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God Was My Armor
God Was My Armor
I sit here my mind wandering back to a time I care not to think about, a time in Germany over six decades ago, while Hitler was in power. I came from a Jewish family, and therefore was placed in a concentration camp, and I still have nightmares about those camps, I can still not go to doctor without my heart jumping for fear I might be tortured, as the doctors who worked in the concentration camps did. I cannot hear a mother’s cry without remembering how Mother’s cried in anguish as their babies were dragged away and killed simply for being Jews or not agreeing with Hitler.
I was a little girl no more than nine when we first were put on those trains and taken to the concentration camps, and I can still remember the fear that this strange, filthy place, with inadequate food, and the smell of rotting flesh brought me. I remember the mice that came and ate of the same food we were given, I remember the showers, and the smell of burnt flesh. I remember to much.
Father was taken to a different campo than us, and we only prayed that he was fed better than we were, my belly often rumbled in hunger in a hunger like I had never experienced before then or after then. I remember us begging for crumbs like a dog, because we were so hungry.
Sickness came often in the camps, with the inadequate conditions, and the mal nourishment and…
