We emigrated from Tunisia. In 1954 my parents had a beautiful daughter by the name of Dina. Her hair was black-brown and her eyes green-brown. When she was 8 months old she had diarrhea so my mother took her to Assaf Harofeh and was there with her until nighttime. At night she was told to go home so she went.

In the morning when she returned to the hospital her bed was empty. She asked where her daughter was, so they told her that she had had a high fever and died. She asked to see her, was told it was forbidden and was asked to leave. I was 3 years old then.

Before my mother died she began to talk about Dina and said she knew she did not die but went to a family of Holocaust survivors, and that she was at peace with it.

Our uncle who worked at the Ministry of the Interior helped us look and we found someone we thought must be her but a blood test proved it was not.