Day 1 - January 1942

Mama said to close my eyes and take a deep breath when I got scared. It would offer me a moment of distraction from whatever was making me upset. So, I counted as I inhaled, wishing the sounds would go away and leave us to the little freedom we had left. With my eyes closed, I was more aware of my racing pulse and the rhythmic sound of my unsteady breaths.

The clothes covering my body smelled of clean soap—a scent I had always enjoyed after Mama and I brought the dry laundry in from the clothesline outside. I knew at that moment that I wanted to remember the fresh smell because it was home, and that’s what they were there for—our home.

Heavy footsteps on the creaking floors sent shivers through my soul. I heard them moving through the darkness of our small house, then a beam from a flashlight bounced off the walls and worked its way through the makeshift cloth doors I was hiding behind.

“Their plates are half full, and the food is still warm,” one of them said. “They're in here somewhere.” As the voices continued, I heard one of them chewing the food Mama had just prepared for us. It made me sick.

We knew the day was coming, but we didn't know when. I had foolishly suggested we run away and hide, but Mama and Papa said it wasn't a possibility because there was no place to hide.

We were stalling, hoping for a miracle, but there had been no miracles in Prague for quite some time, and the hope we once held onto was fading by the minute.

As I listened, feeling helpless and full of fear, I could hear them in Jakob's room, tossing his books and tearing his drawings down from the walls. Then, a loud crash followed the smaller sounds. A tear skated down my cheek as imagined the noise had come from his bureau or bed.

A groan followed every bang, and wrestling noises ensued. “No, no,” Jakob screamed.

“Who else lives here with you?” a man asked.

“No, one,” Jakob shouted. “I live alone.”

Jakob was a little less than two years older than I, and at nineteen, he was trying to protect our family from what was happening, but even the smartest and bravest couldn't seem to conquer the army of Nazis hunting us down.

“You're a liar.” The man continued yelling at Jakob in a thick German accent that was hardly understandable, but then I clearly heard the man follow with, “I can see the nervous look in your eye.” Our walls were thin, and I heard every one of Jakob’s nervous breaths. He always had trouble breathing in stressful conditions, and that situation was making it so much worse.

The sounds of wrestling continued and I squeezed my eyes shut while trying to imagine being somewhere else, but it was impossible to block out the truth.

Papa stormed through the hallway, interrupting the interrogation in Jakob’s bedroom. I knew it was him by the way his shoes clapped against the wooden floors—it was different from the sound of a boot's thud. “Let go of my son, now!” Papa yelled. “Jakob, run!”

“He was lying,” one of the Nazi's said again—the man’s voice was calm and apathetic about the torment he was causing our family. “How many more of you are in here?”

“There is no one else here,” Papa said. “Take me and leave my son; he is of no use to you.”

“You're a liar too,” the Nazi said, playfully, as if he were enjoying the anguish. I didn’t know how many of those soldiers were in our house, but I was sure I heard at least three different voices.

Boots charged through the hallway, and as the echoes grew louder, I realized they must have known exactly where I was hiding. They were heading straight for me.

The cloth hanging in front of my closet’s opening were torn from the rod as the glow of their flashlights pierced through the fabric that was still draped over me.

I was kicked hard—hard enough that I may have normally squealed or let out a cry, but I held my breath through the pain, trying my best to be brave. “What is under here?” a man questioned. I felt as though I was being teased and toyed with, just as Papa was. It continued to be a game for them as the clothes were peeled away, one article at a time, until I was uncovered and exposed as I cowered in the corner while their light blinded me.

My racing heart felt as though it were free-falling through my body like a lead weight, and I felt numb as I was pulled up to my feet. Fear, unlike anything I had ever known overwhelmed all my senses, making it hard to breathe. A hand cuffed my arm tightly and the soldier yanked me forward, forcing me to trip over my dress as I stumbled to keep up with his pace. “No!” I shrieked. “Leave us alone!”

“Do not fight with us, Jew. Grab a coat and a bag. You’re coming with us.”

“I have a right to be here! This is our home, and you are trespassing.” Papa often told me that my mouth would get me into trouble someday, but if that were the day, I would rather it be because I was trying to protect my family versus giving in without a fight.

