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  • Prisoner B-3087 By:Alan Gratz
  • We came out to watch. All of us: men, women, and children, Poles and Jews. We stood on the street corners and watched the Germans march through our city.
  • “The Nazis won’t be so bad”
  • But of course she could say that. She wasn’t a Jew.
  • Karusa street  september 1935
  • Late that night, long after curfew, cries of “Fire!” woke us. “It’s the synagogue.”
  •  I leaned out the window and saw it down the street, engulfed in flames
  • I was thirteen years old, and my parents were gone.
  • The Nazis snatched me up one day when I was at work.
  • I was all alone in the world, but I would survive on my own.
  • I was still working at the tailor shop in Kraków, hoping that would save me from the Deportations. But my work there ended up being the reason I was taken. The tailor shop at Plaszów, a nearby labor camp, needed more workers, we were told. So we were taken.
  • I had known this day would come. In the days and weeks after my parents were deported, the rest of my family had gone too. Uncle Moshe had disappeared while on a work detail. Uncle Abraham and Aunt Fela were pulled from their home in a Deportation. Cousins Sala, Dawid, and their two boys while in line for bread. Aunt Gizela and little Zytka went for a voluntary selection in Zgody Square, in hopes that the Nazis meant what they said about resettlement. By the summer of 1942, only I remained — the sole member of my family left in the Kraków ghetto. I thought I’d be ready for it when they took me away, but I wasn’t.
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