Read reflections and testimonies written by Holocaust survivors in their own words.
I brought her home and had a difficult time finding the right place for her. At first, I put her on the couch in the living room. She disturbed me there—she was too prominent. Now she sits on a bunch of pillows in the corner of the living room where she seems comfortable, content, and not demanding.
Tombstones in a row Circles connect the family I wish I knew them
In Berlin, during the fall of 1943, the devil’s den—that is, Adolf Eichmann’s headquarters—was hit by a bomb from an American plane, and the SS decided on immediate repairs. My parents and I had just been bombed out for the second time and were staying temporarily at the Jewish Hospital.
“We have to eat the sardines,” my mother said. She always bought those canned in tomato sauce. I did not like the combination, I preferred oil.
I Remember Blowing bubbles in the air Rainbow colors, all so fair. Nightingales and jasmine’s scent All that love and beauty meant.
I like to have a destination in my daily walk that serves as exercise, but I suspect it is also a subconscious attempt to get away from my frustration with writing. Today, for the umpteenth time, I chose the trail near my house that would lead me to the local Barnes and Noble bookstore in Bethesda.
I suppose our home in Adelsheim, Germany, was typical of the homes found in that small town. My parents used part of the house, and the remainder was rented to two ladies. Though I have no memory of it, I have heard my sisters talk of the small parlor that was off-limits to them.
In Berlin, during the fall of 1943, the devil’s den—that is, Adolf Eichmann’s headquarters—was hit by a bomb from an American plane, and the SS decided on immediate repairs. My parents and I had just been bombed out for the second time and were staying temporarily at the Jewish Hospital.
I remember the time in the Czernowitz ghetto when I used to take off the star from my coat, leave my ID, and go out to look for food. I was always hungry and scared. I went to a store that sold food to the clergy, because I knew my father had a priest who was an old schoolmate. It was easy for me to go out since I was blonde, blue–eyed, and spoke German fluently.
It was an early autumn day—the forest was dark and I could hardly see the sun. I felt dampness all around me and I was tired, but there was nowhere to rest as this forest had sparse underbrush and it was difficult to find a hiding place.
Listen to or read Holocaust survivors’ experiences, told in their own words through oral histories, written testimony, and public programs.