We were still half starved from our time in the concentraction camps. Camps with the names like Bergen Belsen, Aushwitz, and other horrible names. Places that had become our personal hell.
Anyone who did not believe in hell before, believed after Bergen Belsen and Aushwitz, all because we were Jewish and wore those yellow stars.
There were others in those camps too, the disabled, murdered simply because they did not fit Hitlers standards, Christians, who dared helped those of us who were Jews.
Babies were ripped out of their parents arms and murdered, toddlers clung to Mothers legs, as they entered, not knowing they were about to enter the place where we were to die.
I should have died in those showers too, because I was only ten but I looked older than my years, and was strong.
By the time I left though all that strength was zapped from me, and I wondered how I had made it this far.
When we were liberated it was like a dream, but those of who left that day had no idea what we were coming home to.
Many of our families were all gone, murded in the showers, or dead from disease and starvation.
Still we clung to what little hope we had.
As soon as we were liberated, those yellow stars no longer defined us, but our tatoes were forver reminders of the hell we had endured.
To Be Continued