Gerald Fleming: Historians in the field of Agrarian history and the history of the Holocaust remembered
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Edwin Justus Vogt - 4/9/2006
Picture this: an upstate, New York house painter with an education only seven years greater than that of Abraham Lincoln, composing a manuscript entitled: The Waves Of Silence, Poems Of the Shoah, written in four parts: Prelude To Madness, If Angels Could weep, Cries Only God Heard, and The Buden Of Memory with an expecting forword from Elie Wiesel, the survivor with the sad eyes.Is it possible for a non-Jew, such as described above, to undertake such a literary burden? And for what purpose since he has no intention of accepting any of the royalties for his work.All profits are to be given to Yad Vashem. There can be only one, plausible answer. He is making a contribution to memory. But even more than this. He must show to the readers that the victims were human beings, albeit Jews for the most part. He must show, too, that each were members of a family so that one can say that it was my brother and sister and father and mother.It was the loss of families. Only then can any understand what Wiesel meant when he stated that the death of one was a scandal.Numbers are beyond comphrehension.So this writer must live for those who could not live; speak for those who can never speak.And no matter how many attempt to revise the truth, the Holocaust will never rise to the level of disbelief. And it will never end. It has no termination. It is always a moment ago, a moment ago for all eternity. Yea, should the world indiferent turn and close its eyes resigning, the dust of bones of martyred dead shall blot the sun from shining!
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