“I was only sixteen and I was employed in the Terezín Ghetto self-administration as a runner.

On an errand, I saw the much talked-about Swiss Red Cross delegation. They were being shown around by the cream of the local SS.

I started running past them really fast. As I was passing Heindel, one of the SS-men, I pushed him with my elbow, as if by accident. I turned around and saw him just stare back at me, without a word. My mother then scolded me severely for this and she was right. But I was very proud of what I did.

After the liberation, I returned home to Vienna. Among the things I recovered were my late mother’s clothes. I started wearing them and never bothered to remove the yellow star they bore.

“Why don’t you take it off?”, people asked. “It’s them who should be ashamed, not me,” I retorted”