ABSTRACT
Yes, my child has died. I mean, his body has died. Nevertheless, I cannot get rid of the feeling that still I have to keep my promise. Whatever and wherever my child is now, I feel that it measures me on this. No matter the dead body. I have given that promise and so I have a responsibility. After all, I cannot know whether my child still listens to my every word and perhaps longingly waits for me to fulfil that task. It might wait for me to finish the work we started together a bit more than seven days ago, trying to explain the world. For all I know, information cannot die or disappear in this universe, and so, I think, the set of information which once defined my child still exists. It is there, somewhere. It has dignity and deserves attention. Thus, I will finish the job now. Interestingly, it isn’t much I have to do myself here. The task was solved by a boy called Samuel and his father about 70 years ago. Both were killed by the Nazis in one of the gas chambers in Auschwitz. They died together in that chamber on Christmas Eve in 1944 and they were the greatest scientists of all time.
