How do I even start to talk about something that almost got me killed? Well, maybe I should start from when I last remember. I was in a very bad place where the Germans put us Jews called the ghetto. The Warsaw Ghetto. We were trapped in a little section of town. They fenced us in to apartments with absolutely no color. The walls were beaten and bland. Everything looked the same, all the buildings and streets seemed to blend together. My next door neighbor that went by the name Jacob Smakowski, I think it was. He was a small boy only about the age of 8. He told me that he wanted to record everything that happened to him during his time in the ghetto. I told him “that is a lovely idea”, then he smiled at me and went on his merry way.
A week may have passed by the time the Germans came. Of course I was 10, I didn't know what to do with myself. Suddenly, my mother grabbed my arm and took me to an apartment below us. People flooded in and out of the apartment unit carrying guns. My mother took a gun and said “here! Fight for your life.” I didn't question her or how these people got the guns. I followed the people, as we ran against the Germans firing our guns. I
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They’re days and nights of loud BANGS coming from each side. Lots of people dead on the side of the street, lined up one by one. The number of them grows each day. Until one day the Germans were tired of us. On the date April 28, 1943, the number of them grew by thousands, plus they brought a tank. Us Jews retreated back into the depths of the Ghetto, still shooting, we ran. It seemed like nothing can hit us, no bullet, no nothing. Until I see in the corner of my eye, I see Jacob fall. I stop to help him, but before I could, some grabs me and runs holding me.
Soon after they take the rest of the Jews, including me to concentration camps or to gas chambers. For me I was lucky I sent the rest of the war in concentration camp, moving every once in