Satisfied, filled with the warmth of the bright sun, the birds were singing cheerfully, oblivious of the war taking over the world. ("Blitz") - Esther Kreitman

It was the Sabbath. And even the wind and the snow rested from their labours. (first lines)

The festive season was over, and this was the time of year when an old folk song haunted the air in town and village an old familiar melody that evoked a smile here and a sigh there:
"Father, my Father, winter is drawing near,
And Father, O Father, a Jew should know no fear,
But look, O look, the snow is falling fast,
And hark, O hark, at the spiteful wintry blast.
See, there goes my roof, the water's coming through,
Hurry, Father, hurry, send succour to a poor old Jew!"

Bella was lying in her narrow, child's bed. She listened to the roaring Nazi aeroplanes and to the dull, faraway explosions and gunfire, which became increasingly clear as the planes came nearer. She heard the whistling sound of the bombs, which by now were coming down almost onto her own roof. As they fell, some of them wept like little children, others howled like mad dogs. She could see the flames through the window, rising up to the sky. Then another fire exploded in the blazing sky with such force it was as if somebody had poured a barrel of petrol onto a burning building. It lit up her girlish bedroom and the bed she was lying in.