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Dear Sir,
You ask me to write extensively about my life. As far as I can, I will gladly do so, but, unfortunately, I won’t be able to do all that much. Here are the reasons: maybe for future…
He felt a gnawing sensation. He knew it was hunger. Nothing in his mouth since morning except for those slops, the slops from the Judenrat kitchen, a watery soup that was almost free, just fifty…
All of us—dying here in polar, ice-cold indifference of nations, forgotten by the world and its hustle and bustle—have nonetheless felt the need to leave something for posterity: if not complete…