A Short Summary On The Holocaust

The Holocaust (1933-1944) was the period in which Adolf Hitler and his followers, the Nazi Party, systematically killed people of “inferior” races. Jews were one of their main targets. The German dictator believed that Jewish people should be removed from the face of the planet so the Aryan race would remain pure. Some methods of extermination were gas chambers or mass execution. This story tells the tale of one survivor of the Holocaust and what she went through in her fight for freedom.

Her thin, frail hand shook as it dragged the coverlet up to her granddaughter’s chin. It paused for a moment to rest gently on the young girl’s feverish forehead. Her lips, wrinkled
and puckered with age, formed a slight curve as she smiled fondly upon the beautiful child. How lucky my grandchild is to be here today, she thought to herself. On nimble feet, the old woman crept to the open door of the bedroom without a whisper of noise. She may have been old, but years of living in silence had made her graceful and as dainty as a mouse.
She paused at the entrance to glance back one last time at the dark-haired child. Just as she was about to turn off the light, a weak voice called out, “Grammy, you promised you would tell me a story tonight.”
The aging woman sighed, though not resentfully. The face she wore had once been beautiful, and if a person looked closely into her misty eyes, they would be able to see the tiny flicker of a fire that had been a roaring flame when she was younger. Her body was thin from malnutrition and starvation, but her limbs were strong from grueling work. She quietly made her way back to the bedside.
“My dear, you are ill tonight. I will tell you one tomorrow,” she said. Her voice was rough, and no louder than a breath of wind.
“But Grammy, you promised!” The young girl squirmed to get into a comfortable position, indicating that she would not go to sleep without a bedtime story.
The corners of the old lady’s mouth turned up slightly, and she reached to smooth out a lump in the pink blanket. “Very well,” she stated, pulling up an ancient chair. “What would you like to hear?”
The child’s bright brown eyes shone happily in the dim light and her dark curls bounced with joy. “Tell me a fairy tale, with princes and princesses in it.”
The tiny spark in the grandmother’s eyes suddenly burst into flame. Her voice became low and intense. “I will tell you a story about a princess. She lived a long time ago, during a horrible event. Her father was only a poor carpenter, but in her eyes, he was a king. Now, how do most fairy tales begin?” She twisted a piece of wispy gray hair between her twig-like fingers as she thought. “Oh yes. It’s, ‘Once upon a time…’”

“Mother,” Chana Cohen called. “Mother, the water’s boiling!”
“Hush, Chana,” her mother scolded softly as she rose from her seat at the rickety kitchen table. “Dr. Kleiman may have a patient downstairs.”
Chana scowled. She hated having to live in silence with no visitors or sunshine. On Chana’s thirteenth birthday three years ago, the Cohen family had gone into hiding when a young doctor had offered to shelter them in the attic of his office. Shortly afterward, the S.S. arrived at their house to find it completely bare. Chana hoped that when the war ended, they would be able to return home and continue with their lives.
Mrs. Cohen noticed her daughter moping around the kitchen and smiled slightly. “Why don’t you go bring a cup of water over to your father?” she whispered, shooing Chana with one hand while stirring peas into the pot with a ladle held in her other hand. “You may as well be useful while I prepare dinner.”
Chana sighed and poured water from the pitcher on the table into a dusty glass. Then, cup in hand, she flounced over to where her father lay on the moth-eaten mattress. Several tufts of cotton poked themselves out of holes in the mattress as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
“Ah, there’s my beautiful Princess.” Mr. Cohen grinned weakly.
Chana smiled and set the glass down on the mahogany side table that he had built and perched on the edge of the bed. Her nickname was a secret kept between them. When she was younger, she would pretend that she was a princess and her house was her castle. Sometimes, Chana wished she could retreat into herself and become the imaginative young girl she once was.
“Father, when will the war end?”
A dark shadow passed over the sick man’s face. “No one is sure. I hope that it will end soon, but who knows how long it may draw out. All we can do right now is wait.” His eyes closed and exhaled gently, as though speaking had exhausted him. Chana rose from her seat and went to help set the table. Unfortunately, the next day would not be as peaceful as either of them had hoped.

