Chapter 1

I was scared. Petrified.  I didn’t know where I was; I could barely breathe.  Gas fumes filled the air in the distance, and flames were shooting out of chimneys; I heard gunshots everywhere I turned.  I was looking around, trying to see where we were.  It was hard because it was so dark and cloudy, thunder rumbling in the distance.  I looked above my head to discover a sign that read Arbeit Macht Frei, meaning work will set you free.  Just then, it occurred to me exactly where I was.  Auschwitz concentration camp.  I was surrounded by jews screaming and crying with fear and pain, and I thought to myself, Why are we here?!  I began to panic.

It was a pleasant, chilly and serene evening in our hometown in Germany.  I was playing with my little sister Jayla in our yard, and my parents were chatting, watching us.

“Cynthia!” Jayla called to me.  I turned around to reply to her.  But all of a sudden, someone had come up behind me and grabbed my wrist.  I turned around to see a German Nazi had grabbed my wrist.

I began screaming.  “HELP!” I shouted. 

I’m coming!” my father yelled.  He was coming after me, but another Nazi snatched him too.  Then my mother and sister were grabbed as well, all of us yelling for help.  And we were all segregated. 

But we weren’t the only ones.  Soon enough, you could hear jews all over town shouting for help. 

“Why are you doing this?!”

“Where are you taking me?!”

“Let me go!”

 People were shouting things like this at the Nazis.  Not only were we afraid, we were angry when we found out where we were when we got there. 

We were packed into small, dirty, old tram cars.  None of us knew where we were going. 

After hours on a foul-smelling tram car, we were shoved off and found ourselves at the entrance of Auschwitz concentration camp,  surrounded by people in pain, screaming and crying.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.           

Minutes later, I was shoved into a dark and cold barracks.  The room was small, bunks all lined up in a row.  A revolting and sickening smell lingered in the air.

“This is atrocious!” I exclaimed. What is Hitler’s problem?! Cramming us like this?!”

“You don’t know why we are here?” a woman replied. She looked very young, maybe her early twenties.  She was scrawny and frail and seemed somewhat timid.   “Hitler thinks it was our fault that the Germans lost the first world war, and this is his way of getting back at us jews. He has a grudge on us now.  But I agree. It is not going to solve any problems.”

It was already late, everyone in my barracks was cold and tired, so we got into our bunks.  I thought about my parents and Jayla; what was going to happen to them?  Eventually, my eyes grew heavy, and I fell asleep. 

The next day, I woke up before everyone else, except for another young woman, the one who had told me why we were here last night.  I introduced myself quietly to her, being careful not to disturb anyone else’s sleep.

“I’m Cynthia,”  I whispered to her. 

“Hello, Cynthia, I’m Amanda.  Nice to meet you.”

“Are you alright?” I asked her.  “You look so worried.” Tears filled her eyes.

“Of course I’m worried!” she replied. “I’m all alone, without my family, we are all at risk of dying!” She was weeping now.

“I’m sorry,”  I said.  I’m still not perceiving all of the information on why we are here.” 

Just then, a  German Nazi made the door fly open and woke up everyone else in the barracks.  He was tall.  He explained to us extremely fast what our routine was going to be.  We had to organize the bed straw, go outside for a lineup and march to forced labor, labor for hours at a time, eat our daily meal, return to camp for another lineup at the end of the day, and then go back to the barracks. 

Later that day, I was at forced labor in the scorching hot sun, digging up dirt from the ground with an old, nasty, worn out shovel when I heard the familiar shriek of a little girl.  I turned around to see Jayla being dragged to a cremation center across the field. At first I didn’t even recognize her.  My poor little five year old sister.  She was scratched and bruised, and she looked terrible.  I knew if I said anything or called to her I would be executed as well.  For me, watching her struggle and scream with fear felt just as painful as being burned alive or suffocating in a gas chamber.  It was so hard to watch. She disappeared after about a minute or so. I looked up at the chimney to see bursts of flames streaming out. The last time I would ever see her in my life was in this dreadful place; the last time I would see her, she was suffering.   I felt like I had just been stabbed in the heart and pushed to the ground.  My heart filled with sorrow and pain as I began crying softly.   I would never see her again.

I was all alone and terrified.  I was on edge, having the strong feeling that I wouldn’t make it out of this alive. 

-Isabel Jurena