Margot Krup rode her tricycle down one street of her ghetto. As she turned to go back the other way she saw one of her friends and her family being shoved out of their house, belongings falling behind them every step they took and tears were streaming down her friend’s cheeks. “Frieda!,” she cried, but it was too late. The SS truck drove away with her best friend inside.
Pedaling as fast as her little legs would allow, Margot reached her house. As she blindly ran through it, her eyes brimmed with unshed tears and she tried to find her mother. “Momma, Momma! They took Frieda, Momma!” A tired looking woman, Mrs.Gabriele Krup held her sobbing daughter. “Hush my child. The loss of your friend is very upsetting is it not? But you must hold on to the hope always. That is what keeps us safe.” She crooned as she stroked Margot’s hair. “But Momma, it is so hard when you see your friends go and you do not. It is so lonely, Momma.” Slowly, Margot was able to stop crying. Her mother kissed the top of her head. “Now go run and play. Everything will be alright, Margot. This foolishness will end soon.” Margot drew away from her mother and went in search of her baby doll.
“Wake up, Jews! You have fifteen minutes to gather only what you can carry!Wake up Jews!" It was a week later. Margot rubbed her eyes and yawned. Her mother was running around putting things in a suitcase. “Momma, where are we going?” she asked. Mrs. Krup told her to get dressed; they were going to a camp. Margot brightened. A camp? She had heard of camps where children played all day and had fun. She hurriedly dressed and went with her mother to the train.
Hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Margot was all these things, but just when she thought they were there, the train moved again. Her eyelids drooped as the train pulled to a stop once more, but she couldn’t sleep because it was too crowded. Margot was picked up off the floor and told to walk. She didn’t think this camp was going to be fun any more. The doors opened. Some men and a lady with guns stood there. It was dark outside. “Move dirty pigs! Get off the train! Go!” one of the men shouted. Margot looked up and could faintly see an iron sign. She tried to read the letters. D...A...C...H...A...U. But she could not read the word. Startled, Margot again was pushed from behind. Mrs. Krup grabbed her hand as they were forced to head towards a wooden building with a line of other women.
The months passed slowly as Margot became sadder and thinner as she worked beside her mother in the camp factory. As she handed her mother more fabric for the soldier’s outfits they had to make, she tried to think about home. Not the ghetto, but home- where Papa had laughed and called her his baby doll. Before the Kristallnacht when father died protecting their store. Margot’s eyes glistened as she glared at the uniform they made her wear.
A distant bell sounded. It was time to go back. They lined back up quickly, but Gabriele Krup’s weak frame stumbled. “If you cannot even line up, how must you work?! You are no longer needed, Jew!” The guard raised his pistol and aimed it at Gabriele. Mrs. Krup closed her eyes and waited. She had given up so long ago. “Momma, NO!” Margot screamed and ran for her mother as the gun went off.
While time passes and hopes fade, a tricycle creaks alone in the wind waiting for its little girl to come home.
This story is dedicated to the memory of all the Jewish people that died in the Holocaust of WWII.
For the dead and the living we must bear witness.