To everyone in the foyer reading the lists, or on the sidewalks waving signs and photos of their families whod disappeared, I said over and over again: Everyone is dead. If they insisted, showing me family photos, Id calmly say: Were there any children? Not a single child will come back. I didnt mince my words, I didnt try to spare their feelings, I was used to death. Id become as hard-hearted as the deportees who saw us arrive at Birkenau without saying a single comforting word. Surviving makes other peoples tears unbearable. You might drown in them.

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Themes

  • War — Reflections on conflict, peace, and the human cost of war

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