I finish the rings and give them to Kommandant Stangl, he is very pleased and I feel a wave of relief wash over me. He leaves with them clutched tightly in his hand and returns a few minutes later with a bowl of soup and some hot fresh buttered bread for me. I eat the food and it tastes delicious. I am beginning to realize that I can survive here if I am useful to the guards.

The Kommandant drops a handful of rings and bracelets onto the table. Some of them clatter onto the floor.

'I want you to make a nameplate for me, to fit on the door of my hut. Can you do this?'

'Yes sir.' I tell him.

Later that day, the door to my workshop opens. A Blackie walks in. He tells me his name is Klat.

'I have a something for you. I will give it to you if you make a bracelet for my wife.'

'I don't have enough gold to make a bracelet,' I say. ‘With the gold I have I am making a nameplate for the Kommandant.’

'I will get you the gold you need.'

'Then I will start on it as soon as I have finished the nameplate.'

'Good.' Klat reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. He gives it to me.

It is a letter from Gavrel, my good friend who was taken to Camp III the day we arrived. Tears fill my eyes. I am so glad he is still alive.

'I want the bracelet in three days,' says Klat as he steps out of the workshop.

I quickly read Gavrel’s letter.

Dearest Avraham,

I am working in Camp III, and I see every day the inhumanity and atrocity the German guards are committing and I wonder how it is allowed. They are killing us all. They tell the Jews that they are going to work in the fields, and that they will take a shower first. The Jews are ordered to remove their clothes. Then they are locked into a chamber. A hundred at a time. The room is filled with Carbon Monoxide pumped from an engine behind the Camp. The cries and sounds of vomiting are unbearable. It takes ten minutes for them to die. Then the floor of the room drops open, and the bodies fall into carts. My job is to pull the carts out to the fields and bury the bodies.

Sometimes the bodies stir while we bury them, but the guards shoot them.

The trains will continue to come, and more of our brothers and sisters will be killed. This cannot be allowed to go on. Somebody must tell the world about Sobibor. I am sure that our story is missing from every newspaper in the world. I am sure our story is untold.

Tonight you must say the Kaddish for all who died and will continue to die here. Say it for me, as I will never be allowed to walk alive from here. But if there is ever a chance that you can escape from these sadistic Nazi's, then take it, because it will be the most important thing you ever do.

Your friend, Gavrel.

 Crying hard, I burn the letter. I could not risk being caught with it by any of the SS guards.