Sarah's Key

Sarah's Key, a historical fiction book, by Tatiana De Rosnay is a book I finished last night and would highly recommend. Even though I am done I know this story will stay with me for quite some time. All of this is not a surprise, though, because stories of the Holocaust always stay with me. Actually, I think it has become a part of who I am. Ever since I took The Anatomy of Hate class at BSU and sat horrified and riveted with a guest speaker who had survived Auschwitz I knew that I needed to remember. From the moment he lifted up his sleeve to reveal the imprinted numbers he was identified by on his arm I knew I would always have a desire to learn more about the survivors and those that had lost their lives.
My heart goes out to all of those who suffered so greatly; my empathy kicks into high gear and my mind immediately thinks of what would I have done. Would I have been brave? Would I have had a desire to fight and survive? How would it feel to be torn away from all those I love and everything I have ever known? Even though I try to put myself in their shoes there is no way I can imagine the absolute horror.

Sarah's Key is the first Holocaust book I have read since becoming a mother. It may sound cliche; however, I read it with different eyes and found myself overcome with emotion several times. This scene was especially hard for me:

"The policemen fell upon them like a swarm of large, dark birds. They dragged the women to one side of the camp, the children to the other. Even the tiniest children were separated from their mothers. The girl watched it all, as if she was in another world. She heard the screams, the yells, she saw the women hurling themselves to the ground, their hands pulling at their children's clothes, their children's hair. She watched the policemen raise their truncheons and bludgeon the women's heads, their faces. She saw a woman collapse, her nose a bloody pulp.
Her own mother stood next to her, frozen. She could hear the woman breathing in short, sharp gasps. She held on to her mother's cold hand. She felt the policemen wrench them apart, she heard her mother shriek, and then saw her dive back toward her, her dress gaping open, her hair wild, her mouth contorted, screaming her daughter's name. She tried to grab her mother's hands, but the men shoved her aside, sending her to her knees. Her mother fought like a mad creature, overpowering the policemen for a couple of seconds, and at that precise moment, the girl saw her real mother emerge, the strong, passionate woman she missed and admired. She felt her mother's arms hold her once more, felt the thick bushy hair caress her face. Suddenly torrents of cold water blinded her. Sputtering, gasping for breath, she opened her eyes to see the men drag her mother away by the collar of her sopping dress.
...The women were led away, out through the camp gates...Her mother's face turned to her one last time. Then she was gone."

All of those women were sent to Auschwitz to their death along with the men. The children soon followed. Again, I think about what would I have done? What could I have done? ANTHONY!?! Even though this scene happened in 1942 and it is a work of fiction the pain oozed out of every page.

Zakhor. Al Tichkah.
Remember. Never forget.