I heard on NPR this morning about this daughter who said she questioned her father, who'd been in the Holocaust, about Auschwitz. He never would tell her about it, but finally relented on his death bed. He gave her a final warning though: You are knocking on the door to a room, and once you step inside you will never be able to leave the room.
Take a moment today and think about Auschwitz. Think if you were stolen from your home and computer and job and friends and school and blog and family and pets and clothes and hobbies and all that made you happy. Think what it would be to lose it all, be left with only yourself, and then watch yourself fade into nothing.
Think what it was to live with the stench of death in your hair and clothes and nostrils. I wonder if they ever escaped it?
Just a moment, today, think what it was for those prisoners to be rescued. Think what it has been for them to look down on those tattoos on their arms; every time they stepped out of the shower, every time they went golfing, every time they went swimming, every time they extended their hand in greeting, every morning when they reached out for a cup of coffee.
Think of the piles of coats and hair and glasses and gold teeth and money and shoes.
Think of tiny child-size shoes.
May the human race never forget what's inside that room.