He’s a boy called Jew. Gypsy. Stopthief. Runt. Happy. Fast. Filthy son of Abraham. He’s a boy who lives in the streets of Warsaw. He’s a boy who steals food for himself and the other orphans. He’s a boy who believes in bread, mothers, and angels. He’s a boy who wants to be a Nazi some day,... read more
Stoptheif is a boy who lives on the street of Warsaw. Stoptheif is small and quick which makes him very good at stealing food for the orphans and himself. Stoptheif first thinks that he wants to be a Nazi mostly because of their shiny boots. Later on he figures out what cruel and sad things... read more (warning: may contain spoilers)
Stoptheif is a boy who lives on the street of Warsaw. Stoptheif is small and quick which makes him very good at stealing food for the orphans and himself. Stoptheif first thinks that he wants to be a Nazi mostly because of their shiny boots. Later on he figures out what cruel and sad things that the Nazis do to the jews and changes his mind. This book takes place during the time of the Holocaust which means that this book teaches you about the sad but true things that happened. This book book is very touching and I recommend it very highly. You will love it like I did!!!
“"I think of all the voices that have told me who I have been, the names I've had...who I was. Now I am. I am...Poppynoodle."”Misha
“I don't like the fat one.”janina
The Jackboot flung me against a wall. I saw his hand go to his holster. I saw the gun come out and point between my eyes. “Die, piglet!” The voice. I looked up. The red hair. The face. “Uri!” I cried, and the gun went off.Highlighted by 23 Kindle customers
This is what the enemy does. He flies overhead in his airplane. If he sees you in the street below, he reaches out and drops a bomb on your head. I pictured bombs as black iron balls about the size of a sauerkraut kettle.Highlighted by 22 Kindle customers
“When you’re nothing, you’re free to believe anything. Go to sleep, Misha.”Highlighted by 22 Kindle customers
“I’m not a Jew,” I told him. I held up my yellow stone. “I’m a Gypsy.” My reply delighted him. “Ah, so, a Gypsy. Good! Very good!”Highlighted by 18 Kindle customers
From the moment Mr. Milgrom said, “He is now,” my identity as a Gypsy vanished. Gone were the seven wagons, seven brothers, five sisters, Greta the speckled mare. Deep down I guess I had always known my Gypsy history was merely Uri’s story, not reality. I didn’t miss it. When you own nothing, it’s easy to let things go. I supposed my last name was Milgrom now, so Pilsudski went too. I kept Misha. I liked it.Highlighted by 16 Kindle customers
I rock. I smile. I close my eyes. I think of all the voices that have told me who I have been, the names I’ve had. Call me thief. Call me stupid. Call me Gypsy. Call me Jew. Call me one-eared Jack. I don’t care. Empty-handed victims once told me who I was. Then Uri told me. Then an armband. Then an immigration officer. And now this little girl in my lap, this little girl whose call silences the tramping Jackboots. Her voice will be the last. I was. Now I am. I am . . . Poppynoodle.Highlighted by 15 Kindle customers
Death was as familiar to us as life. Even those still breathing, walking—they looked as if they were waiting for someone to tell them they were dead.Highlighted by 14 Kindle customers
I was sure then that I would never again disobey Uri. But I did not know about the beautiful horses.Highlighted by 13 Kindle customers
I never see who is chasing and calling me. I never stop long enough to eat the bread. When I awaken from dream or memory, my legs are tingling.Highlighted by 10 Kindle customers
“I’m Uri,” he said. “What’s your name?” I gave him my name. “Stopthief.”Highlighted by 9 Kindle customers
We’re hiding the movie connections, books that influenced this book, books influenced by this book, books that cite this book and books cited by this book sections. If you would like to add content to them, you must first make them visible.