Trapped in Hitler's Hell: A Young Jewish Girl Discovers the Messiah's Faithfulness in the Midst of the Holocaust by Anita Dittman & Jan Markell

Author:Anita Dittman & Jan Markell [Dittman, Anita & Markell, Jan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Religious, Personal Memoirs, History, Holocaust, Religion, Inspirational
ISBN: 9781936488124
Google: xfBGnwEACAAJ
Amazon: 1936488124
Barnesnoble: 1936488124
Publisher: WND Books
Published: 2014-03-14T22:00:00+00:00

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.

—Isaiah 43:2

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mother’s going left a crater of emptiness in my heart. I couldn’t concentrate at work, and I was so lonely I couldn’t eat; besides, I saved most of my rations for Mother. It was confirmed she had been sent to Camp Theresienstadt in Czechoslovakia, where she could get food packages once a week.

One morning before I left for work, the Gestapo knocked on my door again. This time, however, they came to collect all of Mother’s possessions that the state had claimed. They took everything but my bed and a half dozen small items. Because the Gestapo insisted that most of my possessions belonged to Mother, they allowed me the “privilege” of buying some of my things back at greatly inflated prices.

I didn’t put up any fuss while two men pushed their way inside and started putting my things in boxes. They looked at me curiously for some time before one of them finally spoke up.

“How old are you, kid?” he asked, not interrupting his working pace.

“I’ll be seventeen in May,” I answered.

“Other kids your age would be upset if we came into their home and did this. Why not you?”

“Hysteria won’t bring Mother back or allow me to keep my things,” I replied calmly. “My strength comes from God. He’s in control of Germany and of my life.”

He rolled his eyes at the other Gestapo officer and kept packing. Then, in several trips, they hauled out the furniture and boxes, leaving the apartment stripped and bare. They took tables, lamps, and even rugs, until I had only a shell of a room.

As I was putting my coat on to leave for work, they finally carried out the last confiscated item. “You can keep what’s left,” one of them said to me. “Some of what we’ve taken you can buy back.” He handed me a piece of paper on which was written the inflated price of my things.

“Come to the local Gestapo office and pay this amount. If you don’t come within five days, the state will keep the things or sell them to someone else.”

Neither the church nor my puny salary could possibly pay that terribly overpriced figure for my furniture and other possessions.

As I rode the streetcar to the factory that morning, I searched for an answer. Then I remembered that Mother had given me Father’s phone number for just such a situation. We hadn’t seen one another in years. Maybe the war had softened him and he would be responsive to my dilemma. I felt it was a risk just to call him, simply because I didn’t think I could stand one more ounce of rejection. But fortified and confident of being loved by Mother, Steffi, Gerhard, Wolfgang, Rudi, and the church members, I decided to take that risk and seek Father’s help.

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