El tren a Auschwitz, 1942. Estas imágenes, en color, me destrozaron el corazón. Tan inocente. Tan noble. En la última estación, sus vidas desaparecieron: vestidos con sus modestos atuendos, dirigiéndose hacia las cámaras de gas. Nunca más. Nunca más.

I wish @joerogan could have the trip to Israel I had. I wish he could walk through Yad Vashem and ask all the questions he wants and then come outside and see what I saw, that Am Yisrael Chai. That he could see the trees there for the Righteous Among the Nations and hear the stories. See the lights in the children's memorial. To walk from there to Mt. Herzl and see the rows and rows of plots and stones and on the way out have someone tell him what all those amazing little stickers on every lightpost and park bench are about, and read a couple dozen of them to him. Then to drive south and see the memorial to the watchers at Gaza, the kibbutzim, and the Nova Festival site in the company of a hero of October 7, and be left with nothing to say to him after his story but that one amazing thing: Am Yisrael Chai. Then to drive north and see the situation with Syria and Lebanon, then south again through Judea and Samaria (the so-called "West Bank"). Then to come back to life, to Chaim, in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and just to, you know, get it. Of course, I'm sure it could be arranged. He could even go float in the Dead Sea like the old people. I didn't have time. But next time, maybe. Anyway, I wish he could go and see. Once you see, you know.