To commemorate Yom Ha Shoah, I share the following reflection of my visit to Auschwitz.
It should always be cold, it seems to me, at Auschwitz, and the sky should always be a dreary gray.
Unless it is a very hot day, I am always cold. It has been that way it, it seems to me, since the frigid night in February when my Hamilton College Hockey team played MIT in Boston outdoors.
I was not one of the team’s better players (an understatement), and I spent much of the game on the bench. Since then, I have been cold.
And so, as much as any of the horrible sufferings people endured or succumbed to at Auschwitz, I think of the cold.
The thin pieces of rag that inmates wore, and their often bare feet provided no shield at all against the brutal Polish winter.
It was not cold by…
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