As a Jew and the scion of Holocaust survivors, I have spent much of my life in the shadow of the Holocaust. With age and, hopefully, a little wisdom, I find that the burden has been growing, not lightening. The killing fields are not receding into the historical background. Instead, they seem to be coming closer and closer.

That is why as International Holocaust Remembrance Day approaches, I want to present you with a long quote on the topic. Dosage cialis generico uk Take these pills an hour before making love. You must not try all the online stores and you can easily get it but remember never intake Sildenafil Citrate without a proper prescription and knowledge you might end up ordering for a wrong drug and buy generic levitra greyandgrey.com hence can cause damages to your body. The cheap soft viagra acai berry has the highest antioxidant capacities of any food ever found on the planet. Remember the words of caution: When you use it remember that you are doing it with clean hands. buy tadalafil without prescription A sort of catharsis, if you will. It was written by the Jewish-Soviet author Vassily Grossman (1905-64) and refers to the autumn of 1943. About two and a half years into the Russo-German war, at a time when the author was attached to the Red Army as it re-occupied the Ukraine. I came across it by accident not long ago, and it has been haunting me ever since.

“Killed were the old artisans and experienced craftsmen: tailors, haters, cobblers, tin-smiths, jewelers, painters, furriers, and bookbinders; killed were the workers, porters, mechanics, electricians, carpenters, stonemasons, and plumbers; killed were the wagoners, tractor operators, truck drivers, and cabinet-makers; killed were the water carriers, millers, bakers, and cooks; killed were the doctors; physicians, dentists, surgeons, and gynecologists; killed were the scientists: bacteriologists, biochemists, and directors of university clinics, killed were the history, algebra, and trigonometry teachers; killed were the lecturers, assistant professors, asters and PhD’s, killed were the civil engineers, architects, and engine designers; killed were the accountants, bookkeepers, salesmen, supply gents, secretaries, and night guards; killed were the grade school teachers and seamstresses; killed were the grandmothers who knew how to knit socks, bake tasty cookies, cook chicken soup, and make apple strudels with nuts, as well as the grandmothers who could not do any of those things but could only love their children and their children’s children; killed were the women who were faithful to their husbands and the loose women too; killed were the beautiful girls, serious students, and giggly schoolgirls; killed were the plain and the foolish; killed were the hunchbacks, killed were the singers, killed were the blind, killed were the deaf, killed were the violinists and pianists, killed were the two- and three year-olds; killed were the eighty-year old men with their eyes clouded by cataracts, their old transparent fingers and soft voices like rustling paper; and killed were the crying babies sucking at their mothers’ breasts to the very last moment.”