AS A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD schoolboy I grew up wanting to save Anne Frank.
Allow me to clarify that.
As a young man, the son of a World War II army veteran, I grew up wanting to save Anne Frank.
I’m still not clear, I fear.
As the son of a World War II decorated veteran who told me stories of the horror he saw at Nazi concentration camps, I grew up wishing there was some way I could go back in time and save the six million Jews killed in the Hitler holocaust. And when I read The Diary of A Young Girl. I wasn’t sure if I’d fallen in love with young Anne and wished I could save this damsel in distress or whether I simply wanted to save mankind.
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