Yes, child, But promise me you will cry no more before these monsters. We will never cry again."
A wrought iron gate stood in front of the buildings, and over the gate was a sign proclaiming in large black letters: ARBEIT MACHT FREI. Several of the villagers whispered the words, but the rabbi, his hand up to his eyes, strained to read them. "What does it say, Faygeleh?" he asked, clinging to his daughter's hand, suddenly an old man. "My eyes . . ."But Fayge was beyond answering. It was Hannah who told him, her voice bitter. "Work makes you free," she said.
She looked up and couldn't recognize anyone in the room. Without their hair, all the women looked the same. "Gitl," she cried out, speaking the one name she recalled. "Gitl, where are you?" Her voice cracked and, without meaning to, she began to sob almost soundlessly.
"Gitl?" she whispered to the stranger with the shaved head who was holding her. "Yes, child," Gitl answered. "But promise me you will cry no more before these monsters. We will never cry again." "Never," Hannah agreed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and feeling stronger because of the promise. "Never."