I slipped on my new school uniform for my first day at my new school; a primarily Christian school. I was a Jew, and in Nazi Germany, that was the worst possible person to be, but I had seen Christians and Jews live in harmony in my community so I had hope. Normally, I would have attended a Jewish school, but I was the smartest in my class, so I decided to transfer.

My neighbor, Vivian, already went to my new school, so I walked with her. Vivian had long thick blonde hair that was always tied up in ribbons and braids. We weren't the closest friends, but she was the only girl I knew who attended the school. The two of us chatted about our excitement for my first day.

"Liliana, I must warn you, some of the students aren't as accepting towards Jews. Don’t talk to anyone without asking me first. You wouldn’t want to talk to the wrong people."

"I'll be fine Vivian, all the people in our neighborhood are splendid towards my family."
"Just be careful."

I knew that there would be people who would harass me. The same sorts of people who graffitied my father's jewelry shop with hateful messages. Ever since Adolf Hitler declared us genetically less than the others everything changed.

We arrived at school fifteen minutes later. Vivian showed me to my first class. I heard the whispers behind my back. I couldn’t make out any words, nonetheless, I knew they were about me.

Later that day I was walking side by side with Vivian and her friend Tabitha when this dreadful boy batted my books out of my hand onto the floor. He and his friends laughed hysterically.

"That's what you deserve, you filthy Jew," one of them spat.

I lasted three more days in that school. I had been called a filthy Jew more times than I could count. I decided to go back to my old Jewish school. Even though it would set me back in my goal of becoming Poland's second Female attorney, I couldn't take the harassment.

I felt much more at home in the Jewish school. I had known most of the kids since as long as I could remember.

One normal afternoon my best friend since I was three, Janelle and I were eating lunch in the cafeteria when at least 70 men charged into the cafeteria.  One of them stood on top of the table and yelled for everyone to go with them peacefully to the train stations.

Alexander, a boy in the grade above us, stood up and tried to run away. The men grabbed him and threw him on the floor. They shot him in the head before he could even try to get up. Blood poured out from his head and silence spread throughout the room. No one gasped, whispered or even dared to breathe loudly.

I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. These were the people my parents warned me about, the people who hated me for my religion, even more than the foolish kids in the other school. My parents told me to listen to every command that came out of their mouths. At this point, it would be a miracle if I ever saw my parents again.

When they came to Janelle and my table we both stood up without argue. They led us to the trains. On the way there we passed through my neighborhood. I glanced up and saw Vivian peeking from her window. The boys were crammed onto one train big enough to comfortably fit ¼ of them. Janelle gripped my hand.

Someone behind me yelled my name. I turned around, and standing a few feet behind was my Mama and Papa. Papa was taken away and shoved into a train car. I hoped that since he was near the outside that he might survive, but just in case I stared at his grim face a little longer so I would never forget it. Mama scrambled up next to Janelle and me and took my hand so we wouldn't be separated.

The three of us were luckily put into the same train car. It was mostly people I recognized from school, and a few people I recognized from my neighborhood. Children clung to their mothers sobbing. Some of the children weren't too lucky and were all alone.

The days ticked by, but eventually, we reached our destination, wherever that was I wasn’t sure. I squinted my eyes at the sunlight when the dreadful men opened the train door. I hadn't seen the sun in days. The people behind me pushed and shoved to the front. Those who had belongings scrambled to collect them.

Mama left Janelle and me standing by the trains and went over to talk to one of the soldiers. She pulled her wedding ring from her finger motioned to us and continued to talk to the man. He ripped the ring out if her hands and pushed her away. I assumed she tried to barter for our freedom, but I didn’t ask.

They divided us into groups. Children, the elderly, men, and women all went into different lines. They ripped off our clothing and examined us. I was extremely uncomfortable but listened to the soldiers. After the examination, they gave us grey and white striped jumpsuits to wear.

Janelle, Mama and I were loaded onto another train. I hadn't seen Papa since before we were loaded into the trains the first time. I prayed that he was alive and that I would see him again. We arrived at the camp hours later.

They showed us to our bunk. About a dozen other women were there. Later, a man came in to tell us the rules and give us our daily ration of food. He gave each of us a hunk of stale bread. He also explained that we had to work the expected amount in order to receive our food. No one was allowed to insult Hitler or his party and if anyone disobeyed orders they would be taken away immediately.

The next morning we were woken up before the sun had risen in the sky. They took us into a factory, plopped us in front of a sewing machine and told us we had to finish at least 100 uniforms by the end of the day.
By the second day, my fingers were numb from being in the same cramped position for hours at a time. It was excruciatingly painful. I was starving after eating the limited supply of food they provided for us. My work started to go down in quality so the officers began to give me less and less food each day.

At least I was better off than Janelle, she sewed through her finger and had to redo half of her daily uniforms because they were soaked in blood. She hadn't received any food for days. Mama and I gave her some of our rations.

