But I still don’t rest in peace. I still feel tension and hatred. I still feel for the soles that were lost in this tragedy. Some of it even silent. Half the soles that were lost aren’t remembered today.
We could have brought something special to this world. In a way, we did. We didn’t let them, let you, forget. You can’t. It wouldn’t be right. To just forget the past and still hear the screams of bodies being murdered before you. The innocence. The faith that had been lost in so many. We’re afraid to remember. But I’m not. I remember the slaughtering, the paranoia. I remember the day it all happened.
I was raised in
Paris, France. We Jews thought it was outrageous. We hadn’t
heard of such a thing. It wasn’t possible until it happened.
It started with the German police coming to our town. Watching
us. They seemed like anyone else. But it had been taken to the
next level. We weren’t allowed at parks.We weren’t allowed to
communicate with the other children. We had to wear stars,
representing that we were a part of the religion the Germans
hated. I was a Jew. They were also Jews. And I got punished
for it.
We had later been
transported to Auschwitz were my father was taken away, and I
never saw him again. I had been forced to work on my own
grave. And then I was taken to the gas chamber. And I never
woke up again.
I’m the little girl with dark hair on the second row and
second to the right.
Freya is my
school friend's granddaughter. She is fourteen years old. She
gives me permission to publish her fine essay. For 'sole' read
'soul' and see http://www.umilta.net/soleheel.html.
Hazel and I were school children together across the English
Channel from where this was happening and later we were having
Nevil Shute's Pied Piper
about the Kindertransport read to us by nuns in the room
called 'Utopia' that looked out onto France. Memories we'll
never forget.
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