To say that I don’t have nightmares would be a lie. I dream about my parents all the time. The only facts I know are that they died in Auschwitz, and my sister and I didn’t. I am Elizabeth, twenty-one years old, attending medical school, child of the kindertransport, and survivor of the Nazi regime. These are my experiences, yet they are not for you to learn my legacy; but that of my family, the other survivors, and the persecuted who can no longer speak. This is a story, ultimately, about small actions and how they do make a difference. When I was nine, I brought home the newspaper for Father. It was a cold, grey January day – the 30th to be precise – and on the cover it read that Adolf Hitler had been elected as German chancellor. Around April I started to notice the propaganda. On April 25th Hitler declared that Jewish students could make up no more than 5 percent of the total student population in any public school. Rebekah, a girl in my class and fellow Jew, had to leave. Her family moved to Poland that summer and I never heard from her again.