He has almost starved to death. Receiving the precious food I thank them with tears running on my cheeks. Back in the Ghetto with the priceless bread I cut a piece and give it to my child. He looks at it with wide, unbelieving eyes, hen crying and laughing and jumping with joy He bites into the soft, beautiful, white bread. In January 1945, just before the liberation by the Soviet Army.
Translation is done by the author.
Published here with the author's permission.