Seventy-five years ago today, a chilly Saturday, my great-uncle Leopold and his wife Irene were marched through the streets of Wurzburg from a park to the train station for deportation to Poland.
This is a photo of the procession. Leo and Irene are in that pack somewhere. Try as I have over the years, in this and other photos of the deportation march, I haven't managed to find them. I'm pretty sure I'd recognize Leo even though I never met him; he had an arm in a sling. World War I injury. Fighting for Germany.
This wasn't a hidden event, something the Nazis kept from the public. Look past the tree on the right. See the Saturday morning strollers and shoppers lined up to watch the parade?
Never forget.
And never stop asking yourself this question: "What am I watching march by?"
That -- moreso than "will you remember me?" -- is the question I like to think Leo and Irene would want me to ask myself.
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