Momma's Funeral

We thought it was almost over. That we were going to let us live. To be done with it. They knew that the end of the war was coming. The Americans, British and French, were coming. But that is when they came up with the idea for the solution of the final solution. The deathmarch.
I had never felt this cold before. It was cold so cold. But after all of these miles i began to not feel so cold anymore. Like I was in a trance. With momma’s hand in mine, we continued to shuffle our feet along the cold hard ground. Never stopping, for fear of our lives. We would hear gunshots around us as people fell, unable to carry on. But we continued. For the baby’s sake.
When we first arrived in Buchenwald, momma was already 4 months pregnant. She managed to
have the baby and we hid it for 4 months, smuggling it food and us the prisoners took turns caring for it before we went on this dreaded march. We hid him in Momma’s shawl making sure it never cried. If we were caught we would surely all be shot.
No one had food and momma wasn’t producing milk so all we could do was keep him warm and try to keep him alive throughout the day. We knew it was a miracle if he even survived the night. He was ravenous. We all were. Clinging to Momma’s shriveled breast for just a drop of anything.
Soon it was nightfall. As soon as we stopped, everyone collapsed onto the cold hard ground. Desperate for rest. Just as I began to drift off, they were waking us up again with the sound of gunshots. Over a quarter of us were already dead. Most of us weren't going to make it through the day.
They handed us a blacken loaf of bread and set us on our way. I immediately tore mine in half and gave it to the baby. Hoping he was strong enough to nibble through it.
Shuffling, stumbling and gunshots. That was our day. Trying not to fall behind as to be shot, while struggling to keep the baby alive. As the people around us fell to their knees unable to carry on, me and momma shuffled through the bodies along with those who were left.
Momma was getting increasingly weaker.
I knew she wasn’t going to make it through the night. Finally she fell. “I can’t go on. Take him, get him to safety. Leave me behind. Survive this hell by remembering me.” With tears streaming down my face, I took him into my arms and stood up, trying to carry on. I stumbled on, trying not to listen to the scream as the gunshot hit its mark. The tears froze on my face as i walked. Holding him close to me, not to let any of us freeze.
It took a while for me to realize momma was gone. When it did i never stopped crying. Not once. Not even when we stopped for the night. The people around me looked on at me in pity waiting for me to give up. But i never did.

When the third day arrived we could see and smell the death of the camp we were to arrive at in the distance. As i hate half my loaf of bread and struggled to carry the baby. People that were once in my bunker began to notice and care. One by one we would take turns carrying him. Feeding him our rations. Making sure he was going to live. At one point he began to come down with a fever. We cooled him down with snow, and tried to keep him as healthy as possible. Everyone knew that we were almost free. So we had to stay alive.

I didn’t know where i would go once i was free. Momma and Poppa had died and I was way to young to live on my own. I hoped that one of my relatives were still alive. That they could take me and the baby
in.
Arriving at dachau, was the best feeling in the world. Even though momma was gone, some part of me was ok again. I knew I was going to get out of this alive. Unlike the thousands of other people that never. Including momma and poppa.
When we entered Dachau was chaos. The American’s were killing and wounding Nazis and a uprise was created. As we passed through the now liberated camp, bodies of the SS were everywhere. The American’s were celebrating their victory and passing chocolates and rich food around waiting for military personnel to arrive. Soon truckloads of food and medical supplies arrived.
I rushed towards the ever growing line of prisoners waiting for treatment. Hoping my baby would stay alive long enough to be treated.
Me and the baby were treated by Dr.Smith. When asked the baby’s name i replied that i didnt know yet and was waiting for a name to stick out to me. But that's when i realized Moshia. The Hebrew name for Saviour. In memory of all those people that helped to keep him alive to make sure that me and him survived.
I stopped and looked at the Dr “Actually sir, I think i have a name. Moshia.” The doctor smiled at me and wrote his name along with mine on the list.
Next, I was to go to the