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One memory that has been etched indelibly in my mind is the sight of the Nazi army marching toward Russia. Our house was located on the main road leading to the Russian frontier. Day and night they marched - soldiers, trucks, tanks, and more soldiers, in a never-ending line - an invincible force. I remember my father, holding me in his arms, saying to my mother, "Who is going to stop them? Certainly not the Russians."
One night, my father had a dream. In this dream he saw what he had to do: where to build the bunker, how to build it, and even its dimensions.
He would build a bunker under a wooden storage shed behind the house. It would be covered with boards, on top of which would be placed soil and bits of straw to render it invisible. To camouflage the entrance, he would construct a shallow box and fill it with earth and straw. Air would be supplied through a drain pipe buried in the earth. This was to be our Noah's Ark that would save us from the initial deluge.
It took my father three weeks to finish the job. When he was done, he took my mother and sister into the shed and asked them if they could find the trap door. When they could not, he was satisfied.
My mother prepared dry biscuits, jars of jam made out of beets, some tinned goods such as sardines, some sugar and salt. We placed two buckets in the bunker. One was filled with water, the other would serve as the latrine. We also took down some blankets, a couple of pillows and some warm clothing. We were ready.
For three long years, starting in 1941 when the Nazis started the deportations and mass killings, we hid in secret bunkers, dug in fields, under sheds and houses, or constructed in barn lofts. It seems the only way a Jew could survive in wartime Poland was to become invisible. So we became invisible Jews.
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By Amazon Customer on 04-26-18
Surviving not the camps, but being in hiding!
This is a touching WW2 memoir, not of the camps, but of cleverly (and with some providential circumstances!) avoiding detection for years -becoming invisible! Seen through the eyes of a young child, unlike many WW2 memoires, this one had humor, both dark and light.
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