In October 1944, guards marched me, my mother, and the other Schindler women to a train station and shoved us into boxcars. Guards shut the big wooden doors, and the train left the station. There was no water, food, bathroom, or windows, or even much oxygen, but we believed the train was taking us to Oskar's new factory in Czechoslovakia. So we tolerated the overcrowding, hunger, and foul smells as best we could. After several hours, the train stopped. It was late at night. The doors opened, and a blinding spotlight hit our eyes. When our sight adjusted, we saw barbed-wire fences stretching in both directions.

There was a terrible stench like rotting meat. German soldiers stood before us with rifles and dogs. I looked up and saw a sign that read AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU. We had heard rumors about this place. It was said to be a killing center where Jews were murdered in gas chambers, and their bodies burned in crematoria ovens. There must be a mistake, we told ourselves. We work for Oskar Schindler. Why were we in Auschwitz? "Everyone off the train!" guards yelled.

" Raus! Quickly!".