The truth of the matter is that nothing I tell you can even begin to express the despair and misery in which my people, and the other victims of the Nazi regime, lived. I can try, of course, and I will, because I feel as though it's important. But unless you were there... unless you saw the corpses littering the streets, the piles of refuse, and the children digging through them for scraps of food, unless you felt the blows aimed at you by the Germans for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and felt the terror of not knowing if you'd live for another day, there's no real way you can completely understand how it felt to be there, living in the Warsaw Ghetto.

We knew from the start that it would be bad, of course. From the moment the Germans took over they began to impose restrictions upon us. We had to wear an armband with a Star of David on it at all times, to clearly mark us as Jews. More than anything this marked us as targets for the German soldiers and Polish citizens alike. Suddenly we had no rights, and they could do to us whatever they pleased. Jews all over Warsaw suddenly became victims of beatings, robberies, rape, and forced work, with no options for retribution. Fighting back only earned you a bullet in the head. There were no longer any laws left to protect us. So what were we to do?

Then, suddenly, we were barred from going to the movies, eating at most restaurants, and shopping in most stores. Signs popped up everywhere informing us as to how unwelcome we were.

Next the laws came which barred us from owning businesses, and most Jews were forced out of work. I was fortunate that doctors were allowed to continue working, but I was still a student, and had yet to earn my license. The hospital in which I had been working saw no option but to release me, but I managed to pick up work at the Jewish hospital, which is one of the only reasons I survived my time in the ghetto.

My father was equally lucky. He lost his job as a lawyer, but managed to secure a position in the Judenrat, the Jewish council that governed Jewish life in Warsaw, under the command of the Germans. He despised working for them, but his only other option was unemployment, which lead to certain death. It was through his connections that I got my job at the hospital, and, after we were confined to the ghetto and being employed became a necessity for survival, my mother found work in the post office. We were very fortunate, but even the privileged suffered once the walls of the ghetto went up.

It was in autumn of 1940 when we heard we'd be rounded up and moved into a tiny part of Warsaw, not nearly large enough to hold the city's Jewish population, much less the refugees from other parts of Poland that were constantly streaming into the city. There had been rumors of a ghetto before, but the confirmation of those rumors was still a rather devastating blow. We had heard what had happened to the Jews of Lodz in their "resettlement"; mass shootings, disease, and starvation, and we all hoped that we could avoid the same fate.

In retrospect our optimism seems rather foolish, but it was the only thing we had left to keep us going.

Our apartment was not within the confines of the ghetto, and as such, we knew we would have to move. And once word got out that our neighborhood was to be a part of the "Aryan" area of the city, we were inundated with people hoping to take over our apartment. Some offered swaps for crummy rooms that were within the future ghetto's walls, while others simply made demands, threatening us with beatings if we did not comply. We managed to fight everyone off to bide our time, until the day a German officer came to our door.

My mother and I were the only ones home when he arrived, coming through the door without knocking or announcing himself in any way. One minute we were in the kitchen, discussing our options, and the next thing we knew there was an SS officer standing in the doorway, examining the room with a look of boredom on his face.

"I think this will do," he said to a man following him, who I assumed to be his valet.

We stared at him in shocked silence as he examined the kitchen cabinets, unsure as to what he meant, or what we should do. Finally he turned to us.

"You have 30 minutes to get out," he said, sneering at us, "You may take no furniture, only your personal items."

Most people in our situation would have kept their mouth shut, complying in the subservient manner that the Nazis expected from Jews. My mother was not most people.

"Now wait just a minute!" she said, "The deadline to move into the ghetto hasn't come yet, and this is still our apartment!"

The officer regarded her calmly, before walking across the kitchen floor toward her, pulling his gun out during his approach. I could only stand by in mute horror as he hit her with it, and kicked her repeatedly in the stomach and face after she collapsed on the floor. I wanted to shout at him, to run at him with my fists flying, but I knew that would be the last mistake I ever made. The man rained blows upon her until she stopped moving, and then stepped back, calmly straightening his jacket.

"Now you have 10 minutes," he said, turning to me with a smile, "I suggest you collect your belongings and your useless whore mother before I shoot you both."

Nine minutes and 55 seconds later I was making my way down the stairs, with as many bags as I could carry slung across my shoulders, and my mother leaning against me for support, sobbing and moaning from the pain.

We slowly made our way to her sister's apartment down the street, where I left her in my cousin's care before making my way back to my father's office to relay the bad news. He took it in stride, as he did most things, saying we would have to stay with my mother's family until we found a place within the future ghetto, or until we ran out of time. He then sent me on my way, telling me to look after my mother's wounds, which, of course, I would have done anyway.

Being evicted with no warning was bad enough, but what it really meant to us was that we'd lost our bargaining chip. We needed every advantage we could get if we were to survive, and we had all hoped that we could trade our apartment for a decent place to stay, instead of having nothing to offer. Losing that put us at a distinct disadvantage, and as the days wore on, I could see the worry in my parents' expressions as the likelihood of finding somewhere to live was growing slimmer and slimmer. A solution did not present itself until two days before the deadline, when I ran into a friend of mine on the street.

I had met Rebekah Cotswold during her brother Mark's brief stint in public education. How he had convinced his very religious parents to allow him to attend public school was beyond me, but one afternoon I had gone to his apartment to study with him, and that was where I met Rebekah. She was pretty, and intelligent, and I was drawn to her immediately. I had been the first boy to kiss her, long before I realized that chaste kisses were as far as I ever wanted to go with girls. It was years later, when I kissed her brother, that I realized why. I later lost my virginity to him, though I never told Rebekah that. She simply assumed that he and I were good friends.

