ABSTRACT
5 May 1945 is indelibly etched into my memory. I was not quite five years old on the day of my liberation. Liberation was not as liberating as it sounds, not for a Jewish child emerging from nearly three years in hiding. I believed that my Christian rescuers, Albert and Violette Munnik, were my parents and their daughter, Nora, my sister. I had forgotten my parents. Never mind that I was a boy with black, curly hair in a sea of blondes. I had become Robbie Munnik. They were my family and I did not know differently.
