Mom worried because I didn't want to eat, and she was afraid, the poor thing, that I would be hungry. So at night she would put some cake on the night table that I had by my bed. I used to devour them. And in the morning Mom would get up and say, ‘Who ate the poor child's cake?' And I would sit up mum, then say, ‘I don't know, perhaps someone came and ate it. I didn't eat anything, absolutely.' ‘ ‘Poor child, somebody ate it all up,’ she would say. I didn't want to eat anything, because I knew that they would worry. Evidently I wanted to be important. Later, in the concentration camp, when I remembered, if I had just a crumb of that cake … I sinned terribly, not wanting to eat.