I don’t hate you..

gIDEON

I don’t hate you. I don’t even understand what that word means.

There are things I don’t like, like Spinach. I’d rather have an ice cream or a lolly pop.

Hate is a concept made by grown ups, not by children like me.

I only see the good in people.

Why should I hate you? I don’t even know you.

Yet you hate me and you don’t know me either.

Your hate for me is so strong that your desire is to kill me.

Granting me one more sunrise is too much for you to bear< why?

I don’t hate you, but you hate me.

I am Gideon Prager born 4 June 1942 in the Hague. Murdered 6 March 1944, in Auschwitz.

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All I feel now is pain

Siblings

At first I felt joy because who could not be joyful seeing those 2 beautiful smiley faces.

Then I am amazed because I see you tow have the same birthday, April 4, 1932.

This is followed by bewilderment because you appear to have different last names.

Milan Herrmann and Dagmar Herrmannová. But after a bit of research I discover that it is the same surname but just a male and female version of the name.

You are twins. A whole world is open for you, The world is your oyster,you have the ability to achieve anything you want in life.

You have the ability but the opportunity was never given to you.

Evil men put you on a transport. 3 weeks after your 10th birthday. Shortly afterwards you were both killed.

Two beautiful children brutally murdered because of hate.

Knowing this hurts me.

All I feel now is pain.

 

 

Letter to Henio

Henlo

The “Letters to Henio” project began in the city of Lublin in 2005 as part of an activity to preserve and reconstruct the city’s Jewish heritage. A local cultural center, Grodzka Gate – NN Theatre, organizes this educational activity. According to the center’s director, Tomasz Pietrasiewicz, the main idea of the project is as follows: “It is impossible to remember the faces and names of 40,000 people. Remember one. A shy smile, white shirt with a collar, colored shorts, side haircut, striped socks… Henio.”

Every year on 19 April, which is Holocaust Remembrance Day in Poland, pupils and citizens of Lublin are asked to send letters addressed to Henio Zytomirski at 11th Kowalska Street, the last known address of Henio in Lublin.

I am not a citizen of Lublin, but I felt compelled to also send a letter to Henio. Howver I will not send it to his last known address but will post it below.

“Dear Henio,

I don’t know you and you don’t know me.

But looking at your last photograph I can see a proud young boy, standing straight and ready to pose for his picture to be taken. A white shirt, pure white socks the symbol of your purity and innocence.

You were only 6  years old when this picture was taken. It was perhaps taken after a long school day and you were eager to go home, to kick a ball or just to have a cod glass of water or lemonade.

Maybe it was a hot day ,because it was July 1939, and you were promised an ice cream after the picture was taken.

None of this was extraordinary because every child is entitled to have a treat after being such a good child.

A few months after this picture was taken at the start of a new school year your world was turned upside down, On September 1 1939, a foreign army invaded your country. A foreign army with ver bad intentions.

You this army did not only want to take all the land it also want to get rid of people like you. You were Jewish and according this evil new regime your life was not worthy.

First they took you and your family from your home in Lublin and were put into a ghetto, Then in November 1942 you and your father were sent to the Majdanek concentration camp, it was not too far away from your house.

But you were never to see your house again because on that day  November 9th,1942 you were murdered. You were put into a gas chamber where you died an awful death. You were only 9.

I don’t know you and you don’t know me but from now on ,every year on March 25th, your birthday, I will light a candle for you and remember you until the day that I shed my earthly coil.

And maybe one day our souls will meet.”

 

Do you dream of me at night?

Henny

Yesterday it would have been my 80th Birthday. Henny Sophia Frank, born on February 23,1939 in Amsterdam. My name is Henny Sophia but people call me Henneke.

But alas I was not allowed to celebrate my 80th birthday. Nor was I allowed to celebrate my 70th or 60th, in fact I wasn’t even allowed to celebrate my 5th birthday.

You see, you killed me in Sobibor when I was 4. All the things I could have been never came to pass. In the end I became a number, a statistic. But I am so more then that.

I am a child who had many dreams, dreams of becoming a teacher, a nurse, a doctor or just simply someone that works in a shop, a boutique where they sell the lastest fashion from Paris and Milan.

My dream were cut short by you and the regime you so admired, a regime of hate and greed.

My dreams were cut short, but do you see me in your dreams?

Do you ever think of me or all the others you killed, the ones you lied to. You told them not to worry, they’d be fine after they had a shower, but they did not get water but death.

Do you ever see my eyes in your dreams? My eyes that only displayed innocence.

I doubt you dream at all.

