I would like to start with a poem by Primo Levi, an Auschwitz survivor, who wrote it in January 1946: In the brutal nights we used to dream Dense and violent dreams, Dreamed with body and soul: To return; to eat; to tell the story. Until the command of dawn Sounded brief and low “Wstavach” (Get up); And in the chest the heart cracked. Now we have found home again, our bellies are full, we have finished telling the story. It’s time. Soon we shall hear again that foreign command: “Wstavach”. (1997, p. 6)