MY FATHER TURNED BACK TO HAVE A LOOK AT ROMA AND ME AND HE WAS HIT OVER THE HEAD. HE BENT UNDER THE BLOW AND THAT WAS THE LAST I SAW OF HIM
I WAS born on the 15th of August 1921 in Warsaw, the capital of Poland, and my very religious parents named me Nechama which means “comfort” in Hebrew.
I’m not sure how much comfort I brought though because I was a very naughty child. I don’t know if it’s because I was the youngest of seven, but it’s just how I always was. And I mean very naughty! I was a busy little thing.
When the trouble started in 1938, we did not realise what was happening. We knew that the Nazi German army had crossed the border of Austria – they just walked in and occupied it – but it sort of didn’t affect us.
Soon they were given Czechoslovakia on a platter; they thought it would satisfy Adolf Hitler’s appetite. Still we said it can’t happen to us.
They crossed our border on the 1st of September 1939, marching towards Warsaw. Then everyone woke up! Warsaw stood up against them for three weeks. And then fell.
Right away there were announcements. All Jewish land was requisitioned. All Jewish bank accounts were frozen. All public gatherings were forbidden. Schools and synagogues were closed.
Every few days there was something new. A curfew was imposed. Food was rationed.
A few months before the end of 1940, there was a proclamation: all Jews were to move into a ghetto in Warsaw.
