During World War II in Lithuania, the penalty for hiding Jews was death. Nonetheless, Jura’s family extended a helping hand to mine.
Today, as the world marks the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, I am thinking of my father, of blessed memory. He was among the Jews forcibly marched through the camp's entrance gate under the cynical Nazi motto: Arbeit Macht Frei, Work Makes (You) Free.
I remember the absence of sound,
deeper than silence
and more lonely,
like the moment just
all stretched and
except there was no time
so waiting was
Cafe Spindel is a quaint café in the center of Bad Segeberg, Germany that used to house a wool-processing factory. Because it was an unseasonably warm and sunny late summer day when I visited, our host, Pastor Martin Pommerening, suggested we sit outside.
It is worth remembering another day of infamy – September 1, 1939 – the day that set in motion the destruction of six million Jews. That date is a grim reminder of a wondrous Jewish world that would soon be no more.