The girl from Chicago grew up in a sheltered environment always protected by the huge family of bothers, boy cousins, aunts,uncles and precious grandparents. Not until I married my high school sweetheart and moved away to life in the Air Force, did my eyes clear and widen to see a glimpse of real life. And after he died, my son showed me a wider look at life as a single woman. But first, I was at a new hair salon in Wilmette, Illinois when the woman washing my hair, rolled back her sleeves. It was then that I had my first glimpse of inked numbers on an arm. Holocaust survivor screamed in my head. Pleasant with a smile on her face that never touched her eyes, she worked. What am I? I thought on the drive home. A homemaker, a mother of many comfortable. well fed children.
Paul, my youngest son, took me to Israel where he and his dance troupe were performing. We spent a few hours in the bustling marketplace. The shopkeeper haggled with my purchase of a pretty skirt and vest He had the inked numbers on his arm. I paid; we walked away wondering how many inked arms were right there. How much suffering in one place and how much the human spirit can endure?
A week after my return home to shelter in NY, Breaking News of a bomb exploding in that same remarkable and famous marketplace where people laughed, haggled,ate, did business and lived a life far removed from the Holocaust. But NO. Someone with a bomb strapped to his chest under his clothes, came in and destroyed more lives. I cried and couldn’t stop. Call me fortunate. It could have been us in the the marketplace. I still cry thinking of that day.
WE MUST NEVER FORGET! God Bless America and the countries who align with us because we are the kindest, best country of all.