Remembrance
Anne Frank's Diary disturbs me. Her lone, solitary voice pipes up from the vast black edifice of the Jewish Holocaust, like a tincan lantern flickering its pinhead light from an abyss. Quiet, like a reptilian tongue tasting the wind, like the smell of a knife sliding through warm butter.
If all six million perished Jews were to write even the most nonchalant accounts of their ordeals, and if all six million journals were published, and if all six million journals were read as prevalently as Anne Frank's...we would be mercilessly drowned in the acrid marshes of empathetic sorrow.
When reading Anne Frank, dear readers, remember that she is one voice out of six million who lived, in effect, her very same life. Be thankful for the fact that few people have the disposition to keep journals.