After a few months of imprisonment, disease struck. At first, a woman named Mara stayed in bed instead of going to work. By the end of the day, she had a fever and could hardly talk. She was dead by the next morning. Then our cabin was down to 10. By the following week, we had seven.

Everyone who could gave their food to the sick. We had become a family. All of us had been through so many horrible experiences together that we couldn’t help but grow into one big family. Each time we lost a person we held a secret ceremony for them in the middle of the night.

One night I woke up to the sound of Mama crying. She was clutching a locket with a  picture of papa in it to her chest. I almost didn’t recognize him. It had been months since that fateful day I saw him last, maybe even a year. I tried to stay quiet, but I sneezed.

"Lily, come here."

Mama wrapped me in her arms

"If I don’t survive, I want you to have this." She pressed my great-grandmother's diamond earrings and the locket with the picture of my father into my palm. "I am getting weaker darling. I won't last much longer. If you ever see Papa again tell him I love him. We love you darling, papa and I, never forget that."

She walked out of the cabin before I could respond. The next morning when I woke up she was gone. Janelle asked where she went, but I didn’t respond. She gave me a hug and went off to talk to some of the other girls. I assumed she understood. Janelle always did have a knack for reading people.

Meanwhile, I stood motionless for a good five minutes. I guarantee mama was dead. She was probably shot dead sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I only hope it was quick for her sake. It broke my heart to think about her enduring any more pain.

More and more people died in our cabin. There were only four of us left including me and Janelle. I suspected that Janelle wouldn't last much longer. She hadn't eaten in what seemed like weeks. I couldn't spare to give her any of my ration anymore. She was skin and bones. She could hardly even work the sewing machine anymore.

The ghetto we were imprisoned in was under revolt. Every night we heard distant gunshots of people trying to escape. I remained obedient. It was the one thing my father always told me to do, to listen and never lie to these cruel men.

In the middle of the night, a few months after Mama died, the ghetto was in complete chaos. There was talk of American troops coming to take over the camp, but they never came. The remaining three girls and I hunkered down in our cabin and hid.

I clutched Mama's locket against my chest and prayed that Janelle and I would survive. Deep down I knew if we had to do any running or anything physical to escape Janelle would be the first one dead. She could hardly even walk anymore.

A soldier stormed into the cabin and started rummaging around. He found one of the younger girls. She refused to go with him so he shot her. The girl's name was Maria and she had become a little sister to me. I stood up to protest. He hit me on the head with the butt of a rifle. I assumed he was out of bullets because I thought he would have shot me. 

He repeatedly struck me until eventually, I passed out. Just before I slipped out of consciousness I heard Janelle stir.

I woke up hours later in a crowded cattle car. There was no one I recognized in the car. Thank goodness I still had Mama's earrings and locket. I assumed that Janelle was either dead or dying. I hoped for her sake that it wasn’t painful. I was taken to another camp.

Over the next few months, the Nazi soldiers have transported me to two different labor camps. It was a miracle that I was still alive. The only reason I remembered Papa was the locket that Mama gave me before she died. It had been years since I saw him last. It had probably been at least a year and a half since Mama died.

In the middle of the night, a warm hand shook me awake. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and chiseled features. He spoke to me kindly with an American accent. He took my hand and led me through the camp to a train. This time we were each given a seat and plenty of room. They took us to a clinic to assess our health.

When they led me to the examination room, a young lady was waiting for me. She smiled; a real smile.
"Hi, I am Heather, what's your name," she reached out to shake my hand. I almost didn’t know what to do, no one had shown me that much respect in years. I don’t think I'd seen anyone genuinely smile in real life since before I was taken to the atrocious camps. The people in the locket smiled but that wasn’t real.

"I'm Liliana," I hesitantly stretched my hand out to meet hers. The kind tough was foreign from years of physical torture.

She told me about her family in America. It sounded like a  wonderful country, full of hope and love. Nobody hated Jews, in fact, they were treated just like any other human. Once this mess was cleared up and if I survived I was going to move to America.

Five years later I was on a plane to America, with my husband Joseph. I was no longer the girl I once was. I had seen too much pain, too much loss. I had seen people's lives end in the blink of an eye.

On the plane, I thought back to the day everything changed. I thought about Alexander, the boy who was shot at my old Jewish school. It felt like a lifetime ago that Janelle clutched my hand as I watched Papa being shoved onto the other train.

I wrapped my hand around the locket hanging around my neck. I hadn't taken it off since I met Heather, the doctor at the clinic all those years ago. I glanced down at the barcode burned onto my wrist. It was the only physical sign of my past. I was proud of it. It showed that I stayed strong in a time of peril.

Even though my time of imprisonment was torturous, it had helped to make me the person I am today. I was on a plane to America where I could start my life over. I was happy.