I had prayed for the first months that it would not stay. I cursed God for allowing this to happen.

During the first meeting of the Bielski refugee camp, as I listened to Tuvia speak his rules forbidding pregnancies and the births of new mouths to feed, my throat tightened. I pulled my hood to hide my reddening eyes, so that my friend Anka sitting near me would not see them. Later on, I cried alone in the tent as I tried to think of a way to- and I cannot bear to say the words- be rid of it. I considered using a twig from the forest. Determinedly I felt I could wait no longer. It was the fall, still early on.

I told Anka and Lilka that I was going to use the water closet, something that we laughed about because there was no water closet to be found in this forest of Belarus. I walked through the crunchy, moldering leaves. It was a good, earthy smell. It reminded me of autumns of before, when we had a home and a kitchen, the hot stews and breads we used to enjoy. My empty stomach gave a sour jolt of pain.

Once I was far enough away from the camp, I searched for a sharp twig and soon found one. It was about fifteen centimetres long, narrow, and sharp. As straight a stick as I could find. I sat down beneath a pine tree where the wet bed of needles was soft. It was cold, the wet ground soaked through all my clothing as I sank down, lying on my back and as I looked up at the gray sky and overhanging limbs of trees, birds skittered about the branches- free, happy, mocking me.

I began to take off my woolen tights, not bothering with removing my boots. Keeping my gaze upon the sky at the gunmetal grey clouds above, swirling like a kettle of soup being stirred, I began to do my business with the twig.

The pain was preventing me from going any further. I knew I was going to be a coward about this. I told myself. This thing inside me has the blood of the German swine who forced his seed into me.

God, you must allow this. You allowed the first child of David and Bathsheba to die because it was a child of sin. So you must allow this for me.

Then I heard something off in the distance. A rustling of movement, steps, a male voice humming. I froze still, my eyes clenched shut hoping the person would not come closer. I may die with the child today, if it was a German and not one of us living in the camp. At that moment, I felt something jump within me like a bubble popping in my abdomen.

I slowly put one hand to my middle, and it squirmed. The child. MY child. It spoke to me!

Tears spilled from my eyes as I adjusted my clothes, pulling the tights back on and allowing the twig to fall from my hand. I begged God for forgiveness.

The footsteps grew closer. There was no avoiding the person. The only thing I could do was to stand back up, lean against the tree, and look around it to see who was approaching. It was a big man, and to my relief there was no German uniform. He wore a fur-trimmed coat. I tried to be casual as I left my hiding place of the huge pine tree and walked in his direction.

I was nervous again to find out it was none other than Zus Bielski, the brother of our leader. We soon crossed paths. His gait was clumsy.

"Good evening Zus," I said, with a polite smile, hoping he couldn't tell that I had been crying.

"Good evening," he grunted, eyes downcast. He was swinging his rifle on one arm and held a small glass bottle of vodka in his left hand. His coat pockets clinked with other bottles. He had been visiting the Red Army camp again, and he didn't seem to notice much about what I was doing at all. I had worried for a brief moment that he may tell Tuvia that he saw me wandering alone. But I saw no need to worry about him. The weary, hard look on his stubbled face gave it away that his mind was preoccupied with his own cares and worries. He was definitely planning for the next battle to come.

I kept walking and reached camp, holding my coat tightly around me, a dull pain within me slowly ebbing.

I am holding on to it. The child MUST live, because I love him or her with all of my being.