
Young human beings—why did you have to die?
One of you still has the eyes open, but the eyes are without a spark—the life has gone out of them.
I don’t know who these children are—all I do know is that they died from starvation and typhus and were about to be buried. The only consolation is that they were getting a decent burial arranged by those who liberated Bergen Belsen.
The look of the dead child has touched me more than any other image I have seen before. It touches my heart. Although I don’t know them, Although I don’t know them, I feel a pain—which is a real pain.
The oversized socks rip my soul apart.
They only died because of the hate of those who did not deem them worthy to live.
Two young human beings who had so much to live for became a statistic. 2 of 13,000 unburied corpses.
But I refuse to see them as a corpse—the body once encompassed a life and a soul. I refuse to see them or any of the victims as a statistic—they are all a part of our history. If we see them as a statistic or some mathematical equation, we forget that they could have been a friend, a neighbour, a parent of a spouse, a parent of the lady in the coffee shop who serves you a latte and a muffin once a week and does it with a smile on her face.
We should never forget that these were human beings.
If we forget our history, we forfeit our future.
WE CAN NEVER EVER FORGET
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