Holocaust Monologues

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By surviving the Holocaust I was given the gift of life a second time; that’s how I look at it. I was incarcerated from May 8th 1942 till May 8th 1945, which happened to be my mother’s birthday. At that point I didn’t know she had been killed. I was still searching for her. And why were they killed: my mother, my father my brothers. All in all 63 members of my family were killed. Why? Because of prejudice and bigotry, and hatred. So how do I live with that? How do I forgive them? What do I do? I always wanted to be the best person I could so that no finger could be pointed at me and say, “She’s a Jew. She’s not righteous.” I always wanted to do the best I could because of what happened to me, to prove I was worthy of having stayed …show more content…

Easter also was fun. They came to our house on Hanukkah. I don’t know if you know what Hanukkah is. The Jewish people celebrate when the Temple was theirs again, before it was destroyed. We Jewish people celebrate it. My neighbors would always come on Passover, too. They liked the unleavened bread the Jewish people eat, called matza. It was a wonderful life. We were in and out of each other’s homes. We played together.
Then comes 1933 and everything changed. Hitler made these powerful speeches saying Jews were not worthy to live and everybody was entitled to take away their possessions. Jews could not attend public schools anymore. It wasn’t allowed and why? Because they were born of the Jewish faith. No other reason. Hitler became bolder and bolder. He took away our jewelry. Anything of value was taken away, including our house. We then lived in a small apartment, in a ghetto setting. You know what a ghetto is? A place where people are confined. They can’t get out. That’s where they stay. That’s where they …show more content…

She waited until the next morning and went to prison with the special shoes and socks he wore. She begged them to let my father have these things. They only laughed at her! “He doesn’t need anything where he’s going, lady. Go home and take that with you.” Six weeks later the postman brought a letter. My father’s name was Martin and it said the following: “Martin Wolf, age 47, died of unknown causes.” Then they sent a little urn, where you put ashes when someone dies. My father had died! My mother wrote to me, “Our father is no longer with us. What am I going to do? How am I going to exist?”
But that wasn’t all. A few weeks later another letter arrived from the secret police telling me my mother would be deported to the east, whatever that meant. They didn’t explain it. They just said she was going to the east. But we knew from other people, from my classmates who had gone through the same thing with their parents, that going to the east meant going to labor camps and concentration camps, and with not much food and lots of

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