Four Moldy Pieces of Bread

While I was imprisoned at Birkenau, a woman—barely alive—motioned to me. In her hand were four small pieces of bread, speckled with mold. She whispered, barely audible: “Eat. You’re young. Survive. Tell the world what happened here. Make sure it never happens again.”
Those four moldy pieces of bread.
A dying woman’s final act of kindness gave another person the strength to live—and to become a living witness of history.
Sometimes, a single piece of bread can be a lifeline.
It can carry love.
It can carry truth.

bread, witness, survival