I cannot remember exactly when I understood what it meant to be born a Jew. That most of what happened to me was because I was a Jew. In the same way,I cannot remember exactly the day I understood that the small shapes on paper was a language to be understood.That it was letters so neatly lined up on the white paper and kept between two covers,just like the Jews in ghetto and Lager. To be able to read and write has always been a sort of mystery to me.But deep inside,I have always recognized the power of knowing to read and write,and has become as important to me as life itself. A burden often,but also a source of joy.The search for answers has been like stumbling along a unknown uphill road.But as time has passed ,the road itself became the answer. It has become important to make clear that the children of Holocaust was more than just numbers and statistics.We were ordinary children with the same dreams and hopes as children today. Lullabies for Annika was written in hope that the readers will be able to acknowledge that.Much of what is told,really events.The rest could have happened.