In 1942, my mother hid me with a gentile family in the province of Antwerp. I was 10 years old. It was a home that had a lot of kids living in it. I was there until the end of the war. The couple that lived there was nice to me. There were about twenty kids living there. I was lucky that the Germans never came to the home looking for Jewish children.
I worried about my parents. I was a boy. I missed my parents a lot. I played with the other kids and that helped me.
I never saw my parents again. They were murdered at Auschwitz.