Whenever I think of the Holocaust, I see that same photograph in my mind's eye. A young boy in Auschwitz. Wearing short trousers and a cap on his head. His hands up. There is nobody around him. He is standing alone, totally alone, staring into the barrel of a gun.
His picture is burnt into my brain. I feel as if that young boy is looking at me with uncomprehending eyes. He asks me: "What is going on? Where are my parents, my brothers, my sisters? How can people do such things? What did I do wrong?"
These are questions I cannot answer. Something that cannot be comprehended. It looks most like a disease. A mental disease that rots away conscience. The disease of racism, of antiSemitism, of xenophobia.