My Life in the Holocaust

By Alejandra Luna

The year was 1941. I was just like every other German 15-year-old, listening to popular music, reading trendy magazines, and hanging out and eating out with friends after school. Although, there was one thing different about me than the other 15-year-old girls. I was a Jew. It didn’t seem like a bad thing to me or the other Jewish kids, but it turned out we were completely wrong.

My family and I were living a normal life. My father was the owner of a dental office right beneath our house. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, and my younger sister, Mia, and I did very well in school. I thought everything was going well, as I was unaware of the world outside our home.

One evening after school my parents took us to some place. My mother was nervous, but as always she hid it by keeping a smile stretched from ear to ear. Her eyes were shiny from the tears she was holding back.

When we stopped, I noticed there were tons of people in lines. The ones leaving had some sort of yellow star patched on their clothing and a few more in their hands. We got into the line, and after a long wait we finally got our own stars. I was still confused as to why we needed to wear them. We got into the car and drove off.

After going back and forth with my thoughts, I finally had the courage to ask what the stars were for.

“Oh darling, it’s something us as Jews need to wear to keep us separate from those that aren’t Jewish,” my mother said.

“Is that bad, mother?” I asked.

Before answering the question, she looked at father and father looked at her. I could tell mother had no way to explain to us what was really going on.

“Of course not, girls. Everything is going to be fine,” father said, as he looked at me through the rear-view mirror.

The next day Mia and I were getting ready for school. Before we headed downstairs, I looked at myself in the mirror, touching the star mother had patched on my uniform.

“We’ll start getting use to it. This will be the new normal for us,” Mia said.

My school was always filled with Jews and non-Jews, and there had never been any sort of problem. My best friend, Ada, was even someone that wasn’t Jewish. Today seemed like a strange day at school. As soon as we got out of the car, all eyes were on us. I gazed at each face that was staring; I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

“The star, Lorelei,” Mia said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Look, the kids with stars are on the other side of the campus separated from those without the star,” she responded.

“Ada must be over there without the star,” I told Mia. I walked in Ada’s direction to say hello, but I got no response back. It was as if she was ignoring me. I tapped on her shoulder. She turned and stared at me before saying anything. She looked at the star patched on my school uniform.

“What do you want you nasty Jew. Don’t you belong over there with the rest of your kind?” Ada said, with a face full of hate.

I was in shock. Ada. My best friend since we were kids. I’ve never heard her speak like that. I was disappointed knowing she would let some star get in between the friendship we had with one another. All I did was look at her. I had nothing to tell her, and I knew nothing I would say would change her mind. I turned and walked to Mia, holding back my tears. One thing I knew for sure was that my sister and I only had each other now.

I told mother what had happened after school. “I was afraid this would happen. All you girls need to worry about now is each other’s safety,” she said. Mia and I both agreed, but I was worried. If that happened with Ada, what else could happen?

Father came home later that evening and mother called him over to the office.

“What could they possibly be speaking about now?” asked Mia.

I shrugged my shoulders. We both tried listening but heard nothing through the wall. When the office door started to open, we ran as quickly as we could to the couch.

“Girls, we have something to tell you both. You will both stop going to school until this situation gets better,” father said.

“What…But father what will we do then?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Lorelei, but this is what’s best for us. You will stay home and help your mother,” he responded.

I understood him. All there was to do now is hope that this all ends soon.

Time went by, however, and nothing got any better. In fact, it got worse. Father’s dental office got vandalized; our only way of gaining money was taken from us. They painted stars on the walls and broke the windows. Father had a very good close friend that offered him a job at his company. Yes, it was not as much money, but it was something as father waited to get his dental business back.

Felix wasn’t a Jew; his wife Ema wasn’t either, but this difference didn’t stop the Beckers from trying to help us; they didn’t stop their friendship with my parents. They were true friends, not someone like Ada that let a slight difference close a bond.

We soon had to move out of our house to hide from the Nazi soldiers. The Beckers came and helped us out. They offered us their basement. We took it, of course. It’s as if when hope is gone something happens and to bring it back. Each day I think about how crazy it is that our lives have changed so much in matter of three years. Months passed and we’re still getting away with living in Felix’s basement. It didn’t have a regular door. It was located below his office with a secret hatch. We held hope that we would never be found. At the same time, however, I was convinced that we would never see the light of day again.

Father stayed home from work one day. We were all eating together for lunch when we heard men yelling commands upstairs. As soon as we heard the yelling, mother ran and grabbed us each by the hand. She hid us in the closet behind father’s big coats. My parents hid under one of the beds.

“Where are they!” a Nazi soldier yelled over and over.

“There are no Jews here. My wife and I are the only ones,” answered Felix.

“Let’s search this house!”

As soon as mother heard that command from the soldier, her face expression changed. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. All I had running through my head was the thought of those soldiers finding us. I heard mother praying, and I joined hoping everything would turn out fine.

“What’s in here?” asked the soldier.

“This is my office,” we heard Felix say.

We followed every footstep those soldiers took. I had memorized exactly where the hatch to the basement was, right beneath Felix’s rug. Finally, the stomping sound of their heavy boots stopped. We heard one of them lightly rubbing their foot across the floor; they weren’t far from the hatch at all.

“Why is there a lump here,” the commander asked Felix.

“The floor isn’t leveled,” Felix said, trying not to sound nervous.

“Soldier, lift this rug up!” the commander shouted.

As the soldier began to slowly lift the rug, another man in uniform came running in. “A Jew is on the lose,” he screamed.

Holding our breath down below, we heard their footsteps quickly faint as they left the room. Mother’s color came back to her face. Felix opened the hatch door.

“Clear, clear,” he said with a sigh of relief. “They’re gone.”

Filled with joy, we came out and kept thanking Felix for everything. Hope had returned once again, and after some time, our worries faded. We continued to stay in Felix’s basement.

It was there months later when Felix handed us a newspaper stating all the troubles, the war, had finally came to an end. We were free to walk outside on the streets again. We no longer had to wear the yellow stars. I was finally able to breathe the fresh air without having to worry if I was seen. My life was back. I will never forget this tragic event, and I will always be grateful my family and I made it out.