Summary
WHAT got to me most were the pots. Thousands upon thousands of pots. And pans, and cheese graters, and colanders, and cutlery, all of them piled up higgeldy-piggeldy. They spoke of domesticity - of cosy kitchens, flickering candlelight, family dinners - and of life: pure, simple and safe.
The fact that I was standing in a former prisoners' barrack in the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp in Poland, staring at this detritus of human living from behind a huge glass screen and knowing that every one of those pots belonged to someone who was sent to their death in the gas chamber, made it unbearably horrific.See the full content of this document
Extract
The Largest Mass Grave - and the Horror That 'Will Not Happen Again'
Everyone tells you that you will be aghast at the scale of it. Everyone tells you that it is harrowing, and sad, and unbelievably poignant, and that you will probably cry. But until you s...
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