You're in Southern Germany. It's left on Rossitenstrasse, right on K6167, and the first right down the trail parallel to the highway. There, you'll pass one then two concave walls beneath the highway. Climb up the faint carved path and you'll find the third. The third is the biggest. You might think that the overhang is covered with cracks at a first glance, but walk closer. Those are bullet holes. They are deep in the cement and have gone straight through the rusted support. Imagine the proximity. Imagine the number of Jews that were murdered here.
I'm thirteen again. I'm wearing a pink dress, and I'm the center of attention while we dance in circles, holding hands. I quit going to Hebrew School after that day. Five months later now. You die. A few years later. I've denounced any association with Judaism. I've questioned my convictions.
Today. I cannot deny a connection. A deep rooted intrinsic empathy. I am taking those holes personally.