We were hidden on a small farm in the village of Lopushna. One day, my sister, Luba, who stayed in the main house, appeared in our bunker.

"What happened, Luba? Are we in danger?" asked our father.

"No," replied Luba, "the Russians are about 20 miles away and Koenisberg, our host, ran away. He is afraid of the Russians."

Our spirits rose. We would be liberated within one week! Afterwards, I sat for hours at the ventilation pipe, our only connection with the outside world, waiting for the Russians.

A few days later, I heard loud voices and the roar of motors.

"The Russians are here. Let's go," I cried out.

My father approached the vent, listened for a while and said:

"Those are Germans. The military police have taken the farm. The Russian offensive is broken. We are lost."

Our excitement quickly turned to despair. We had only a three-week supply of bread and water. To preserve our precious resources, we agreed on half a glass of water and a piece of bread daily.

One day, I heard a familiar voice, pleading with the Germans: "I am a Jew. Please give me a bowl of soup and a shower, and kill me later." I still don't know if the Germans wasted a bowl of soup on the dead Jew, but with their bullets they were generous.

A few days later, I was awakened by loud shouts: "Stop! Stop!" Then two piercing shots, followed by the screams of a wounded child. It was Cesia, the neighbor's daughter. She had run away when the Germans came to arrest her Jewish father.

As the days passed, I rapidly lost weight. The skin on my cheekbones became taut and thin and I had trouble sleeping. Worst of all was the thirst, the ever-nagging thirst. Dozing most of the time, I began to lose all sense of time and place.

Once, I awakened and saw my father and sister crouching restlessly on a bundle of straw. In the flickering light of the oil lamp, the underground vault seemed like an Egyptian tomb. My poor father had aged. My sister had developed protruding cheek bones; the lustre of her black hair and her beauty were gone. I thought we might die here.

"Oh God," I cried out, "What is going to happen to us? Let me die first."

After all those years of running, hiding, fighting, were we now destined to die a slow death? We considered breaking out but where could we run? The farm was swarming with Germans and the barking of the vicious neighborhood dogs would certainly alert them. Our best chance for survival was to remain in our bunker.

I dreamed of liberation, of going from well to well, drinking cool, delicious water, only to awaken to the pain of my parched lips.

A few days later, I heard loud voices. Slowly, I crawled to the vent pipe. These were Russian voices!

I jumped up, yelling: "Father, Luba, we made it. We are liberated!" We sprang up, amazed by our renewed strength, embraced and kissed each other and swiftly emerged into the bright, blinding sunshine.

I felt dazed. My eyes opened to the miracle of creation: the big oak tree was green, a dark vivid green; the flock of white geese with their orange beaks looked so peaceful, so alive. Even the grey sparrows chirping on the thatched roofs were wonders of nature.

Suddenly, I saw Stepan, the field hand, carrying a pail of water. Oh my God! Water, life-giving water! I ran toward him and sank my head into the pail.

When I got up, I saw my sister talking with a Russian soldier. What a sight! I ran toward the road and yelled to a Russian riding a horse: "I am a Jew. I survived. Thanks for the liberation."

"Paschol prokliatyj narod -- Go away, you cursed people. Get away from me," he screamed.

Nevertheless, the first month of our liberation was the most exciting time of my life. I met other survivors and immediately felt a strong bond and kinship. It was wonderful to experience closeness and trust again after all those harsh years.

Still, liberation was not all that I expected. Two weeks later, I was summoned to the mayor's office where I was told: "You are being sent to work in the coal mines of Donbas."

"I am 17 years old, undernourished, sick with diarrhea and I weigh exactly 80 pounds. How can I work in coal mines?" I protested.

"Never mind, you will manage. We Russians don't differentiate between Ukrainians, Poles and Jews. Everybody has equal rights and obligations," answered the mayor.

At that moment, I realized that my struggle for survival was not over. It merely entered a new, more subtle phase. The next day, I enrolled in high school, claiming that I was only 15 years old. I simply deducted the years in hiding.

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