest to her skin as possible, but even this vibrant shade of sheer white dulled in comparison. Her father would always say to her, a beautiful girl must wear beautiful clothes.

She turned around to the restless boys, her feminine fingers lazily rolled into a wave. There were at least five boys; all of them were romping around the mud. They did what boys did best carefree, and innocent; she was the only thing that could possibly disturb their one-track mind.

"They are calling for you again." Her friends giggled.

Ibi smiled, "let them, today does not belong to them."

Life was great for Ibi Dekel.

Then a certain man came to power. A man crafted from the ideas of Fascist party founder Benito Mussolini. He seized power when his people were at their weakest, their most desperate. Lebensraum, he demanded. His power grew and he became the Chancellor of Germany. Adolf Hitler's laws and ideas were finally becoming reality. How? How were these people not seeing the evil in them? To this day I do not know.

We were the source of the problem to our German brothers. It started with the Nuremberg Laws. Then the labeling. The Gestapo would fill all our nightmares, day in and night out, our cries went on deaf ears. Kristallnacht was the final straw, we Jews felt the end coming near, and everything we endured until now was a mere fraction of what was to come.

No one would save us. Our complete existence was shattered by the Nazis. We slowly gathered the remains; the ghettos were mere muddled shadows of our lives before the anti-Semitism. Crusty bread filled our hollow stomachs; constant, incessant hunger ravaged the ghettos. You never dare to look happy; it meant you had something, something the Nazis could take. Our only source of hope was our religion, though it was what imprisoned us, it was also what liberated us from our daily struggle. One day our prayers were finally answered, the Nazis were offering us jobs. We packed, though we did not know it—for the last time.