I was 13 years old, the youngest of the three children in my family. It was the first time I had been separated from my mother. Suddenly I found myself alone, lost in that inexplicable hell and completely bewildered. I began to cry as soon as I had a moment to myself. In spite of the masses of people around me, I was all alone. I must have fallen asleep, because suddenly I was dragged out of my bunk by two large prisoners. They held me by the shoulders, ran me out of the barracks screaming very loudly and shaking me like a rag.
Outside they put me in a line of people waiting their turn to get some food. They gave me a metal dish, ordered me to get in line every time I saw food being given out and to eat it all no matter how vile it might be. They also told me to never cry again. I was petrified of them. When they were satisfied that I was really paying attention, they softly told me that I looked like a strong and resilient boy and therefore I must do everything in my power to survive and tell the world what happened to our people in Auschwitz-Birkenau
. I never saw them again. I have no idea who they were. All I know is that they spoke Yiddish