yes. it was the winter of 1944. our camp was closed down, we were told we had to move on. but the plan kept changing every day. women were dying all around us in the snow. half of us died on the march. my daughter says in the book, less a death march, more a death gallop.
that night we actually thought we were lucky because we had a roof over our heads. we'd arrived in a village, as always, the guards took the best quarters, they took the priest's house. but they let us sleep in a church. there was a bombing raid. in the middle of the night. at first we could only hear the fire, it was in the steeple. then we could see burning beams, and they began to crash to the floor. everyone rushed, rushed to the doors. but the doors had been locked on the outside.
nobody.
everyone was killed.
i needed to get away from the other women. because they were panicking, they were screaming. i couldn't stand it. i couldn't stand their screaming. i was more frightened of the other women than i was of the fire. so i too my daughter and led her to the upper floor. i can't defend what i did. it's impossible to defend. i took ilana in my arms and i led her towards the fire. there was a small gallery at the side of the church on the upper level. it saved our lives. the gallery didn't burn.