"One of her favourite times of the year was Christmas. Her parents would hang ornaments on the tree and when they were finished her father would ring a bell. Brigitte made a ting-a-ling sound when she recounted this story.
'Dad then opened the door. And there was a tree with all the lights on, real white candles. And so you could look at it. But first we had to eat Christmas Eve dinner. And then after this we could get under the tree. Always there were real cookies. And we could get some down. And eat some. Not all, just a couple.'
Brigitte said she knew that the people who worked in the villa and garden were prisoners in the camp. 'They were always very happy,' she said. 'They called my mother, the Angel of Auschwitz.' Seeing my surprise, Brigitte said: 'My mom was just a nice person. Period.'”
~ Thomas Harding
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