A high-pitched scream split the cold morning air. Chana’s brown eyes flew open with shock, but she did not move from where she lay on her bed. Her glance slid over to where her mother stood frozen, kettle in her hand, her face pale and spirit-like.
“They are here,” Mrs. Cohen whispered.
Chana's heart beat at a sickening pace and the room seemed to swim before her eyes. No, she thought, this can’t be.
All of a sudden, a deep, resonant voice came through the open window. “Jews out!” it shouted. “All Jews out!”
Bella closed her eyes trying to wake up from the horrible dream. She pictured herself in a castle, in a world where she did not have to hide in fear of death. She was wearing a beautiful blue gossamer gown and a tiara of sparkling gemstones on her dark hair. She was a princess, with hundreds of servants at her command. The false conception of reality lasted for a while, only to be broken by a deafening pounding on the front door. Her breath came in gasps as she strained to hear the conversation downstairs. She looked at her father and noticed that his eyes were open. They stared at the ceiling, looking hopeless and empty.
“Are you hiding any Jews in here?” the same deep voice asked the doctor.
Chana could not catch Dr. Kleiman’s reply. However, after another short sentence from the man at the door, there was the unmistakable sound of boots climbing the stairs to the attic. The kettle slid from Mrs. Cohen’s limp hands with a tremendous crash. The door burst open and a large officer stood in the doorway. His huge frame seemed to fill the entire room as he briskly strode into the room.
“All of you, get out! Now!” he commanded, and proceeded to grab Mrs. Cohen by her hair and drag her out the door.
Chana screamed and jumped out of bed, but her father was quicker. He steadied his wife as the man roughly pulled her down the wooden stairs. The Nazi officer released her as soon as they reached the ground floor, but he continued to the front door without even looking back.

The family had no choice, now that their existence had been betrayed by Dr. Kleiman. As they passed through the sitting room, the doctor rose from where he had been anxiously wringing his hands. He approached Mr. Cohen, who refused to talk.
“He offered me a large sum of money for each person, Mr. Cohen,” Dr. Kleiman cried despairingly. “You know how little I make each month.” But the rest of his useless apology trailed off as the family silently strolled past him. They held their heads high and proud, and a stranger looking in on the scene might perceive them as a royal family that happened to be dressed in tattered rags.
The brisk autumn wind slammed Chana in the face like a barrier as she stepped out of the house. The chill crawled down the back of her neck like a large, icy spider. Down the entire street, she could see a few residents being chased out of their houses as well. Some, like her, were still dressed in their night clothes.
“Jews into the van!” a Nazi soldier barked.
All of them were pushed towards the granite colored van that was approaching from one end of the street. Chana ran bare-footed across the pebbled ground and into the truck. The men urged them on and did not hesitate to hit them if they lagged. Chana clung tightly to her parents’ hands as the family climbed into the open back.
Mr. Cohen stumbled as he clambered up, but Chana grabbed his arm and pulled him up before he could be trampled by the other terrified people that were stampeding into the dark compartment. The iron mesh that formed the floor of the truck cut into Chana’s feet and made them bleed as they were packed into the corner, but she bit back her cries of pain as more and more people crowded in.
How many people can fit into this single truck? she found herself thinking. Just then, the doors shut and all the lights in Chana’s world went out. No matter how far into the future she gazed, all she saw was despair. How could they possibly get out of this alive when Death itself was lurking around the corner, waiting to strike? She could feel its presence in the tight grasp of her mother’s hand, and she could hear its cold, rattling breath in the sound of the truck’s wheels on the gravel road. Chana saw Death everywhere, and all hope drained out of her.

