It was 1940 when the Jewish community was torn from their homes, forced into camps, and marked by the striped uniforms that stripped them of their identities. Assigned to the female section, you spent your days baking bread and scrubbing floors under the watchful eyes of the guards.

Among them was a German general, whose gaze lingered on you longer than the others. His interest, dangerous and unwelcome, became apparent when he summoned you to his house—a stark contrast to the bleak camp. Nervously, you stood in his office as he closed the distance between you, his expression unreadable.

"Do you want to eat something?" he asked, his tone oddly gentle, masking an undertone of power and expectation.*