“You no longer have any rights. You are a Jew—you're nothing more than an animal.” The Nazi stared down at me, pausing before dragging me out the door. His lip snarled as if he were an angry dog. I couldn’t understand what I did to make anyone hate me that much. He didn’t know me or my family. He didn’t know any of us living in that town, but he hated us because someone told him to feel that way.

“I am a human being, like you.” I spoke so softly, my words were probably inaudible, but I had to say it. He needed to hear how I felt, even if it meant nothing to him.

Despite my efforts, however, it was obvious my words had no effect on him. All that seemed to matter was that he knew I was weaker than him, and I didn’t have the physical strength to resist his power as he pulled me out of my house. He dragged me by my heels behind him as we followed in the path of Papa and Jakob.

“Please,” I heard Mama cry out. “Please don’t take my family.”

“Mama, go back inside,” I shouted at her.

“Let my children go!” she shouted. “Those are my babies. I put them on this earth, and you cannot take them away from me. They’re mine!”

“They are not children or babies,” one of the Nazis said.

“Let them go, you monsters!” she shouted louder as she tried to jump on the man pulling me. She clawed at his back, pounding her fists against him, but did little, if any, damage. “Run, Amelia. Run!” Mama told me.

The Nazi soldier didn’t loosen his grip on me for a second. I could have pulled as hard as I wanted to, but he had me trapped. “I can’t get away, Mama.”

Another Nazi took hold of Mama and dragged her away. I watched over my shoulder as she was pushed down to her knees while cradling her hands around the back of her head.

I prayed to God, begging him not to let them hurt her.

“Amelia, turn around and go!” she cried out. I had never heard Mama cry before then, not once in my entire life.

I cried softly to myself, begging them not to touch her. I kept saying, “No,” over and over, but none of them heard me. No one cared.

The world froze around me and a cold sweat coated my skin as that Nazi screamed a line of obscenities at Mama before pulling out his gun. I watched as he aimed it at the back of her head, and again, I prayed he was just trying to torture and scare her, but the sound of a loud click changed that thought. “Mama!” I screamed. “I love you, Mama. Please, don’t hurt her!”

“Amelia,” she sobbed, looking up at me. “Fight and be strong. For me.”

“Mama, no,” I whimpered as the blast from the gun thumped against the inside and outside of my chest. I tried to escape the hands pushing me along, but when I saw Mama fall, crumpling to the ground like a rag doll, I froze in place—I felt paralyzed. “Mama, please don't leave me!” It didn’t matter how much I begged. My voice wasn’t heard, and if it was, it was ineffective and too late.

Brokenhearted and shattered, I was shoved into the back of a line of other Jews who were also being shuttled down the cobblestone street.

I stumbled backwards, watching as blood sprayed from the side of Mama's head, painting the old cobblestones burgundy as her life poured out of her and trickled down the street.

I cried silently among the gasps of surrounding bystanders. I thought maybe I had imagined it, but no matter how many times I blinked, the scene was still in front of me.

She was gone and there was nothing left of her.

Tears filled my eyes as agony shuddered through my chest. I just watched Mama die—she was murdered. I tried to swallow but my throat was drier than sandpaper.

She was just trying to protect us, but without mercy or a chance for real goodbyes, they took her from me. There was no sense of humanity among the soldiers. Just as we had heard thousands of times before: as far as Hitler and his army were concerned…Jews were nothing.

As we were herded like sheep, I leaned to the side, looking for Papa and Jakob. I caught Papa’s gaze as he was muttering words to himself. I assumed he was praying and reciting the Mourner’s Kaddish for Mama, but it was only a brief second before he was pushed around the corner. His eyes looked empty as if all the life had been sucked out of him.

Mama and Papa had been married for twenty-two years. They were as happy as two people could be together, and in the timeframe of a few minutes, our family had been torn apart, and Mama was dead. While realization consumed me, a hollow feeling in my chest engulfed my entire body, I pulled at the collar of my dress beneath my coat, tearing the material in an expression of my grief. Since I had never lost someone close to me, I’d never had cause to do so before, but as I felt the threads tear, I immediately understood the purpose and meaning behind the Jewish tradition. It was like a reflection of what was happening inside me—I felt my heart shredding to pieces just like the cloth, as if it were made from nothing more than a thin piece of paper.

