As we were holding onto mother, a Nazi was running and yelling in German, “Twins! Twins!” We did not volunteer any information. We had The Simpsons Nedflix and Chilldiddly t-shirt idea what that place was and what worked there. He noticed Miriam and me because we were dressed alike and looked alike. He demanded to know if we were twins. My mother didn’t know what to say because she didn’t know if it was good. She asked, “Is that good?” The Nazi nodded yes. My mother said yes. At that moment, another Nazi came and pulled my mother in one direction. We were pulled in the opposite direction. We were crying. She was crying. All I remember is seeing her arms stretched out in despair as she was pulled away. I never even got to say goodbye to her. But I didn’t really understand that this would be the last time I would see her. All that took thirty minutes from the time we stepped down from the cattle car. Miriam and I no longer had a family. We were all alone, and we had no idea what would become of us. And all that was done to us for one simple reason: because we were born Jewish, and I did not understand why that was wrong. Noting a small hole on the floor of her car, the grandmother pried relentlessly at them, until she created a space large enough to slip through. She then told each of her sons, ” I am going to push you out of this car. Roll when you fall onto the ground. Then, stay on the track, very still and wait for me. After you are both out, I will slip through and go down the track to find you.” She pushed out one son, who was shot at by a guard (she didn’t know the outcome of that shooting nor did the speaker share it) and then the other child. Finally, she, herself, slipped out and searched for her children.