Why Were You Persecuted?
Why were you persecuted?
Well, it all began with me sitting down with my family at the breakfast table munching on a piece of charred toast and guzzling down some milk, which was the very moment of when I heard the delicate sound of sirens coming from the east end of the street. My father’s face grew faint and my mother rapidly stood up and snatched my hand, as well as my brother’s. She then directed us towards the back of the house through a tiny break in the floor. Once we got to the hole, my mom took my brother’s hand and put it inside mine, telling him to guard me. We were placed into the hole and she smooched our heads and then camouflaged the small light we had with a rug. I began to lose it, oblivious of the imprisonment and demolition that laid before me on a silver tray. My brother and I spent a week in that hole, even though it felt like we had been down there for a life span. For the time being, I thought of my parents and where they went and if they would they come back soon for my brother and I? One day, while we were still in the hole, with muscle spasms building up in my legs, I heard footsteps coming from above my head. My brother, praying that it was our parents coming back to rescue us from the endless twilight that we were challenged with, slid the rug over and cropped up with scrunched up eyes. The harsh man standing above us, nevertheless, was not our father, but a man I would soon come to know as a Nazi soldier. The logic of our kidnapping was not because of our offense against the law, but because of my religion, my ethnicity, the way I talked and the way I looked.
Where did you go? Describe your experience at the camp. What happened to your family? How did the United States respond to your experience?
Well, it all began with me sitting down with my family at the breakfast table munching on a piece of charred toast and guzzling down some milk, which was the very moment of when I heard the delicate sound of sirens coming from the east end of the street. My father’s face grew faint and my mother rapidly stood up and snatched my hand, as well as my brother’s. She then directed us towards the back of the house through a tiny break in the floor. Once we got to the hole, my mom took my brother’s hand and put it inside mine, telling him to guard me. We were placed into the hole and she smooched our heads and then camouflaged the small light we had with a rug. I began to lose it, oblivious of the imprisonment and demolition that laid before me on a silver tray. My brother and I spent a week in that hole, even though it felt like we had been down there for a life span. For the time being, I thought of my parents and where they went and if they would they come back soon for my brother and I? One day, while we were still in the hole, with muscle spasms building up in my legs, I heard footsteps coming from above my head. My brother, praying that it was our parents coming back to rescue us from the endless twilight that we were challenged with, slid the rug over and cropped up with scrunched up eyes. The harsh man standing above us, nevertheless, was not our father, but a man I would soon come to know as a Nazi soldier. The logic of our kidnapping was not because of our offense against the law, but because of my religion, my ethnicity, the way I talked and the way I looked.
Where did you go? Describe your experience at the camp. What happened to your family? How did the United States respond to your experience?