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  • Here I stand in between the crossroads of life and death. The point where the burnt out, rusted train tracks of Birkenau split. Enveloped by the scent of aging wood and a brisk musky breeze. The overcast sky gracing a blanket of light upon the desolate retired factory of death. The biggest cemetery in Europe, the 'symbol' of the Holocaust, the man made hell..."the demolition of man."

    “ Then for the first time we became aware that our language lacks words to express this offence, the demolition of a man. In a moment, with almost prophetic intuition the reality was revealed to us: we had reached the bottom. It is not possible to sink lower than this; no human condition is more miserable than this, nor could it conceivably be so. Nothing belongs to us any more; they have taken away our clothes, our shoes, even our hair; if we speak, they will not listen to us, and if they listen, they will not understand. They will even take away our name: and if we want to keep it, we will have to find ourselves the strength to do so, to manage somehow so that behind the name something of us, of us as we were, still remains.”

    Primo Levi, Survival in Auschwitz, (pgs. 26,27)
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