I always enjoyed her company, although recent events had changed her normal jittery disposition into full-on anxiety.

"How are you doing?" I asked as I approached her, and she glanced around nervously, biting her lip.

"Fine, just fine," she said, rather unconvincingly, "Is your family moved yet?"

"Ah, no, we're still looking for a place. My father and I have been busy with work, and I think my mother believes if she just keeps putting it off, it won't really happen."

"Yeah, it's hard to believe this is all really happening," she said, still watching the people pass us on the street with a fair amount of distress, "What about Ike? What's he doing?"

"Oh, uh, this and that. He's pretty busy too. How's Mark?"

"Fine, fine," she said distractedly, "I'd better be going, though. Don't want to get into trouble."

She glanced significantly at the band stitched to her sleeve, and I nodded. Lingering on the streets was simply asking for trouble if you wore the Star of David on your arm.

We made our goodbyes, and I didn't expect anything to come of our brief meeting, so I was surprised the next day when Mark stopped by our temporary home.

I was concerned when I opened the door to the apartment to reveal him, thinking perhaps he was bearing bad news about his sister, or something. But he laughed at the look on my face, and slapped me on the arm.

"Nothing to worry about," he said, smiling, "But my parents sent me to discuss something with your family."

I nodded, though my fears were not allayed, and let him in.

"I have an offer to make you," he said, after my father, mother, and I sat down at the kitchen table with him, "I understand you are working for the Judenrat?" he said, addressing my father.

"Yes," he answered warily.

"I assume, then, that you might be granted certain... protections?"

"We live under the same laws that you do, Mark."

"Of course," Mark said, "But, for example, both you and Kyle have jobs. And the impression I've gotten is that those who work for the Judenrat were privy to certain information before the general public. Deportations, that sort of thing."

"Sometimes, yes, but... well I'm not sure what you're getting at," my father replied.

"I think we could help each other. My family has a spare room in their flat. You'd all have to share, unfortunately, but that seems to be the way things are going, anyway. And our flat is nicer than most of the ones you'll find this close to the deadline. My parents think they'd benefit from having two employed men living there, especially if one works for the Judenrat. Perhaps if you hear of a job opening you could help me and my father out, for example. In exchange you'd have a decent room in a decent apartment, as opposed to the hovels I've seen filling up with multiple families. So, it's a win-win. There wouldn't be room for your extended family, though."

"They've already found a place," my mother said before glancing at my father to gauge his interest in the offer.

My uncle had found a room the previous week, and in his search he'd found that what Mark was saying was true; most of the rooms left were small and filthy. He ended up agreeing to a 10 x 10 room for the four of them, in a flat that had no electricity, and shared a bathroom with the entire floor of the building. I'd spent a great deal of time at the Cotswolds', and it was a decent size, and very modern. Not that that would matter down the line.

"I think it's a good idea," I said, knowing that without some kind of a push my parents would keep holding out for more luxurious accommodations, which they would never find. I, for one, didn't want to end up living in some cramped room with a dozen strangers, much less on the streets.

My father gave me a look, apparently not appreciating my input, and then sighed heavily before burying his face in his hands.

"Ok," he mumbled.

"Great!" Mark said, getting to his feet, "I'll go inform my parents, then. They said you can move in tomorrow, if you accepted our offer."

He held out his hand, which my father shook, and then I showed him to the door.

"It's going to be weird, you know... living with you," I ventured, because despite having slept with each other on occasion when we were teenagers, we had never been anything more than friends. As far as I knew he was still dating a man he'd met a few years ago at the synagogue.

"We could share a room, if that would be better than sharing with your parents," he said.

I'm sure the blush that rose to his cheeks was matched by my own.
"I don't mean it that way," he said, quietly enough that my parents wouldn't overhear, "Just, you know... you might be more comfortable."

"Of course," I said.

"One of our cousins will be staying in Rebekah's room, so the flat will be a bit cramped. I think we can all manage it, though. But... they don't... no one in my family knows about me, you know," he said, leaning in close.

"Ike's the only one I've ever told," I said, realizing in that moment just how much I missed him. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets. I hoped, wherever he was, that he was doing ok.

"Where is he, anyway?" Mark asked, "Rebekah said you seemed nervous when she asked..."

"I'll tell you later. He won't be coming with us, though."

Mark gave me a suspicious look, before smiling.
"Ok. Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then," and with that he made his way down the hall.

Though I was glad my parents had finally agreed to something, and that our accommodations would be better than many others', I was still understandably upset about what was to come. Though many of the people I knew believed the lies the Nazis fed us, I most definitely did not. I knew what was coming was going to be bad. But even I had no idea just how bad it would be.

Since our brutal eviction the previous week had left us with few possessions, we had nothing to pack. So we simply joined the streams of Jews moving through the streets, with all their worldly possessions in their arms or in carts, and made our way into the ghetto. The sheer amount of people trying to find some space within the walls of the ghetto was overwhelming to me, and I was very glad when we reached the Cotswolds' apartment, where we were welcomed with open arms.

The next day the walls were sealed behind us, and most of the people contained within them would never know freedom again. We would all do the best we could to get by, but out of the nearly 400,000 of us living under the cramped, crowded conditions, only a handful would survive. It was only through sheer luck that I was one of them.

XXX

Big thanks to hollycomb and sekritomg for helping me out with this. You guys are great.

Reviews are appreciated.