As a child in school, I remember reading The Diary of Anne Frank. My comparatively idyllic childhood did not allow me to relate to Anne Frank's horrific experiences. In other words, it did not feel real to me and, shamefully, did not impact me on a personal level.
Several years ago, I re-read the true story and was engrossed by the innocence and perserverence of this brave, young girl. I was able to imagine how she felt, as an adolescent, hiding from scary, threatening, but unknown evil. At the end of her journey, I was reduced to sobbing and great disgust and shame at the callous, inhumane, blinding cruelty inflicted on a populace of human beings by other human beings. In the afterwords at the end of the book, I can still visualize the description of children waiting outside all day in the cold rain for their turn in the concentration camp showers and the building where fires burned the remains around the clock. Anne, in her innocence, said to the others at the windows, watching the lines of freezing, innocent children, "Look, look at their eyes". I still cry everytime I think of it.