After what seemed like years, the vehicle finally stopped. The doors were flung open and the prisoners of the gray van poured out into the harsh sunshine. Chana shielded her eyes and observed her surroundings. She was shocked to see that they had arrived at a train station with hundreds of scared looking people waiting in a long line. A female soldier stood at the front, directing individuals into two groups. A man garbed in a Nazi uniform shoved them forward and they were swallowed by the mass of bodies.
“Stay together,” Mr. Cohen cautioned, holding tightly onto his small family. “We cannot be separated.”
As they moved up in the line, a message was passed from the front. Left meant life, while the right meant certain death. Chana watched in horror as families were separated. Older men and women, the sick, the disabled – they all went to the right. All too soon, the family was at the front. The woman surveyed the three of them with cold eyes.
“One too old, one too old and sick,” the woman muttered. She pointed Chana’s parents to the right and Chana to the left.
“No!” the word ripped itself out of Chana’s throat. Mrs. Cohen rushed to embrace her daughter one last time, burying her face in Chana’s long hair. Tears streamed down both of their faces as Mrs. Cohen whispered, “Farewell.”
Then brutal hands ripped them apart and Chana lost sight of her mother. She was shoved towards a train that had pulled into the station. The doors of the cars were opened. More darkness, Chana thought to herself, as the empty boxes stood gaping before their eyes. I can not stand the dark anymore.
“Get in!” a Nazi commanded, and there was a massive surge of people who wanted to get into the cars before the guards decided to become violent. Chana fought against the current. She was afraid of being trapped, and the empty cars seemed to her like the open mouths of ravenous dragons.
“What are you waiting for, you filthy Jew?” An officer came up behind her and raised his hand, as if to strike her.
Chana winced. She tried to picture herself in her imaginary kingdom. The train is my ride, she convinced herself. It is coming to bring me to a royal ball. In her mind, the dim wooden car became a shimmering white coach, pulled by snowy horses. The coach was laced with gold designs and beautiful patterns shaped like leaves. Chana felt herself take a step forward, and then another. Arms reached out of the darkness to help her into the car. She stumbled into the shadowy prison, and the doors slid shut behind her, closing off her only escape. The fairy tale image disappeared, leaving lost and frightened Chana to fend for herself.

The press of bodies was stifling in the airless gloom. Chana fought her way to a corner of the wooden compartment, where there was a little more space.
“Are we dead?” she heard a terrified voice call out from the other side.
“No,” someone replied. “If we were dead there would be more room to move around in.”
There wasn’t even enough space to sit down, so Chana just wrapped her arms around herself and burst into tears. She missed her parents so much that her stomach hurt. She felt a void growing inside her, as if a piece of her soul was missing. In the darkness, she thought that no one would notice the young girl, still dressed in her bedclothes, crying her eyes out in the corner. But then someone did.
“Shh, please stop your crying,” a soft, strangely familiar voice reached her ears and thin arms wound around Chana’s shaking body. “We will make it out alive. Do not be afraid. We will make it out.”
Chana turned her face and sobbed into the stranger’s shoulder. The floor jolted and many people lost their footing, only to be propped up by people around them. They had begun their journey into the unknown. Chana huddled in the arms of the stranger, watching the sunlight flicker through a crack in the wood that was as thin as a strand of spider silk. It was the only indication of life through the entire ride. She could not tell how long they remained in the car, but it was long enough for the sun to go down once and come up again.

Finally, the train came to a screeching halt on the metal tracks. The stranger’s arms released her, and the doors opened. Chana was blinded by the brilliant light and had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted. Those who had survived the ride filed into the open air. The rest were dragged out.
“Welcome to Auschwitz, dogs,” a voice called out in German.
Chana glanced up at the iron gates. After all that she had experience up until then, those gates were the most forbidding. It was the beginning of the end, Chana decided at that moment.
As they shuffled through the gate, Chana frantically looked for the person that had comforted her on the train. She listened to the different voice around her, trying to pick out the soft sweet voice she remembered. It was hopeless. There were too many people and voices in the crowd around her.
The camp was a menacing place. The compound was surrounded by a high fence and topped with barbed wire that sparkled in the sunlight like thorns. There were rows of barracks that stretched as far as Chana could see. Guards stood on either side of the gate, examining the frightened people that passed through. My prison, she thought. No, my castle.
“Women to the right, men to the left!” The soldiers were separating them into two groups again. Women and children screamed, men called out good byes, and the world seemed to erupt into chaos.
Chana followed the flow this time, for she had no one to lose. The women were roughly shoved into a large room, where they were forced to strip off their clothes and throw them into the large piles of garments that had already been collected.
“Leave all your valuables behind,” they were ordered. “You will not need them anymore.”
Chana’s face turned red in embarrassment as she saw all the bare flesh around her, and furiously thought to herself, First they take away our rights. Then they take away our families. Now they take away our pride. What next?