 

There is nothing more beautiful then the smile of a child.

ema

Being a Parent is the hardest job in the world. The sleepless nights, the dirty diapers, the countless times being peed on.Also the worries when your baby has a bit of a temperature, the millions of scenarios of what could go wrong with your child.

But all of that is forgotten the second you see that very first smile. Nothing on this earth is more valuable or could replace its beauty.

A smile so pure and full of innocence and unconditional love, it could melt every one’s heart.

Yet there are those who saw this token of purity and innocence as a threat to their very existence.

The love was answered with hate.

The pureness was answered with filth.

The innocence was answered with death.

How could anyone look at a smiley face like that of Emma Zilverberg and feel compelled and righteous enough to destroy that life?

It breaks my heart to think that the last minutes of this 18 month old girl were filled with pure evil. Evil in its most barbaric, inhumane form.

The really disturbing aspect of this that those who killed her possibly had young children themselves, or may have been an uncle or aunt to a niece or nephew.

Emma Zilverberg was killed in Sobibor she was still a baby. If we forget Emma and all those countless children who died in the Holocaust and other genocides, we will have failed as a society.

 

Source of picture

Ancientfaces.com

 

I am Paul

paul

I am Paul , like every 4 year old boy I like to kick a ball. Give me a blank sheet of paper and some crayons and I am happy as can be.

I am Paul  I feel like a big boy but I know I am small. I like to play outside, come rain or shine.

I am Paul and sometimes I cry when I fall. But when my dad or mum pick me up and wipe away my tears and kiss my sore knee better I feel great again.

I am Paul , when I get praise I feel 10 feet tall. I love my food  especially cakes and  all things sweet.

I am Paul , I don’t like being an oddball. I hate it when people laugh at me and point at me and make fun of the yellow star I wear.

I am Paul and I can’t understand it at all. Why does anyone want to murder me. I am only 4, I want to live so much more.

I am Paul van Gelderen I was murdered in Auschwitz on September 28 1942 ,together with my Mother.

I am Paul, I am Paul.

 

A promise of life

sarah

I was born with a promise of life.

A life full of joy and excitement, but also a life of sometimes sadness

A life of play and learning new skills every day.

A life which is unique , so very much the same as other but yet totally different.

A life with family and friends.

A life of song and dance.

A life full of flavors and colors

But my promise of life became a certainty of death.

I am Sarah Eva Vleeschhouwer, I died age 7 murdered in Auschwitz.

 

Source

Joods Monument

 

Your hate will die with you. My love will last.

LUIS KOE

You hate me simply because I am a Jew.

You hate me just because I am not a pure Aryan.

Yet by your own definition I look more Aryan then your leader, the same man who has told you to hate me.

You hate me because you lack the intellectual capacity to recognize that your hate is based on nothing.

You hate me  that’s why it is easy for you to kill me, but you only kill the body that encapsulated the essence of me.

You hate me and you will take that hate in to your grave and your hate will die with you, whereas my soul and love will love forever.

You hate me,  but I am loved by so many

I am Louis Koe I was born on January 3, 1936. I was deported to Sobibor in June 1943 from Vught via Westerbork on the so-called children’s transport. I was murdered  on July 9th, 1943 age 7.

 

Source

Yad Vashem

Joods Museum

 

The Angel Louis Turksma

Louis

Dear Louis, I have to believe you are an Angel Because if I don’t I get engulfed with hate for those who killed you. But your beautiful face only radiates love.

You are an Angel, you already look up to your new home in Heaven. You were 4 when you were murdered by those who thought you were only vermin. You re not, you never were and never will be. Your murderers are the vermin.

How can anyone look in those eyes and feel they have  a justified reason for closing them for ever?

You are an Angel like so many others who died in Auschwitz.

There is a hypothetical question that asks ” Who would you like to meet first when you pass the pearly gates?”

Louis if my time has come, I hope it is you I see first. But til then be my Angel as I will be your voice.

 

Old enough

Oudgenoeg

My name is Frouktje Oudgenoeg, I am aged 2. My last name means Old enough.

That is exactly what I am.

I am old enough to sing and dance.

I am old enough to play outside in the garden, come rain or shine.

I am old enough to get my face dirty with jam and chocolate and old enough to get my hands all muddy.

I am old enough to have love given to me in abundance.

I am old enough to wake up at night because of a nightmare.

However I am not old enough to live in a nightmare.

I am not old enough to experience hate

I am not old enough to be deprived from everything that is good in this world.

I am not old enough to die.

And I am certainly not old enough to be brutally murdered.

Yes I was murdered at Auschwitz-Birkenkau on November 2,1942, age 2.

I hope I will be old enough to be remembered by you.