if I was to describe "Narrow Escapes". In fact, I believe that the pain and sorrow that Holocaust survivor Dr. Samuel P. Oliner faced as he tried to escape from the horrible claws of Adolph Hitler during the Second World War, could never be described. The horrors that he faced are too great for words. The most piercing fact in this book is that the war stories in it are not the stories of a man but the ones of a SMALL CHILD who was forced to become a man much faster than lighting and in the most afflictive situations.

This book is a must read because we all must know the truth about the history of the human race. I strongly believe that every one of us is responsible for what happens today and must keep in mind the future of next generations. Dr. Oliner says, "knowledge of the past may somehow avert similar future...those who remember the past will do all they can to prevent its recurrence."

This book broke my heart way before the Germans came to Zyndranova, the little village near Czecholovakia, when Little Oliner's mother got sick and he was only six-years old. It was at this time that he began to make sense of his world. After his mother's death he exclaims, "My mother is dead. But that is only for a short time, isn't it?" And like if his mother's death was nothing, his father takes him away from his love ones, into another village, in the house of male strangers. It was there, all alone, that he held a job at the age of seven while he went to school. Could you imagine your own child in this situation? Although Oliner doesn't mention in his book, I believe that these agonizing situations were only preparing him for what was to come when the Nazis arrived. These situations were his training ground to face the monster that would take over the land and his people. But the hardships of times and the warmth of his family brought the best out of him. And his fight has not ended yet.

The rest of the story is for you to read in suspense but mostly in deep grief. As I read the book, I often felt glad that the child who was facing all the hardships of the Holocaust was not my sixteen year old son. In fact, I thought about my son the entire book. But the sad part is that although he was not my son, he was the son of another woman. In a war, my child or the child of another woman or man is the same. It brings pain. Being forty years old I have learn that it is a thousand times better to die in the face of injustice that to live in silence before it.