The Holocaust- Creative Writing


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My name is Eva Berlinski. I’m only 13 years old and I was brought up
in a Jewish family in Germany. My family and I were sent off to a
ghetto in February of 1944. We have only been here for five months,
but it seems like five years. So many awful things have happened here.

First, the fence was finished, and nobody can go out or come in
anymore. Second, the Aryans who used to live in the area of the ghetto
all left during these few days to make place for the Jews. From today
on, we’re not in a ghetto anymore, but in a ghetto camp. On every
house, there is a notice which tells exactly what we’re not allowed to
do, signed by Gendarme Lieutenant-Colonel Peterffy, commander of the
ghetto camp. Everything here is forbidden, but the most awful thing of
all is that the punishment for everything is death. There is no
difference between things; no standing in the corner, no spankings, no
food taken away, no yellings, nothing at all. The lightest and
heaviest punishment – death.

The gendarmes once came into the house and took all the food we
brought along from the pantry, and we go to bed at 9 p.m. every night,
and from now on we are supposed to get up at five o’clock in the
morning. This has also been ordered by the gendarmes who took
everything away from us.

I have no idea how things are going to be now. Every time I think that
this is the end, things couldn’t possibly be worse, and then I find
out that it’s always possible for everything to get worse, and it gets
even much more worse than I could ever imagine. Until now we had food,
but from now on, there won’t be anything to eat. No one here really
cares about starving. All they say is that if we stay alive, we will
be able to fix all of the problems. There is no way we could possibly
fix anything with the gendarmes in the way.

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We used to be able to walk
around inside the ghetto, and now we won’t be able to leave the house.
Every child could wash up in warm water in the bathtub, and now
they’ve taken all the wood from the basement, and we won’t be able to
heat water to wash in any more.

I once woke up in the middle of the night and overheard my aunt and
uncle talking. They work at a hospital and said that people aren’t
only beaten at Dreher, but also get electric shocks. My aunt said that
from Dreher, people are brought to the hospital bleeding at the mouth
and ears, and some of them also with teeth missing and the soles of
their feet swollen so that they can’t stand. All of a sudden I heard
someone getting up. It was my grandpa. He had overheard their
conversation as well, and decided to be a part of it. My grandpa said
that here in the ghetto, there are many people who commit suicide. In
the ghetto pharmacy, where my grandpa works, there is enough poison to
go around, and he gives it to the older people who ask for it. He
insisted that he and my grandma take a little, for their own good. At
that very moment, my heart began to beat faster and faster every
second. Nothing good could come out of that. I was terrified. My
grandpa could take some poison at the pharmacy, and never come home. I
know he wanted to take some for his own good, so he wouldn’t have to
suffer, but that was no good. Life will get better, I know it will, I
have a feeling it will. I heard my aunt weeping and crawled over to my
Grandpa’s mattress in the dark and said to him that with patience,
this can’t go on much longer. Grandma was awake as well and said that
she really didn’t want to die. She thought that we would live to see a
better world, and all those people who are now so inhuman and wicked
will soon be punished. I sure hope so. It has been nothing but hell
since I got here, and I am ready to go back home.


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