These little handprints are on the sidewalk in a little town in Alabama.
Try as I might I could not make out all of the names.
Too much time and too much weather had taken their toll.
I think they are Noah, Sarah Beth. Or is Beth the name of the third handprint?
There is no clue as to the fourth handprint.
I guess I could have knocked on the door.
Yes, here I am a total stranger wondering whose handprints are those?
Perhaps, I would have been invited in to reminisce about these children.
Perhaps the children live there still.
Perhaps, perhaps…my imagination conjures other scenarios.
I chose not to knock. I will never know the story of these little children.
It is enough that they were sweet little hands encased in a moment in time.
These handprints tell of happy times.
Family. Love. Hope.
Shoes on the Danube
Across the Atlantic far, far away from Alabama, there is a different memorial.
It is worlds apart. It is called “Shoes on the Danube”.
A moving depiction of the fate of Jewish people who were killed during WWII in Budapest.
They were directed to remove their shoes before being shot on the banks of the Danube River.
Their shoeless bodies fell into the Danube to be carried away.
A story of horror, hatred, despair, death.
To be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
There but for the grace of God, go I.