Standing on the frozen ground in front of a destroyed crematorium inside Berkenau Concentration Camp, beside a mountain of rotten clothes I spy broken children's sissors, pick them up and hold them against the bitter sunshine.
Che sashays in, dressed for Pre-K sporting a black leather jacket, pink boots with a matching headband, strikes a gangster pose and asks me how she looks.
"Beautiful," I answer so she dances back to her room leaving me considering the sissors again, holding them in the bitter sunshine half a world away from where they were found.
It's a day to remember the evil leaders and Governments inflict on men, women and little girls like ours.
Hollocausts are managed at multiple levels every day but the efficiencies of Hell were realized in the middle of the last century.
So few remember anymore.
Some even deny it happened at all.
But I remember.
And I am thankful our little girl plays with unbroken sissors as I cry for the one who lost hers.
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