My parents were children in occupied Holland. Their fear of the Nazis has always been from a child's perspective. It never faded. My mother's memories gave me nightmares of Nazi soldiers marching past a basement window. So many didn't think they needed to leave. Many tried. And then it was too late.
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I have a bounce country, hubby and I can go and afford it but don’t like leaving my just graduated college son here alone. So we’re watching.
I worry about people who can’t even plan. No matter the choice.
We don’t know what to do. The people we elected are just as bad as the ones who bought their way in (in my mind they’re worse)
We have no organization. We keep hoping someone will step up. No one is coming to save us.
There are more of us than them. We need leaders.
I never asked, but if he told stories, I would listen.
One of Urb's stories that sticks with me was the one about his mother telling him and his sister to refuse candy offered by the Nazis, as hungry as they were.
Again, I never asked (for reasons), but if they were telling stories, I was more than happy to listen.
My Uncle was found alive by my father, tossed on the dead person pile. He went to the pile every day to check.
My Aunt was one of Mengele's 'assistants' and luckily survived.
My parents escaped to Austria and Uncle and Aunt to the USA after the war.