Free The Boy on the Wooden Box by Leon Leyson Page B

for a mere pot, butgoing back for it gave her one more moment to survey her kitchen and what had been our home.
    Initially, we found no place to stay in Ghetto A. Door after door closed in advance of our arrival. Every apartment was filled to capacity. Eventually we found two spots in an attic. We squeezed into a space with other relocated workers from Ghetto B, sleeping in rows on the floor. My mother and I shared a single blanket. Our situation now made our room with the Luftigs seem like a mansion by comparison.
    Somehow, in these terrible circumstances, my mother and I found the will to persevere. We had to keep going for each other. Each morning my mother went to her cleaning job, and I went to the brush factory. When we said goodbye, I wondered if it might be for the last time. Every time I returned from work and found her there waiting, I felt there was still hope. Each night we prayed that my father, David, and Pesza were safe, that Hershel and our extended family were still secure in Narewka, and that Tsalig had somehow escaped and found a safe hiding place.
    Then, in March 1943, the Nazis liquidated the entire ghetto. All of us remaining were to be sent to Płaszów. At least, that was the rumor. Honestly, I was glad to be leaving, thinking that once again the five of us would be together. I had no concept of what Płaszów was. I felt a naïve confidence that because I had a real job, I was protected. On the day we were to be transferred, the Germans ordered us to line up in groups according to our work assignments. My mother stood with the cleaning women; I stood with my group from the brush factory. I saw my mother pass through the gates without incident; when my turn came, a guard yanked me out of line. He clearly thought I was too young and too puny to be useful. “You’ll go later,” he said, pointing me toward a group of other children gathered off to the side, out of the formations. My work permit was useless.
    I found my friends Yossel and Samuel already there. In the chaos of our move to Ghetto A, I had lost track of them. They had managed to survive on their own without their parents, but now we were all caught in limbo. Theywhispered to me, “We’re going to hide like we did before. You should come with us.”
    I thought about going with them and returning to our narrow hiding place in the rafters of the shed, but something stopped me. I’m not sure why I felt the pull so strongly, but I knew I had to be with my mother. She and I had been through so much together. She was my strength and I was hers. So I told Yossel and Samuel, “I’m going to try something else.”
    I spotted another group of workers and attempted to blend into their ranks. Once again we inched toward the gate of the ghetto. And once again, as I came close, the same guard spotted me and pulled me out, shoving me away from the departing group. Although I knew it was risky, I loitered as close to the gates as possible, waiting for a moment when I might be able to dart through them. At long last, the guard was called away. I saw my chance and joined another group. With a lump in my throat, I moved forward, closer and closer to the exit, desperately hoping the guard would not reappear. As I reachedthe gate, two officers waved me through, and I was now among those headed to Płaszów. My heart was racing. All I wanted was to see my family again, no matter what the situation.
    As I walked out of the ghetto with its tombstone-crowned walls and along the streets of Kraków, I was dumbfounded to see that life seemed just as it had been before I entered the ghetto. It was as if I were in a time warp . . . or as if the ghetto were on another planet. I stared at the clean, well-dressed people, busily moving from place to place. They seemed so normal, so happy. Had they not known what we had been suffering just a few blocks away? How could they not have known? How could they not have done something to help us? A streetcar stopped, and