Bergen-Belsen was hell on this earth, people were dying everywhere. There was horrible starvation. It was winter; we had to eat snow to survive. I think my parents prayed for me. I found my two sisters at Bergen-Belsen.
I have been most steadfast in observing the Sabbath. I rarely go out on Friday evenings, instead, I stay home to light the candles at sunset, to say the blessing, and to let the flame burn to the wicks’ end. I would not miss Friday. There’s something in me I cannot change. It’s part of my life growing up. This way I remember my parents.
“As I strike the match I am reminded of my mother, Sara, performing the same ritual more than fifty years ago in Chmielnik. Whenever I pray over the candles, I see a picture: my mother walking into Treblinka with Fishel on one side and Rachel on the other side. I always see this without fail. Each Friday, as I face the candle flames alone, I brush away my tears.”
(* Sonia Nothman’s story was written in Sara's Children: The Destruction of Chmielnik, by
Suzan Esther Hagstrom, Sergeant Kirkland’s Press, 2001)
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