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107 Taste of Liberation Adele Laznowski Zaveduk It was late summer of 1944, when I was seven and my sister Josette was five, in France. The American troops were liberating France, one town after another. They came to our little village of Brou, about seventy-five miles west of Paris. It was a joyous day for everyone, and their happiness was contagious. I was excited. I knew I wouldn’t have to be afraid of the Germans anymore. I was able to run around, jump, scream, and sing without anyone telling me to stop. There was a large convoy of trucks and huge tanks slowly rolling down our narrow streets. All the villagers were laughing, singing, crying, waving, and hugging one another . The convoy stopped and we children surrounded the big, tall tanks. American soldiers stood on top of them, waving, smiling, and talking to us in English, which we did not understand, while we were jumping around and shouting, “Liberté” (Freedom) and “Mort aux Boches” (Death to the Germans). What chaos! They threw sweets at us. Every child was trying to get some. My sister Josette was lucky. She was able to grab a roll of Life Savers. She savored them, and even today the sight of those candies makes her smile. I was not as lucky. I grabbed a little yellow box of Chiclets gum, which was unknown in Europe. What a pretty yellow box. I opened it and put the little white tablet in my mouth. It tasted horrible and stuck to my teeth and gums. I threw the candies out and kept the yellow box. It was the only thing that really belonged to me. It made me happy to own something that no other child had. For one year it was my little treasure. When my father was liberated from Auschwitz, he came looking for Josette and me and took us back to Paris, where he temporarily left us in an orphanage because he didn’t have a place of his own yet. I don’t remember the name or location of the orphanage, but I believe it was a secular one because there were no nuns or priests running it. We were scared. We did not know this thin, sad-looking man who claimed he was our father. We lost the sense of security we had living with Madame Moulard. In 1942, my mother, with an underground agency’s help, had taken us to live with her and keep us out of danger. She was the only family we knew. At our arrival at the orphanage, my sister and I were separated because of our age difference, which meant we went to different classes daily and stayed in different dormitories. Due to the regimentation, we were unable to see each other during the week. I also missed being outdoors in the country with Madame Moulard. From then on Josette and I saw each other only on Sundays because that is when our dad came to see us. The orphanage gave us new clothes and disposed of our old ones. They also took my little empty yellow box. That day I lost my little treasure forever. It was taken away from me. Recently I told this Chiclets box story to my seven-year-old granddaughter. She bought a little box of Chiclets, made a card, and gave it to me so I would have my little treasure again. 108 Out of Chaos Figure 33. Card from Adele Laznowski Zaveduk’s granddaughter after she learned that the orphanage took away Adele’s yellow Chiclets box; made in 2006. ...

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