Sitting in a cramped dingy closet, there’s not much to do. I spend most of my time trying not to pee on the floor, make any noise, and I stare at the door – the closed door. I hear the sound of those terrible warriors pounding outside the helpless family’s house, and I imagine the terror that will come to the family if they find me. I hear the combat boots crunch the beautiful autumn leaves, and I know that they will search every corner of this house until they find me. The red swastika bands wrapped around their left bicep radiates death, and shows how stupid and full of hatred this war is. There was a pounding on the front door, most likely the commander, and the family’s feet shuffle like little mice towards the door. A sea of Gestapo uniforms flood into the house, and I watch helplessly from my hidden peephole in the door. But they do not stop at the closet, they trample down the rickety wooden staircase and into the cellar. I know the soldiers are smart, they will find me, so I clutch the golden star pinned to my tunic and close my eyes. My vision is abruptly covered by a blur of red, and I hear a man’s voice call out and speak rapidly in German. They have found me. A thunder of footsteps rise the narrow basement staircase, and the closet door is abruptly flung open. Light floods my face, and I squint. I send out my final prayer, but I know there is no hope. The door has been opened, and I am in the light.