To Life - new YA edition - E-book - A Young Holocaust Survivor - Memoir

This is the touching and inspirational true story of Sala Lewis, who at age ten was left alone to wander the streets of Poland after her family was taken away by the Nazis.

Sala had been out with her friends and came home to find her family gone and the apartment where she lived sealed off. Everything she possessed was no longer hers. She had no family, no clothes, no food, and at that moment in time, no future.

Sala was strong willed. It was easy to see that, even though she was young, Sala would not get lost in the world. She wouldn’t give up and she wouldn’t allow herself to be afraid. Her uncompromising determination led her to find the camp where her sister, Dora, was being kept. Once the sisters were together, nothing could stop them.

Their love and commitment to each other continued to be beyond reproach throughout their time together. They believed in the American dream and the land of opportunity. The proudest day of their lives was when they became United States citizens. They were more than survivors, now, they were Americans!



Read A Little History - Memoir - Sala Lewis

In the Beginning

I was ten years old when the Germans separated my family. It happened so quickly we didn’t even get to say goodbye. We lived in Sosnowicz, Poland, and all we were told was the Germans needed workers. There were no choices. When the Germans came to get you, you went. If you didn’t go, you were killed. That was the beginning of the end.

I never dreamt that I’d never see my family again. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. My parents were going to grow old together. We were going to share our lives together, the good times, the bad times and everything in between. Then in a flash, everything changed.

The Germans took my family away from me, one by one. I never quite understood why, but they told me it was because we were Jewish. I was taught not to question, so I didn’t.

Then the day came, the final separation. I had gone out to play for a short while but when I returned, I came home to an apartment that had been sealed off and I wasn’t allowed in.

I never did see the inside of that apartment again, but I can still remember the joy we shared every evening at dinnertime. We sang songs and told jokes. Sometimes we didn’t sing that well or tell terribly funny jokes, but we had each other. That was the feeling I liked best.

Salucia was my birth name but everyone called me Sala, the name I prefer.

I was born on a snowy, cold Christmas day. My father, Simon, was a butcher and my mother, Eve, was a wonderful homemaker. I was one of eight children ‑ three girls and five boys – Karl, Phillip, David, Kamek, Hanusz, Toby and Dora. Dora was the light of my life, and as the years passed, she was the one who got me through it all. Without her, I never would have survived. She was my lucky penny. 

The Loneliness

Long ago, I learned never to take anything for granted.

That’s how I got through the hard parts, especially the loneliness. At the very beginning, they told us the work camps were just places to work, nothing more. When Dora left, she promised she would write, and she did just enough to let us know she was alive. When her letters came, mother was so happy and so was everyone else. We took turns reading the letters over and over again. Usually on those days, dinner was special and mother didn’t seem as angry. But then there was the next, and there were no letters. Those were the bad days. The very, very bad days.

As the days passed, I missed Dora so much more than I thought I would. There was nothing very different about our relationship. We were sisters. We fought a little, yelled a bit and sometimes we even had fistfights. We were rather ordinary, so I guess it was normal to miss even those fights. And I did.

We lived in a very small apartment, which even in the best of circumstances made for some pretty rough times. But all and all, I think we all started to miss the squabbles and the “he said this,” and “she said that” after Karl, Phillip and David left for the work camps.

Our family was getting smaller, and day by day, my mother and father were growing older. They didn’t say much, and maybe that was part of the problem. The Gestapo came, they took and we suffered, but we didn’t talk about it.

Every night at the dinner table, our conversation was less and less. In fact, what used to be such a special time of the day became my least favorite. Sometimes I pretended to have a stomachache, just so I wouldn’t have to sit there and look at the empty chairs.

Late at night, I used to lay awake and think about the good times. There was one particular evening that was right up there with the best of the memorable times. It was Chanukah.

Mother had just brought the last batch of latkes to the table. Phillip looked at David, Dora looked at me and we all looked at Karl, hoping he would get the message. In a minute or two, we knew our message had been well received. Karl walked over to the gramophone and looked at Mother. She could read his mind as well as any one of us. She nodded to Karl and he turned on the music. One by one, we all got up to dance and sing, all except Father. He just watched.

Then, as always, Mother grabbed his hand and tried to get him up to dance. Usually he said no, but not that night. That night he danced. I watched Mother and Father holding each other tightly as they danced, hoping someday to have someone love me the way my father loved my mother.

I overheard my father as he whispered to my mother, “Eva my dear, we may never be rich but look ... look at our children. This is what we posses. No man could ever want more.”

The next night, the Gestapo came. That was only the first visit. There would be many others to follow, as well as reminders of what each day might bring. It was the constant fear of the visits that upset my father the most, especially the night before Dora left for the work camp.

I can still feel the pain as I remind myself of Dora’s last night at home. My family thought I was sleeping, but after overhearing their conversation, I didn’t sleep a wink.

My father watched as Dora packed a small bag. “When you come back my child, I will not be here,” he said. “So you go tomorrow and remember to do whatever you have to stay alive. I promise you life will offer you more, much more, but never give up what you believe in. Never.”

Dora’s voice quivered as she spoke. “Don’t say that. You will be here when I return. I know you’ll be here. You just have to.”

