or G A Z Z A ,  A F O R G O T T E N  L A N D 

Anne F. was terribly amorous, otherwise a very good lass. I would not dare to chide her because her (alleged) kissage with Peter became a public secret, and, in addition to it, compulsory school reading for all children in Europe. When her aunt Miep, with a smile full of devotion, used to bring to Het Achterhuis, on Prinsengracht, Amsterdam canal (today’s no. 263), strawberries and cakes, Anne  could not even surmise that the same faithful friend might one day reveal her most intimate diary’s secrets. Handing them on to her dad, who then delivered them to the insatiable curiosity of the whole world (in his own version, of course). I say, I would not blame her, since the said kissing of a teenager, whose young life had to confine, for twenty-five months, to a few stuffy meters of the Rear home, in a beautiful city of Dutch painters, was not at the time, 1942-1944, the biggest world sin.

It was in time when a lunatic, Hitler, ravaged all over Europe, and so Anne had to spend the most thoughtful years of her life in a secret shelter. While trying, by sleep, to repel fear, and silence. All this just because she was, by birth, a member of the one of two wandering people, who was, to Mr. Chancellor (elected in a fully democratic way) particularly hateful. (Some say for subjective, and some say for objective reasons, for which there is neither time nor place to debate. However, I will not miss the chance, seemly in passing, to point out. Out of two mentioned people, who, according to some, Hitler used to slay with a special passion, one was endowed with (allegedly eternal) God's choice. Likewise, with dozens of Nobel prizes (for the maintenance of which tradition, Swedish Academy of Sciences, most openly speaking, needs a pile of money). 

Oh, God! that cinders hiatus there… is it a white helmet of the fascist's, or am-segulah's, occupying, soldier? Or is it a white kafan? Posthumous clothes of a Palestinian boy, who had to die, not because he did something wrong, but because he belonged to one nation ... Whoever loved this Anne, as she really was,  behind all of her masks, will know that she has only out of a gentle irony, quoted the words of the Talmudic Nobelist. Expressed during already described European gala-performance, which was acted in the period after the so-called liberation. The cry ‘Oh, God!’ burst out from the depths of Anne’s soul, in a cathartic crescendo. She cried even more loudly her name: Anne F.! And she turned towards them David’s star. Which, purified by her repentance, blinded them, shimmering, as if it were a lump of gold, under morning, Amsterdam’s, sunshine.

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