Thursday, October 26th, 1939
My name is Zofia and I’m a polish girl. I’m 17 years old and I live in Oswiecim, in Plebanska Street, next to Mordechai Wildman’s shoe store. Today is Thursday and it’s Market Day! I spent 4 hours walking with my father, Heshke, through the stalls. He ended up buying some tools that I know he will never use. Once more, a few German soldiers showed up, but, as usual, they didn’t mix with us. The same uniforms, the same faces, the same smiles. God, I hate them.
I haven't seen Andrzej, since the explosion of the bridge. I hope he’s alright. I know he’s alright.
Just before dinner I spoke with grandmother, Agnieszka. She’s 82 and I use to call her “older sister”. She told me again how difficult it has been to her to face all that the SS men are doing to the Jews. The streets of Oswiecim are full of shame and hate, she said. When I asked her what will happen to us, well, she stayed silent and those transparent blue eyes became inaccessible…
Texto escrito por Pedro, estudante da Escola Secundária de Valpaços, no âmbito do Projecto "Auschwitz in First Person"
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