November 9, 1938
Today the most horrible thing that can ever happen to a Jew—right next to death—happened to me: I was separated from my own mother, my only family. Today's night, better known as the Kristallnacht, was a night of terror for any Jew. German soldiers broke in to our house and started breaking anything that they saw ahead of them. They kicked our door down, broke porcelain vases and flipped wooden tables. All the noise made it clear that we would soon be in trouble. We were going to jump out of one of the attic's windows, but my mother was afraid, and she was taken by the soldiers. Before jumping-since she knew she wouldn't be able to jump-she took my "journal" from one of the night stands and gave it to me. Her last words were "take it, and write, don't forget about me." Here words were engraved in my mind, it was one of those phrases that one never forgets in a lifetime. I told her that I would never possibly forget about my only family, and that I would find her again someday...she couldn't help but cry.
I'm writing while on my way to Hans' house. My mother mentioned him, she told me to go to an address in Himmel Street, in the not-so-close town of Molching. "Do not worry—she said—he is a kind man, your father would never stop talking about him, so I'm sure he'll help you somehow." My father knew Hans from WWI, how could he forget? He saved Hans' life. It is true that he'd never stop talking about "his good wartime friend Hans." My father died a few months after the war from tuberculosis...respiratory diseases run in the family, but I think he might have caught it in the war, it was very common. Well, there's a long way to Molching, so I think I'll put down my pen and continue my travels.
YOU ARE READING
Max's Mein Kampf
Short StoryA very short story based on Markus Zusak's "The Book Thief," with familiar characters and the same story, but from a different point of view: Max Vanderbourg's. You might know the stories of many Jews during World War 2 in Germany, why not experienc...
