Preface

I do not wish to bear witness to atrocities already so well archived. My tale comes to your eye and your ear by way of a voice that has grown within me for over sixty years. It’s an emotional aching separate from the horror of violence and death. The suffering caused by World War Two is immeasurable, and it’s documentation vast. Countless survivors have described in detail the mindless carnage that permeated their pitiable existence, as painful to recount as it was to endure. So, what can I add that might make any difference? What contribution to man’s moral education can I express in a slim volume such as this? Why should I put myself through the agony of traveling back to a time of barbarism? And does anyone even care? But whenever I hurl such challenges at myself I’m reminded of the unconditional love of my family, and I am obliged to admit that, at least to a few people, it does matter. And if it is of some consequence to them, then perhaps elsewhere it might matter as well.
My trauma grew in the shadow of the war at a time when the exhilaration of liberation swept the world. While a whole planet immersed itself in jubilation I found myself on a path that led to a lifetime of anguish from which there has never been any release. No righteous army has been able to deliver me from this torment. No heroic general has conquered the demons within me. Yet, this is still a narrative of World War Two. It’s about a soul forever tortured as a consequence of the immense madness that swept the European continent in that era, and of all the things to which it ultimately gave rise. Maybe by sharing it I’ll attain some degree of refuge. Toward that hope I shall expose my heart as a memoir to generations unborn. Perhaps then I can come to understand the turmoil that has taunted my consciousness for three score. And if another being is better for this comprehension then I’ll have to admit that is does indeed vale la pena; it’s worth the grief.

Ivan Z.Gabor
Sunny Isles, Florida