History of Sorts

(November 22, 1934 – November 13, 1942)

In Amsterdam’s streets, a child once played,
Laughter as bright as the morning’s arrayed.
Judic, a girl with dreams untold,
It’s a story cut short in a world gone cold.

Born to life on a November morn,
In a city where beauty and strife were sworn.
The cobbled paths knew her tiny feet,
Her voice, like a melody, pure and sweet.

But shadows crept where the light had been,
A world consumed by a monstrous sin.
A star was sewn where freedom lay,
And innocence dimmed, day by day.

To Auschwitz, the train’s cruel cry did call,
A child, not yet eight, so small, so small.
Her life extinguished, a candle’s breath,
In a place of silence, in the grip of death.

Yet, Judic, your name will not fade,
In the hearts of the living, your spirit stayed.
We speak of you, your short-lived song,
A light in the dark where we still belong.

May your memory shine, a guiding flame,
A reminder of love in a world of shame.
Judic Vischjager, forever in our care,
A soul who deserved a world more fair.

Source

https://www.joodsmonument.nl/nl/page/192268/judic-vischjager