It's cold and wet. I can feel those like me pressing together, shivering to keep warm. Six months today, to be exact, since my last actual meal. Oh how I earn for a full plate of warm food sliding down my throat and resting in my stomach. Instead I've survived off of hard molded bread and disease infested water. The taste is unbearable and yet I still try to survive.
             I saw a woman the other day exchanging what we here call, "a chance for life," with a German soldier. When the deed was done he tossed her a slice of bread. When she reached for it she was shot, a risk we, as women, must all take.
             I can here the sound of laughter off in the distance. Probably another soul being degraded and tortured. The woman next to me is ill with pains in the head. Her stomach is bloated and her hair infested with lice like many others. I haven't showered in such a long time. I can't wait for it to rain. Tomorrow we are to be inspected. I fear for my life. If the rain comes at least I can cleanse myself.
             I haven't seen my husband or son through the barbed fence and I fear the worst. Stanley will be twelve in a few days. It's frightening to think I may never see him again. Izzy my husband I pray for. He isn't a big man and I'm afraid he may not come back to me once this is all over.
             Every night I crouch beneath the moon light and write. My journey is kept tucked away under a wooden plank. The pages are tattered and worn but they are my hope and sanity. Sometimes I dream about a life without being a Jew, about being a German with a gun in my hand and having the ability to play god. Who gives them the right to choose who survives or not. I wouldn't want to be one. To put a gun to another's head, I'd rather put it to my own.
             The pure fear of living dwells inside of me. The fear of absolute self-worthlessness overwhelms me, and yet I try to survive. ...