Perhaps Kafka Laughed When He Told Stories

This Is The Most Immediate Fruit Of Exile, Of Uprooting: The Prevalence Of The Unreal Over The Real. Everyone Dreamed Past And Future Dreams, Of Slavery And Redemption, Of Improbable Paradises, Of Equally Mythical And Improbable Enemies; Cosmic Enemies, Perverse And Subtle, Who Pervade Everything Like The Air.

He Could Hardly Read Or Write But His Heart Spoke The Language Of The Good

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.

Today I Think That If For No Other Reason Than That An Auschwitz Existed, No One In Our Age Should Speak Of Providence.

I Too Entered The Lager As A Nonbeliever, And As A Nonbeliever I Was Liberated And Have Lived To This Day.