As I entered Dachau, I heard the birds. My eyes saw the walls around the camp and the guardhouses and the barracks that remained, but my ears heard the birds; the sound of birds singing. The birds were singing. They were singing like they do in Prospect Park or Central Park on a beautiful day in May. I’m sure birds were singing in the spring of 1942, 43, 44. And I thought… could they hear the birds? Could the prisoners in 1942 hear the birds singing? I stood there for a while with my eyes closed thinking about that, listening, and I began to weep.

Gertrude, from The Last Jews