I Am Not Even Alive Enough To

Imagine Now A Man Who Is Deprived Of Everyone He Loves, And At The Same Time Of His House, His Habits, His Clothes, In Short, Of Everything He Possesses: He Will Be A Hollow Man, Reduced To Suffering And Needs, Forgetful Of Dignity And Restraint, For He Who Loses All Often Loses Himself.

Human Memory Is A Marvelous But Fallacious Instrument. The Memories Which Lie Within Us Are Not Carved In Stone; Not Only Do They Tend To Become Erased As The Years Go By, But Often They Change, Or Even Increase By Incorporating Extraneous Features.

We Who Survived The Camps Are Not True Witnesses. We Are Those Who, Through Prevarication, Skill Or Luck, Never Touched Bottom. Those Who Have, And Who Have Seen The Face Of The Gorgon, Did Not Return, Or Returned Wordless.

It Is Neither Easy Nor Agreeable To Dredge This Abyss Of Viciousness, And Yet I Think It Must Be Done, Because What Could Be Perpetrated Yesterday Could Be Attempted Again Tomorrow, Could Overwhelm Us And Our Children. One Is Tempted To Turn Away With A Grimace And Close One's Mind: This Is A Temptation One Must Resist. In Fact, The Existence Of The Death Squads Had A Meaning, A Message: 'we, The Master Race, Are Your Destroyers, But You Are No Better Than We Are; If We So Wish, And We Do So Wish, We Can Destroy Not Only Your Bodies, But Also Your Souls, Just As We Have Destroyed Ours.

I Am Not Even Alive Enough To Know How To Kill Myself