She was directed toward a chair where a woman waited with a pair of shears. A few seconds later, all of Chana’s beautiful, brown hair fell to the ground and was added to the mounds of hair that were accumulating. Black, brown, blonde – it did not matter. Everything was cut off.
“Hurry, to the showers!” They were thrust into an immense room filled with showers. The shower above Chana’s head turned on and a burst of water hit her in the face. The bitter cold woke up her senses and brought her out of her daze.
“This can’t be happening,” Chana murmured.
The water turned off and they all rushed out of the room. In the chilly air, the guards handed them each a piece of clothing to cover themselves. Chana received a long, sack-like tunic that fell to her knees when she put them on.
“Ha!” someone scoffed. “So we aren’t being treated like animals yet.” The woman who spoke out was cuffed over the head and sent tumbling to the ground.
“Chana?” a familiar voice called out. “Chana is that really you?”
Chana whirled around and found a pair of brown eyes staring at her. She did not recognize the girl’s face, but it was the voice that had made her start in surprise. It was the girl from the train, who had held Chana and told her that they would make it out alive. How does she know my name? Chana wondered.
“Chana, it is me, Maya!” the girl cried. “I knew I saw you at the station!”
The name stirred up a long forgotten memory, one that occurred before the Cohen family had gone into hiding. Chana gasped. Maya was her best friend from school. They had been friends ever since they met at the age of six.
“Maya, it is you!” Chana flung her arms around Maya’s neck, and the girls clung to each other, weeping with joy. Now that they were together, Chana’s life didn’t seem quite so bad.

Then, all the women were assigned to different barracks, and Chana lost sight of Maya. She blindly ran into the wooden building she was assigned to. As she stepped through the entrance, she was met with ghostly sunken eyes and malnourished bodies. The people that lay on the shelf-like bunks looked like corpses. Perhaps some were already dead.
“Maya, are you here?” Chana called out tentatively.
“Chana! Oh thank goodness we are in the same building.” Maya ran to her with open arms. Even though she had not eaten or slept for a while, amid the skeletons of dying women Maya looked as healthy as ever.
The two girls slid into an empty bunk to get some rest, for they did not know when the next chance would be. Chana closed her eyes and dreamed that she was far away from this horrible reality, in her own castle. She was a princess again, sleeping on her feather stuffed mattress and not on a hard, stiff plank.
“Everyone out!” a German voice cried, bringing Chana back into a nightmare that was all too real. Everybody scrambled from their bunks and hurried outside. They were arranged into two groups – the new arrivals and the older prisoners. Chana’s group was addressed by a cruel-looking woman outfitted in a rigid suit with her hair in a severe bun. The walking corpses mutely looked on.
“You have no names here, understood?” the woman barked. “The only identification you will have will be the number given to you shortly. You must remember your number. Remember your number, because your life could depend on it.”
Chana saw the woman’s eyes flick up to the distant columns of smoke rising into the air. Others noticed it too and began to converse among themselves.
“What does the smoke mean?” she heard someone ask. Chana had an idea, but she hoped she was wrong.
The guard had realized that her audience wasn’t so quiet anymore. “Quiet!” she ordered. Silence fell like a stone.
“You will only speak when spoken to. Here in Auschwitz, you have no rights. Here you are lower than the dirt you tread on, and you do not deserve what pity we give you. One false move and you will be up in smoke. Is that clear?”
No one answered. They were all sent back inside after receiving their numbers. 20812, Chana repeated to herself. 20812. I will remember my number, but I will not give up my name, because it is the only connection to humanity that I have left.

And so, grueling life in the concentration camp began. Perhaps one would associate it more with death, because no aspect of it even hinted that the inhabitants of the camp were alive. It was as if happiness was forbidden. No one ever laughed or smiled. No one waved at each other or stopped to chat if they passed one another.
Meals were given to them two times a day, if they were lucky. If the guards remembered. The first time, when they lined up for food, it was hot, mushy soup and dirty water. When it was Chana’s turn for food, the guard splashed the soup all over her, getting more of the scalding soup on her arms than in her bowl.
“Next time, hold your bowl steadier,” the guard growled, sneering as Chana flinched. She made no sound and merely licked the foul-tasting soup off her arms as she retreated.
Work was possibly the most dismal part of the day. Chana, Maya, and some other women were sent to a factory to make uniforms for German soldiers. Day in and day out, they sat at their sewing machines and pieced the uniforms together. They labored until their fingers bled, until their backs screamed in pain and begged them to stop. Chana felt like a circus animal, beaten and starved until she did what her master commanded.

