Literature patients take every opportunity to spread our vice, and that's what I do in a beloved storyteller club. In a story, we read the last one to analyze the structure of the most classic story models, the echo of some words necessary to receive the final blow, a certain memory of the load that some words carry in themselves. Yiddisha, workshop, Auschwitz. I doubted that the word Auschwitz echoed the younger ones. Something did.

Why does Auschwitz hold that huge echo? “Perhaps because those who have gone through there are still alive?” one proposed. I don't think so. A lost war, a very well-constructed speech -- you don't have to know anything about Auschwitz to make the word terrifying. Who doesn't have to know to be terrible? Now that we do not have much war, but that we are constantly scared of war, thinking that it will become the Third (because we will be pumped home), we may have many less lasting echoes. Bin Laden, for example. Cadafi, for example. Saddam Hussein, for example.

And right now, what name frightens you, Putin or Zelenski? Putin’s face actually freezes us, not knowing anything about it: KGB is enough (what is KGB? ), spy ... it is almost enough to be Russian. Who fears the name of Obama? How much did Obama kill? How far is it from Israel to hear Auschwitz?

How many people have had a child to kill, to scare, to break? So kids don't scare us. Some of us produce more compassion than others. Children and Palestinians would not be sustainable on our screens.

You are. MENA. How many are scared to hear MENA? What is the echo of the word MENA? What does it mean by itself? Alone. Far away. And kids. How do you get a word that means a child to generate more fear than a guy who has killed as much as Obama? Beware, let's see if one day we wake up becoming a horrible cockroach.