After the war I came down with typhus, a dreaded war-time disease carried mainly by lice. My hair started to come out by the handfuls so I had to have my head shaved. My humiliation was complete; after all, everyone knew that female Nazi collaborators had had their heads shaven when they were caught.
Eventually I ended up in a DP camp with Bronka. One day on the way to a lesson I saw lines of people and American women in uniforms. I stood in line just to find out what was happening. When my turn came they asked if I was alone, meaning orphaned, and I said yes. They asked me if I wanted to go to Venezuela and I said no, it seemed too far away. They asked me if I wanted to go to Holland and I said no because so many Jews had been deported from Holland to their deaths. I did not want to go to the United States because I associated it with Al Capone and gangsters. When I was asked if I wanted to go to Canada, I immediately said yes because I had read so many books about Canada. I had always been a big reader before the war and even in the ghetto I remember exchanging books. From my readings I imagined Canada as wilderness and the Arctic.