Five hundred and fifty thousand souls walked ...
The heat pursues our steps toward the mausoleum still of the Holocaust Museum. Five hundred and fifty thousand souls walk this way too. A silent procession. They have names, you know ... I read one on the glass-framed chair at the exit of the empty Synagogue room. Her name was Susa, she was seven, and she stood no chance.
Stripped of rights, stripped of assets, stripped of dignity ... stripped of life. We stand in the penultimate room, trembling as the images flash before us. And then the ghostly sound of Zycklon B released.
Why?
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