Bergen-Belsen was hell on this earth, people were dying everywhere.  There was horrible starvation.  It was winter; we had to eat snow to survive.  I think my parents prayed for me. I found my two sisters at Bergen-Belsen.

 

I have been most steadfast in observing the Sabbath.  I rarely go out on Friday evenings, instead, I stay home to light the candles at sunset, to say the blessing, and to let the flame burn to the wicks’ end.  I would not miss Friday.  There’s something in me I cannot change.  It’s part of my life growing up.  This way I remember my parents. 

 

“As I strike the match I am reminded of my mother, Sara, performing the same ritual more than fifty years ago in Chmielnik.  Whenever I pray over the candles, I see a picture: my mother walking into Treblinka with Fishel on one side and Rachel on the other side.  I always see this without fail.  Each Friday, as I face the candle flames alone, I brush away my tears.”
(* Sonia Nothman’s story was written in Sara's Children: The Destruction of Chmielnik, by Suzan Esther Hagstrom, Sergeant Kirkland’s Press, 2001)

We should love not hate each other. Never lose hope.