“Silence” is a concept that instills many emotions for me. Abstract emotions, but often also very real and concrete.

I love silence ‑ just slumbering away in peace without noise, without nagging urges of pressing duties pushed aside. The silence of the sky, a forest, a large stretch of water as it gently flows from shade to sunshine. I love that silence, for it is temporarily mine, and I heal within it.

I forget for a time the other kind of silence; which purposefully keeps in check everything I want to forget. I know that this is impossible. This kind of silence is shared by many—far too many.

That kind of silence is bitter, darkened by memories of shame or regret or hate. Many will never find a cure for this kind of silence.

I shared the space of those WW II concentration camps with so many other prisoners – all struggling with their own memories, knowing there is no forgetting – those recollections will remain forever tainted by that dark bitter kind of silence.

But then a few months ago I received a book of survival stories, collected in commemoration of the “70 year Remembrance” of the end of the WW II. Each survivor alive today received one of those memorial books as a gift, a celebration of stories for every survivor to read, and remember.

This book helped tremendously.

I am not alone when I feel forgotten and abandoned.

Others do understand.

When I once again relive and return to those years of hate and loss, perhaps it will be silence that allows my to heal. Make me strong enough to continue sharing my story, my message, in my blogs, in my books.


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