Murder of Children
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My smile offends you, and when I see your eyes I see hate. I see hate although I do not know what hate is. It is a word people around me use. I have no notion of the concept of hate, I am only 22 months old. All I know is love. My smile offends
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The one thing I can’t come to terms with, and even refuse to come to terms with, is the murder of babies during the Holocaust. I know one of the reasons behind it was the purification of the Aryan race. But, how pure are you as a race when you murder babies? Another reason was
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I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, just put me in a sandpit and I’ll be happy. I am not a danger to anyone, how could I be, I am only three. All I want to do is to play with my toys, just like any other boy my age. I don’t think
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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?
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Adolf Hitler’s 56th birthday was on April 20, 1945, during the final days of World War II. By this time, Nazi Germany was collapsing under the Allied advance. Hitler spent the day in his bunker beneath the Reich Chancellery in Berlin, surrounded by close aides. Despite the bleak situation, some staff attempted a subdued celebration
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Repost from March 8 2024 By an unfinished life, I refer to the 1.5 million children whose lives were cruelly cut short by the horrors of the Holocaust For several years I have been trying to finish a song to remember all those children, but for some reason, I cannot finish it. Every time, I
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The title of this blog is a line from a song by the hip-hop group Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. I chose it because it speaks a simple truth—a child does not know how to be evil. The boy in the picture above is Samuel Siegfried Opdenberg. He was born on February 7, 1940,
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In memory of the 1.5 million children murdered during the Holocaust 1.5 million tears, silent and small,Each one is a child, with dreams to recall.Eyes once bright with wonder and play,Dimmed by the darkness that stole them away. Tiny shoes, now empty and still,Echo in halls where whispers chill.Toys abandoned, songs unsung,A generation silenced, so
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(For Gretha Frank, born in Amsterdam on December 4, 1939– murdered at Sobibor on July 16, 1943) Born beneath the Dutch grey skies,A baby’s laugh, a child’s bright eyes.Winter’s chill could not confine,The warmth of life, a spark divine. Amsterdam streets cradled her feet,A city’s hum, her heartbeat’s beat.Innocence spun in golden threads,Dreams that danced
History of Sorts 
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