The man who ran the place made it the most unbearable. He appeared only slightly older than many of the girls working in the factory, but his temper was atrocious. The man would swing his club wildly around if he didn’t think that the workers were trying hard enough. “The Beast” was what she would call him behind his back. On days when he mistreated them, Chana would come back to the barracks and collapse into her bunk, crying.
There were some days where she could see a real human inside of him. Those days, he would carry his club loosely by his side, and he would stop to admire a piece of work that was well crafted. Chana began to incorporate him into her own fairy tale, think of him as a prince that had been bewitched by an evil sorceress into something hideous and appalling. The other women working in the factory had also been enchanted into being his minions and doing everything he asked. Chana imagined herself as the beautiful princess who had been sent to break the spell. It was her imagination and creative mind that helped her get through each day.

One night, after a long day of labor, Chana felt extremely homesick. She missed her mother and father terribly, although she knew she would never see them again. Tears ran down her face as she remembered how her mother had held her tightly and whispered a final, loving good bye into her ear.
Suddenly, the dark seemed too deep, and Chana knew that if she didn’t do something, she would go insane by the morning. She started to whisper a story to herself, just like her father did when she was young to make the shadows go away.

“Once upon a time,” she breathed into the gloom. Chana launched into a story that her father had made up, about a young princess who had strayed too far from her castle and had gotten lost. She met an old hag who turned out to be a handsome, bewitched prince. With each word, the black night became less heavy. The moon came from behind a cloud and its blue light filtered through the cracks of the building.
About half way through the story, Chana heard a strangle gasp from beside her. She reached out a hand and found that Maya’s face was wet with tears. Listening closely, she realized that most of the sleeping quarters had erupted into sniffles and sobs. The women were moved to tears by the simple story. Her own eyes swimming with sorrow, Chana took a shuddering breath and continued with her tale.
“And they lived happily ever after,” she finally finished after a while. The building had quieted down and snores filled the air. Chana felt her own eyelids closing and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Days in the camp turned into weeks, and then into months.
Chana would have lost track of the time if she hadn’t been marking the days on the post of her bunk. Each night before she went to sleep, Chana took a small blade she had stolen from the factory and cut a notch into the post by her bunk.
Throughout the time that they were there, the sick and the weak were constantly being replaced with new arrivals. When someone got sick or collapsed during work, they would disappear the next day and a new face would take their spot. Chana wondered whose place she had taken.
It was about four months into their imprisonment that Maya fell ill. The night had been the harshest yet, and many women had awoken to frostbitten feet. In the morning, Chana had reached out her arm to shake Maya awake and found her friend sweating and shivering.
“Maya?” she whispered. The other girl merely coughed and rolled over with a groan. “Maya, you have to wake up. Don’t go back to sleep or they might take you away.”
Maya shook her head and beckoned Chana closer. Chana leaned in to hear what Maya wanted to say.
“Chana,” Maya choked, “no matter what happens to me, you must live. You must live to tell both of our stories, along with everyone else who died. Promise me that you’ll live to do
that.”
“Don’t speak like that,” Chana begged, but she nodded in agreement.
“Here, I want you to take this for me.” Maya reached up to her neck and untied a thin cord.
Dangling from the string was a perfect, heart-shaped locket. It was made of metal, with intricate designs etched over it. Chana gasped.
“It was my grandmother’s gift to me,” Maya whispered, smiling slightly. “I hid it in my hand when we were told to undress and leave our belongings behind. I just couldn’t let this go, so I hid it. Now I want you to have it.” She tied the string around the back of Chana’s neck and then slumped back, her breathing labored.
“Now go to work, little Chana,” Maya breathed and closed her eyes. “I will follow you as soon as I can.” Chana nodded her head and slid quietly from the bunk. She ran out of the barracks, worry clouding her mind.
Every so often during that day, Chana would touch the pendent hanging at her neck. It dangled on the strand, safely tucked underneath her filthy tunic. Chana could not stop thinking about Maya. Each time the door opened and the Beast walked in, Chana would glance up from her work to see if it was her friend. But Maya never showed
up.
The day dragged on forever. By the time the sun finally set, Chana was shaking with fear. She bolted out of the factory and ran across the snow, her spidery legs churning. The rough cloth shoes that had been given to her hardly provided any protection from the icy cold, but Chana didn’t care. She raced towards the barracks, her heart beating at a frantic pace.
“Maya!” Chana cried when she entered the building. There was no response as she sprinted down the narrow aisle. When she finally reached the bunk that she and Maya shared, a terrible, empty platform met her eyes. There was no one there. Maya was gone.
The next few days, Chana felt lost and broken. A few women stared at her with sad, sympathetic eyes, but no one spoke to her. She rarely ate anything, and she eventually turned into a walking skeleton, like the women who had stayed at the camp for a long time.

