Debbie Weasenforth

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Long ago they were pulled into the same gentle arms of the One who stayed with me while I was in the pit of death, weeping with me, healing me; the same arms that heard the prayers of a broken boy crying out for the dead he pushed in his cart; the same arms that were there, carrying each of them home. Our unfathomable grief is His, too.
Auschwitz #34207: The Joe Rubinstein Story
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