Adding to my devastation, the fear of where they were taking us bled through me as I continued to pray it was all a nightmare.

A hand squeezed my shoulder, and a woman's voice whispered into my ear. It was as if that woman were placed in that spot at that moment just to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. “You need to stay alive. You must stop crying. I understand your pain, but your mama would want you to be strong now. Do it for her.”

The woman kept her hand on my shoulder as we continued to shuffle behind the line of others. It gave me little comfort, but at least I wasn’t alone.

I knew I wasn't the only one who wanted to know where we were going. Despite being told that there would be shelter for us once the Nazis took over our homes, no one knew where the shelter was.

When the line stopped moving, I was no longer able to see anything happening in front of, or behind me. The sun had set, and the streetlights weren't bright enough to offer much visibility.

I needed to be with Papa and Jakob, and I wanted to stop shaking both from the cold and the utter horror I had witnessed. I couldn't stop thinking about Mama and the fact that she was probably still sprawled out in the middle of the street in front of our family's home, lifeless and alone.

There was a time when we had everything, or so it seemed, but in the blink of an eye, everything changed. Nothing would ever be normal again. Carefree, happy days had already been taken from us several months earlier, but I knew then that the hope of finding those times again were gone forever. I needed Mama; she was my best friend, the closest person in my life, and the one who was always there for me—even during her last moments. I did everything I could to hold back the tears. The pain was unbearable as I kept visualizing that scene of Mama’s murder repeatedly playing out in my mind. What was she thinking right before that man shot her? Did she know she was going to die? Did she suffer, or had she died instantly? I prayed she didn’t live long enough to feel the agonizing pain. I prayed she went to heaven peacefully and quickly. Then, there was a part of me was envious of her because she didn’t have to go on with a broken heart like the rest of us would.

I closed my eyes to block out my surroundings, but all I could see behind my eyelids were blurry pools of blood and splattered red blotches painting a landscape of death. There was no way to escape. I wanted to drop to the ground and scream and cry, but I was too scared. It was so hard to hold it all in, and accompanying my pain was a mortal fear beyond words.

The woman who stood behind me tugged at my shoulder that she was still holding onto, forcing me to turn around and face her. She was young, maybe just a few years older than I was, but she was pregnant and cradling her belly with her free hand. “Are you okay?” the woman asked.

“No,” I whispered. No one was okay. We were all freezing, waiting for whatever the soldiers had in store for us.

The only sounds within the narrow alleyway were heavy breaths from the others, along with a light breeze that blurred the line between reality and hell.

“Do you know where we are going or what they have planned for us?” I asked the woman I was facing. She shook her head as she pulled her wool coat tightly over her protruding belly. “No. They came in, raided our house, and forced us out,” she said.

“Are you alone?” I asked her, wondering if I was the only unlucky one to be separated from my family.

She twisted her head to the right and took a man's hand—I assumed he was her husband—and pulled him up alongside her. “It’s the two—well, three of us, God willing,” she said. “What about you?”

Once again, I looked for any sight of Papa or Jakob, but I didn't see them anywhere. “My Papa and older brother are up ahead in the line,” I told her. “But my Mama was—”

The woman placed her hand on my cheek and hushed me. “I know.” Her kindness forced a wave of emotion to unravel within me. A lump caught in my throat, but I managed to pull in a bit of air with the hope of maintaining control. I knew I couldn't cry. Along with being terrified that those heartless men would try to make an example of me just as they did with Mama, I also knew I couldn't let them see how much they had taken from me.

The woman lowered her hand to mine and squeezed it tightly. “I'm Leah,” she said, peacefully. She was like a brave angel.

“My name is Amelia,” I told her in the same soft tone.

“We have to be strong, Amelia. That’s all we can do right now.”

The meaning of strong had rapidly changed throughout the previous hour. Before that first day, being strong meant holding in my tears when I scraped my knee as a child, or learning to keep my chin up when a boy at school would tease me. I was strong when Grandmother passed away, knowing she had lived a long, fulfilling life. At that moment in time, though, I didn't know how to be strong—not after watching Mama murdered in cold blood.

The worst part was that I had no idea how much stronger I would need to become in the coming weeks.