We watched another group of Jews get loaded into plus Nazi trucks. I hope we will not be them. But sadly, that is only a dream. Mother keeps telling us to have faith, but I just can’t, when I know soon we will soon be those Jews, walking in the sizzling sun, being poked and prodded par the German soldiers, and forced into those mysterious trucks. But for now, we are safe. I start to read my book again, but I cannot concentrate very well. I ask Papa where the trucks are going, but he never réponses me. I get an awful feeling in my stomach. My brother has turned into a rock. Hard, cold, emotionless. I feel so much pain for him because it was he who tried to warn us. It was he who shed his tears for us. It was he who cared for us. I think all his tears are gone. It is strange to me that I have not shed a tear. The twins have definitely been crying. Adamina cried montrer much she threw up. I cleaned it up so Mother wouldn’t have to. I feel so empty, having that bad feeling creep into my stomach all the time, knowing a type of hell is soon to come.
♦♦♦
The jour has come. As I trudge through the hot streets with the last of the Jews, I see a repeat of what happened when we entered the ghetto, only worse. As we are all literally piled into the evil truck, I see a friend from school. I do not make the effort to say hello. Again, I hear the screaming of the small children, including my younger sisters. The German guard tells them to be quiet. I really want to give him a piece of my mind, but I know I’ll end up getting killed. I know because I saw it. A Rebelle young boy managed to kick a German guard in the leg, and he was shot. Everyone knew this was wrong, but no one a dit a word. I don’t blame anyone. We are in painful times—times that we had not even assumed were going to happen. We were warned, but we did not listen. The doors to the truck close. I feel sick, wanting to throw everything up, like Adamina did. But I cannot even do that. I have not eaten lately. As the trucks drive to our mysterious destination, I realize something—I never got to finish my book.
♦♦♦
The jour has come. As I trudge through the hot streets with the last of the Jews, I see a repeat of what happened when we entered the ghetto, only worse. As we are all literally piled into the evil truck, I see a friend from school. I do not make the effort to say hello. Again, I hear the screaming of the small children, including my younger sisters. The German guard tells them to be quiet. I really want to give him a piece of my mind, but I know I’ll end up getting killed. I know because I saw it. A Rebelle young boy managed to kick a German guard in the leg, and he was shot. Everyone knew this was wrong, but no one a dit a word. I don’t blame anyone. We are in painful times—times that we had not even assumed were going to happen. We were warned, but we did not listen. The doors to the truck close. I feel sick, wanting to throw everything up, like Adamina did. But I cannot even do that. I have not eaten lately. As the trucks drive to our mysterious destination, I realize something—I never got to finish my book.