“Dora, listen to me,” my father said. “I’ve had my life. When I stand back and take a good look at all my children, I can ask for no more. I have no right.”

“You have every right,” Dora said, as she put her arms around Father and gave him a great big hug. “Of course, you have every right, we are family. We belong together, and we will be together again. G-d will have it no other way.”

All night I tossed and turned, wondering why I wanted so much more than anyone else. My dreams were of acting and performing on stage. What if the Gestapo took me? I wouldn’t go. I would tell them no way and ask them to go. Why didn’t Dora do that? She should have done that. 

As the days and nights passed, our entire community of Jewish friends was slowly being taken away. It was a slow process with quite an effect on everyone. Father didn’t smile as much as he used to and Mother kept herself busy. She cooked and cleaned and cleaned and cooked, and when she heard bad news, she cleaned some more.

We didn’t talk about what was happening, but it was quite evident to me we were no longer the happy family we used to be. Every time I looked into my father’s eyes, they were red and swollen. I knew he had been crying, but he never admitted to it. It was becoming more difficult to pretend our situation wasn’t critical, but as long as my family pretended, so did I. I had become very good at pretending. We all had.

Days would pass without changes. However, when my older brother Karl’s wife Lusia and their son Jurek came to live with us, things did change. Father talked a bit more and Mother sometimes even smiled. Having a baby in the house eased the tension a bit for us, but not for Lusia. Every day we waited for the mailman, hoping to hear from Karl, but there were no letters. There were never going to be any letters.  

As if enough hadn’t happened, Lusia had gone out to get some milk and never returned. After three hours of pacing back and forth at the window, my father went out to see if he could get anyone to tell him what happened. We knew it was getting worse.

When he finally did return and my mother saw the look on my father’s face, she cried out to him, “They took her. The Gestapo, they took her. Oh my G-d.”

It was horrible watching little Jurek standing at the door, waiting for his mother to come home. It was days later when we finally found out Lusia wouldn’t be coming back. That’s when I began to write letters to myself. I needed to feel as if I was doing something that mattered.

To Me —

Maybe if I were a little older or a little smarter, I would understand just what was happening. Sometimes late at night when everyone was sleeping, I would get up and look outside. All I ever saw was darkness. I didn’t see the soldiers marching and I couldn’t hear the cries. I don’t know if it’s just the beginning or the very end. Why doesn’t someone tell me something?

Me

Without a Goodbye

It was a day like any other. As I raced up the stairs, I waved goodbye to my friends. When I got to my apartment, I knew something was wrong. Our apartment was sealed off and I couldn’t get in. My family was gone and no one knew where they were.

I tried not to panic, but I was scared. I didn’t understand what had happened and why they didn’t wait for me. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran outside and into the street. I knocked on the neighbors’ doors, but no one knew what had happened to my family.

Finally, I ran to the schoolyard after someone on the street said my parents would be there. I had to keep wiping my eyes as the tears kept falling from my eyes. When I walked around the back, I could see my mother in the window.

As she waved to me, I moved closer toward the window. I called out to her, “I want to be with you. Take me with you Mother, I’m afraid.”

“Salusia, my child,” Mother said as she called back to me. “Do not be afraid. I will wait for you up here. But first you must run to your aunt’s house and get some money to buy candy for the children.”

I looked up at my mother and shouted. “Please don’t do this to me. I want to be with you.”

“You will,” she said, as she called down to me.

“Where’s father?”  I asked.

Mother shrugged her shoulders and motioned for me to go. As always, I did as she asked. While walking away, I couldn’t help but wonder why my younger brother, sister and Jurek were with her but I wasn’t. I looked back and waved goodbye.  

Mother waved back and said, “I’ll be here when you return.”

But she wasn’t. No one was. That was the last time I ever saw them.

That night I wandered the streets, hoping Father would be out there somewhere. When I got tired, I walked back to our apartment, where I sat on the steps hoping my father would come back to find me. Somebody should have, but nobody did. Instead, I woke up sitting on the stairs alone. I couldn’t help but feel abandoned. I was.

Finally, I realized I was on my own. Even my aunts and uncles wouldn’t take me in. No one wanted the extra burden. One time, my uncle sent me out some scraps of food to eat, to be eaten outside only. They were afraid I would bring in unwanted germs. The hell with the germs, I thought. What about me? Doesn’t anybody realize I’m still a little girl, a scared little girl?

The hours turned into days and the days turned into weeks. I never slept in the same place twice. As I roamed from place to place, I heard bits and pieces about the Germans and the horrible things they were doing to my people, just because we were Jewish. None of it made any sense, but it did make me cry a lot. I tried my best not to think of my family being tortured or worse than that. Word of the death camps left me sleepless and afraid to close my eyes. I tried to have faith in G-d, but sometimes I wondered if there really was a G-d. I was certain if there was one, how could he let this happen? And more than how, why?

To Me —

Maybe if I could have kissed my mother and father goodbye, I wouldn’t feel so empty. Maybe if I were with them, I could close my eyes at night and not see their faces. Maybe if I didn’t love my brothers and sisters so much, it wouldn’t hurt so much not to see them again. Maybe if I would stop crying, I would feel better. Maybe this and maybe that. Maybe if I closed my eyes and pretended I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t be. Yes, I think I’d like that a lot.