Yesterday and today I spent time researching information for the newest book I’m writing. This one is based during WWII and I, unfortunately, needed to read about the Nazis and their invasions into other countries. In doing so, I came across a chapter about one part of that war I always skipped: The Holocaust. Not because I don’t believe it happened or anything ridiculous like that, but because I cannot even fathom the amount of hatred and evil it takes to eliminate a whole race. What Hilter and the Nazis did to the Jews just disgusts me to the point that I’m overwhelmed with emotion that I want to cry from the core of my being for those people. It’s an anguish I know many went through and I feel for them, I do, but I go berserk thinking about the depths of agony they and their families went through and I have to put the stories down. I wish I could handle them, but I worry about my sanity, especially when I know there’s nothing I can do about it now. May Hilter and those other involved in the extermination of the Jews forever burn in hell for what they did!
This isn’t the first time I have been so affected by history that my emotions went crazy. When I was little and visiting places like the Lexington and Concord battlefields, the National mall in Washington D.C., Ford’s Theater, heck even downtown Springfield, IL where Lincoln lived as a young man, always made me tingle with a surge of knowing what feelings were endured on those very places so long ago. It wasn’t a psychic kind of thing, but more or less a link to history that my soul latched on to. And it’s funny because when I got into college and chose History as my major, many people asked me why. I always told them, because history and I are just drawn to be together and I truly feel that is the truth.