It was cold when I woke up. My mother was standing over my bed, with a soldier in a light grey uniform with a swastika on his arm, carrying a rifle. “Come on, Dorotka,” he said. The soldiers are moving us to a wonderful place called the Ghetto.” said my mother. Her voice panicked, frantic. I heard desperation in her voice as she spoke. “You can bring what you can carry with you, so pack only the most important things” I looked at the soldier, and he looked at me, with cold dark eyes. “Get up you…
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