It was six nights after her friend had disappeared that Chana encountered Maya in her dreams. Maya was healthy and plump, dressed in a clean skirt and a blouse. She was surrounded by all the people that Chana held close. Chana saw her mother and father, her grandparents, her friends. They all had the same scowl of disappointment written across their faces.
“You made a promise not only to me, but to all of us,” Maya announced. “You promised you would live. You promised to survive and tell our stories.”
“But it’s so hard to survive when I’m all alone,” Chana wanted to cry out, but her mouth refused to move.
“How could you do this to us?” the spirits of the dead wailed. “You broke your promise. Are you just going to give up and willingly join us?”
“No!” Chana tried to shout. “No, I’m not going to give up!”
But the ghosts of her friends and family had already faded into fog and Chana woke with a jolt. Since that dream, she began eating her share of food again. She worked hard so they wouldn’t think of getting rid of her. When night fell and everyone returned to their bunks, she would lie down and tell stories to everyone surrounding her. Most of the time, her words would cause the women to break down and cry like little children, but there were rare times when some would chuckle at a funny scene. Life began to be a happier place when Chana’s stories kept the demons at bay.

Chana had been at the camp for almost a year when bread started to appear at her work station. She didn’t question why it was there, because they rarely got any extra food except the repulsive soup. At first, she kept it all to herself, and felt her body grow in strength. Then, when the bread came everyday, she began to break it into pieces and share it with the workers around her. It was like a feast.
Chana did not figure out who their savior was until a month later, when the Beast called her into a side room.
“Chana,” the Beast began in a low voice, and Chana jumped in surprise. No one had called her by her real name in a long time.
The Beast started too, but he continued talking in his low voice. “Chana, I want to help you get out of here.” He ignored Chana’s look of complete shock. “You don’t deserve to live in this horrible place. I can help you escape. I’ve been giving you part of my daily rations to help you build strength. We could run away and return later to free everyone else. Please don’t think I’m crazy.”
Chana merely gaped, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. She had thought the Beast had brought her here to punish her for a poor job, but instead he was offering her liberation. The Beast is showing... kindness? she wondered. In the next few minutes, the Beast outlined a plan that he had thought up. A plan called escape.
“Why are you helping me?” Chana asked.
The man smiled sadly. “Because you’re always so cheerful.”

A few days later, they were running, hand in hand, from the place that they both had come to hate. The Beast had found a weak point in the fence where he could cut the wire and help her squeeze through. Their flight to freedom would not even be noticed until the next day. Chana had told no one of their escape, so there was no one to say farewell to them. Still, she felt lighter than she had felt in a long time.
Her long legs pounded against the ground in a rhythmic pattern. The last time she had ran this fast was the day that Maya was taken. But now she was running for a different reason. The prospect of freedom gave her wings as they sprinted down the road to the nearest train station. She would pretend to be his wife, and they would travel as far away as possible. Then they could come back to save everyone else. Everything would be all right.

The story that I have told you was one of many during that time and not all end happily. I must also add that fairy tales do not happen in real life. However, on rare occasions, some miracles do come close. One such example of a miracle that soars above all the rest is the tale of the Beauty and the Beast.

The girl’s breathing was even and slow, for she had fallen into a deep sleep. The grandmother planted a gentle kiss on her beloved grandchild’s forehead and tiptoed out into the hallway. “Sweet dreams, my dear,” she called softly as she switched off the light and shut the door.
The next evening, when the old woman came to say good night, she found the young girl sitting straight up in bed, waiting expectantly. “You never told me how it ended, Grammy,” she said, almost accusingly.
The grandmother had a perplexed look on her face as she replied, “Of course I did. They escaped together, and with their lives. When they finally got a chance to go back to the camp, it had already been liberated. There is no more to say.”
“So Maya was like Chana’s fairy godmother, right?”
“Yes, my dear. I suppose she was.”
“Did Beauty and the Beast live happily ever after?” The young girl looked worried, as if an unhappy ending would ruin the rest of her life.
The aging woman glanced towards the door way, where an old German man leaned silently on the frame of the door, looking fondly on the scene. She absentmindedly reached up to stroke a metal, heart-shaped pendant that hung around her neck.
“Yes,” she stated. “They most certainly lived happily ever after.”