Children on Death Row: The Hate and the War

I still have the nightmares. It is a dark, rainy night, fall of 1944. I am a child; a prisoner in Terezin Concentration Camp. It is nighttime in the children's home, and I wake up early in the morning. In the shadowy half-light I can make out the double bunkbeds crowding the old military barracks attic. I start to realize there is a commotion near the door. I peek up from beneath my rough, thin blanket to see a little group of children in the shadows near my bunk. They are just getting read...