Good day, and glad tidings to the reader of this awe-inspiring interview.
Just earlier this very evening, I had made an appointment to speak with a survivor of World War II who in, 1943 was discovered hiding in the cellar of a home in Cologne, Germany and was captured, eventually being transported to the concentration camps in Auschwitz. The harsh treatment and derogatory nature of such a cruel imprisonment was overwhelming, he stated. Saying that, “So dark were the cells, that the very opening of the doors, I’d thought I’d seen the light and my soul had passed on.” While imprisoned, this profound inscription was unveiled from the walls of the cell where he had been held and translated; “I believe in the sun, even when it is not shining. And I believe in love even when there's no one there. And I believe in God even when He is silent. I believe through any trial there is always a way. But sometimes in this suffering and hopeless despair, my heart cries for shelter to know someone's there. But a voice rises within me saying, 'Hold on my child;' I'll give you strength; I'll give you hope, just stay a little while. May there someday be sunshine; May there someday be happiness; May there someday be love; May there someday be peace.”

He is now here with us today to inform us more of the tragedy that was set afoot during his captivity.

Interviewer – Hi, can you give us your name?
Interviewee – Chasdiel {chass – die – ehl} Zachariah {Zak – arh – I – uh} Yaron. Chasdiel meaning, ‘my God is gracious,’ Zachariah – ‘Remember God,’ and Yaron being, ‘He will sing.’
Interviewer – Can you tell us about the horrors that you witnessed and the people you knew?
Interviewee – My family and I were staying in Cologne Germany at the time we were found. We were hiding out within the walls of a friend’s home containing 9 of us total. My brother and sister along with my mother, myself and the rest of the Tzeitel household. It was 6:40 a.m. when the laughter was silent, the music died, and the smiles faded away forever. They tromped through the Tzeitel’s living room and kitchen, tearing away at everything from the hearth of the fireplace to the very walls of the house itself. The ensemble of the devil himself from upstairs began to close in nearer to the cellar door. As I watched, defenseless in graven fear as the door handle turned, it was as though my very insides had turned with it. The scream of my little sister will forever be an echo in my ears. The sound of an oak wood baton being bludgeoned over Misses Tzeitel’s body was deafening and blinding all at the same time. Her husband, revered and loved by all, shot in cold blood during an assault of a Nazi officer in an attempt to rescue his helpless daughter. The rest of us in submission were dragged from the house, and heaved onto the rear end of a truck. The tears burned our eyes as we sat up to see others just like us with a certain look on their faces, a look, I now too have gazed with. Oh the pain to know how familiar that look is. The abrupt stopping of the truck shook the Earth as we peered around and came to realize this was the beginning of the end. The soldiers began to scream in German to which we could only guess was to get off the truck. We were jabbed and prodded, the barrel of a gun always to our heads and only a finger’s twitch away from death. Our hair was shaved, our bodies stripped. We were given a number, of which, was mounted on a smoldering iron rod and branded onto our bare skin.
We had all lost our identities as humans, and became nothing but a disposable item. The last I saw of my mother was during my work detail. I stopped only long enough to watch her, and the rest of her cellmates walk towards the chamber, as if to walk into the 7th circle of Hell itself, never to be seen again. All I had left to