With love, Adina

Summer is my favorite. The brackish air, the warm nights, the sticky smell of melting ice cream. Everything about it is perfect. The dry wind caressed my hair, gently unravelling my carefully done bun which sat comfortably atop my head. My sundress wrapped around my sunburned legs, the lacy fabric giving me comfort. My toes wiggled in the hot sand, my hands digging into the soft earth. I was happy, peaceful, and so free. August 10th, my special day. The day I turn twelve. And the day that was celebrated perfectly. 

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My face grew pale as I stared at my sister's cold expression in fear. The knocking on the door got louder, our walls and shelves shuddering in pressure. My heart pounded out of my chest, holding my journal with a tight grip. The knocking turned into pounding, constant and harsh. It wasn’t a friend and it wasn’t family. My sister was the only family I knew. Signaling me to hush, she rushed to the door. I quickly grabbed my pen and I stuffed my journal into the pocket of my dress feeling that I would never be coming back. Never seeing my house again, with its warm kitchen and small garden. Never living life to the fullest. 

“Marah?”. I was afraid. 

The door opened. It was a call up. . 

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August 10th, 1921

My sister finally agreed to buy me this journal! My, it is really everything I have ever wanted. It has a beautiful blue cover with such soft, thick pages. It comes with a gorgeous fountain pen. Momma says it's too luxurious, but I respectfully disagree. It is the most wonderful birthday gift. 

Anyways, today has been very eventful. Bo came by to wish me “happy birthday” and she had her old copy of my favorite book. It was a bit beaten down, but it was the exact copy I had asked for. Poppa bought a small chocolate cake with cream and a little candle and little bag of chocolates for dessert. Well, it is time for me to get going! It is dinner time and Momma says she has a surprise!

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August 10, 1934

I am sorry for the short entry today. We are very busy, but I thought it was important to quickly jot this down. We received a call up last night and we contacted our mother’s niece, Ada, who owns a bakery. She has agreed to house us in her attic so that Marah wouldn’t have to go. I’m really worried that they will eventually find us. My friends and I have always heard terrifying stories of what happens in the concentration camps. I really am worried.

The attic is, well, it’s an attic. It is a windowless room with cold, concrete floors. It reminded me of the dark alleyways I would pass on my way to school, with the trash piling up and  the unmistakably grotusque odor. We each had a cloth bag to carry a few belongings, including a few pairs of clothing, books, and of course, my journal.  Nothing about this room is pleasant, except for the smell of fresh bread that finds its way to our hiding spot. I just hope this is not true for the Nazi’s. 

Excuse me, but I must go help Marah unload the bags or else she will complain about my laziness once again. 

PS: It is my birthday, however it would not seem right to celebrate.

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September 21st, 1922

It’s the first day of school, and for some odd reason I am quite nervous. School work has never been a real problem for me as I always pass my classes with good grades. I believe it is because I have to face my closest friend again. We were in a fight all summer. It started with a quarrel about a peculiar topic. Apparently, her neighbor who just moved in spoke very badly about my father who is in the German Army. I told her those claims were lies, but she did not believe me. I must try and speak to her today and make amends. I really do miss her. 

As for my father, I am proud that he is defending the country, and I wish others would see that too. 

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September 21st, 1935

Father has been barred from the armed forces. Marah and I are worried sick about him. We have a small radio which we listen to at midnight, and we get the newspaper every week from Ada. It is frightening to think about all of our friends and family who have gotten call up notices. Will they survive? There is a truth that I can not think about without bursting into tears. 

Marah and I have decorated our walls with a few pictures, letters, and drawings I had done. Our bed is just a thin mattress which we laid on the floor to protect ourselves from the cold. We requested Ada to get us a small lamp from her friend who owns a store so that we can read and write after dark. 

Nothing about this gives me comfort. We can easily get caught and suffer the consequences if we are not careful. And being careful is not easy. I am afraid. Truly afraid. One wrong move and we could lose everything.

For now, I am trying to stay hopeful and optimistic for Marah. Although she is three years older than me, she is more sensitive to fear, so I have taken it upon myself to stay strong. Momma, Poppa, please give me that strength. 

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July 31st, 1923

I have been working in our garden everyday recently. I am growing a variety of herbs and vegetables with the help of my very talented sister. My arms hurt from pulling weeds, but I don’t mind since I love watching my tomatoes grow red and ripe! 

I have been doing well in all of my classes.  My favorite class is definitely English since I have been learning the language for a couple of years now and I am the top of my class. 

Other than that, my life has been quite uneventful. Marah is chatting with her friends outside. They are laughing about something, and my mouth really wants to join their conversation, but I know I would get scolded from doing so. Marah is older so apparently I have to leave her and her friends alone, but she is allowed to poke her nose into my business. It gets frustrating, but I am working on keeping my head clear. 

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July 31st, 1936

I am so frightened, I do not know where else to go but my diary. It is 12: 36 am and Marah had gone out to purchase some ink from our close relatives and she is not back yet. She told me to stay and not to come after her, but it has been almost an hour. My mind is being filled with scary images. I am so frightened, and now this page is soaked in tears. In an hour, the gunshots will start, sending chills down my spine. I need Marah.

I have decided that if she does not come back in another ten minutes, I would go after her. I need to find her, tell her how much I love her. I can not leave her alone in the dark in a country filled with those who are after us. We are targets. I can not live my life without her, and I do not care how risky it is. I will find her and we will be together again. 

It has been ten minutes. Wish me luck, and I will see you soon. 

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March 3rd, 1924

Marah has bought me beautiful blue ink for my writing and my drawings to make  up for the fight we had recently. She left the house at night, leaving me alone at 12 :00 am. I cried long and hard, waiting for her to return. She had seriously frightened me! It seems silly now, to imagine that I had cried like a baby just because she had left me at home for a few minutes. 

Well, she made it up, and I just wanted to mention how much I really love her. She doesn’t get enough credit, for taking care of me and comforting me when I am feeling upset. My entire world would collapse, leaving me in the ruins of my emotions. Although she acts like my mother when she is mad, I am glad that I get to spend my life with her. I don’t have to be afraid anymore. As long as Marah stays with me forever, I will be safe. I can’t wait until we are 99, planting tomatoes in our garden, and sharing stories about our childhood. 

With love, 

Adina