We left Lodz four days ago, in a cattle car filled with 102 other Jews. You couldn’t sit down for lack of room. An old woman tried to perch herself above the one bucket used as a latrine. She lost her balance and knocked it over, spilling its contents all over the floor and other people. When my father fell I had to beat others back to get him enough room to stand up again. No food. No water. The summer sun beat down on the railway car.

It rained the night before we arrived and we got some rainwater that had spilled off the roof. By the time we reached our destination 17 had died.

The cars stopped, and the door was opened. The light hurt your eyes, and the air smelled of smoke. The shouting began. “Hurry, Hurry, everyone out. Bring your belongings with you. Form two lines, men on the left, women and children on the right.” We moved, but not quickly.

Father said, “Now things will get better. They’ll put us to work. You’ll see it won’t be so bad. I’ve worked with Germans before. They’re a cultured people.”