ABSTRACT
When I look back at my experiences in the ghetto and in the concentration camp I do not remember ever having felt that the end was near, that my life would soon be extinguished. At no point was I seized with mortal fear that I might not make it, that my death was imminent. Somehow, I was confident that I still had life ahead of me and would survive. Anti-Semitism was a part of my very being. I have suffered under it for as long as I remember; it dates back to the dawn of my self-awareness. But it was not life-threatening until the harsh period between the German occupation of Hungary, on March 19, 1944, and my liberation by the Americans in Ebensee-Mauthausen, Upper Austria, on May 6, 1945, during which period actual killing was the order of the day. Yet even during this time, I was confident of my survival.
