<p>Dorotka was the youngest of three children in a Jewish family. Her father was the director of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency in Warsaw and worked for a popular newspaper. An avid Zionist, he had traveled to Palestine.</p>
<p>1933-39: My father established a soup kitchen in Warsaw for Jewish refugees who had fled from Germany. In September 1939 I was supposed to begin first grade when <a href="/narrative/2388/en">war</a> broke out. My father escaped to Vilna with other Jewish leaders. People were suffering, but I didn't understand why. I was content with my playmates and my dolls.</p>
<p>1940-44: After my father brought us to <a href="/narrative/3169/en">Vilna</a>, the Germans killed him and deported me, my mother and sister to the <a href="/narrative/3933/en">Stutthof</a> camp. My mother died slowly of hunger. When my sister and I were sent to be gassed, a German saved me, saying, "Look at this rotten Jewish child; she has such beautiful eyes." My sister waved so I wouldn't follow her. When the Soviets neared Stutthof, two Germans with machine guns shot everyone in my barracks. Lying sick on my tummy and weighing just 40 pounds, I felt the sting of two bullets in my back.</p>
<p>Dorotka was found unconscious in her bunk two hours later when the camp was <a href="/narrative/2317/en">liberated</a> by Soviet troops on May 9, 1945. She immigrated to Israel in 1952.</p>

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