At dawn, on May 1st, 1945, we saw a column of tanks approaching in the valley below us. We could not recognize their insignia at first and became nervous as we tried to make sense of it all. Someone recognized the white, five-star markings on them and let out a very loud scream: "Americans!" Those who could ran down the embankment. Others rolled down toward the tanks, which had stopped moving and turned their gun turrets in our direction. We kept running in spite of the guns aimed at us.
They gave us rations and emptied their pockets and gave us chocolate. They told us in Yiddish or in German that they had to move on, but that another column would look after us. Some of our group died from over stuffing their stomachs. The doctor who came in the next column had his soldiers collect our food and fed us with controlled amounts of soup until he thought we could be transported to a nearby military hospital.