We immigrated to Israel from Yemen in 1949. I was seven years old. We went straight to the tents in Rosh HaAyin. My mother was pregnant then. She gave birth to a daughter named Rachel. When she was born, they took her to the nursery. I remember that it snowed, so it was good that they took her. How could a baby stay in a tent when it’s snowing? Mother used to go to breastfeed her two or three times a day, and would return home. When Rachel was 9 months old, someone came from the [Jewish] Agency and promised my parents that they will be moved to Beit Shemesh and given housing there. Father agreed, and when mother went to nurse Rachel she informed them that they were leaving and that she would come the next morning to collect Rachel. Rachel was healthy; she didn’t have any issues at all. The next morning, when my parents came to the nursery to get her, they were told she was not living and the door was shut on them. They were given nothing – no body, no death certificate. They started screaming there and crying, and still, no one opened the door to them. They returned in tears. And when they returned, the truck was waiting to take us to Beit Shemesh.