Suddenly I saw before me the last day in the ghetto, when I and Israel my husband tried to look for help to save our baby daughter, and we turned to a Jewish policeman who we knew, his name was Perlstein. This policeman lived at that time at 9 Dezelena Street, which is where the Jewish policemen lived with their families. Perlstein’s family loved the child Tamarli, and when they heard that she had been captured to be deported they wrung the fingers of their hands. Perlstein, who was at that time in the room, took off his police hat from his head, and gave it with his certificates to Israel.

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“Run quickly to the Deportation Square”, he cried, “and tell the duty officer that your daughter is one of the captured children. I am sure that you will be able to get Tamarli back, as the police families will protect her. The wagons are still in the square, and the deportation will only begin at midnight.”

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With shaking hands Israel grabbed the hat, and told me to wait with the Perlstein family. When he reached the door the policeman added a small comment: “Israel, I forgot to tell you, that on the way there you must capture someone, any adult or child, who will take the place of Tamarli, as the number of people in the deportation must be correct.”

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Israel stood frozen. It seemed that he could not understand for a moment what was being said to him. However he immediately took the police hat off his head, and placed the certificates on the table.

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“My only daughter” I heard him say with a choked voice, “My only daughter, Only I am permitted to sacrifice her, only you are mine, only you are mine!!”