Not Six Million By Freddy S. Zalta

Not Six Million Written By Freddy S. Zalta for Image Magazine 2000 When people speak about the Holocaust the number “Six million” comes up and people pause. Sometimes they pause because they are in awe of the number; sometimes they pause because they just cannot imagine six million people being extinguished for no other reason but hatred. Sometimes they pause because the number has been repeated so many times that it doesn’t even faze them anymore but they feel that a pause is necessary. We have all seen the footage of the atrocities carried out by the Germans; we have seen the footage of the emaciated Jews looking into the camera; we have all seen the footage of the piles of bodies; men, women and children. The stench of death will never be forgotten and the blood is on the hands of every leader of every country that knew about the atrocities yet decided to turn away. Six million souls? No, not six million souls. The souls of the six million live on forever; it is the souls of the murderers that have been obliterated or are still burning in judgment somewhere. Six million Jews? No, not six million Jews. Each one of those six million would have contributed much more to this world then just taking up space. The cure for cancer could be in the ashes of Auschwitz. The cure for war could be in the ashes of Bergen-Belsen. The percentage of the six million who had yet to have children or marry could have led to another 20 million Jews by 1960; in turn another 40 million by 1980 and another 60 million by 2000. Six million? No not six million. Think of the music that could have been composed. Think of the stories that could have been written. Think of the art that could have been created. Think of the millions of lonely souls searching for love…The millions who have lived a life full of sadness and emptiness that one of those “six million” could have filled with their love, their caring and their warmth. Think of death and you cannot fathom the lives these unborn souls would have lived. Think about life and the right to choose to live or die and you can’t help but remember the choices that the unborn will never have. Think about the amount of the six million who had yet to fall in love; who had yet to see a beach; who had yet to watch a baby being born…the millions more who will never even get the chance. The ashes of the camps are filled with dreams that will never be dreamed; cures that will never cure; love that will never again love or be loved; children crying out for mommy or daddy… Six million is just a number. The Germans did more then kill Six million Jews they destroyed a world that could have been, should have been brighter, healthier and full of love and peace. Six million? No. An infinite amount of people will be paying the price of the death of the living and the death of the unborn for an infinite amount of time. The generation of the survivors is aging and in a short while there will be no more witnesses. That is why we must teach our children over and over again the importance of never to forget. The importance of the words…Never again.

Disclaimer

All written by Freddy Zalta "The events depicted in these chapters are fictitious. Any similarity to any person, company or entity living or dead, in business or out, is merely coincidental. (C) 2008-2009 F-Train Publications Brooklyn, NY ISBN-2126-546718

CPA and Just Another Day

Below are the first 5 chapters of my next book. It has not been edited and is very raw so be very understanding...to be continued.

Chapter 1 - Ride to NYC

On a beach somewhere…its hot but there is a soft caressing breeze blowing and I can sense the feeling of relaxation seeping within me. The water is a clear aqua blue and the sky is azure. White powdery sand covers my toes…I can feel someone touching me and suddenly I feel a numbing pain in my balls. A loud announcement screams, “The news watch never stops, you give us 22 minutes we’ll give you the world. Good morning its, 14 degrees outside and cloudy on this January 18th I am Judy Deangelos.” I hit the clock…my daughter laughs. She is on top of me and her foot has inadvertently (?) kicked me in my groin. My wife rolls over and says, “Good morning.” I roll over and smile, in pain, “but it was such a nice dream…” Under the shower the water pressure suddenly drops. Shampoo in my hair begins to drip unto my face and then my eyes. I spend the remainder of my shower trying to wash myself under a dripping spray. As soon as I go to shut the water, the pressure returns, too late, I shut it. I put on my clothes and my pants are tighter then usual. “Honey I think my pants shrunk.” I say. “I don’t think it’s the pants that have changed.” She says with a smile. “I haven’t gained weight in one week. These pants fit me perfectly last week and then you had to clean them.” “They were dirty, you want to wear dirty clothes?” I lose the argument and just wear them unbuckled with a sweater covering the belt area so no one can see. I walk downstairs and make myself a cup of instant coffee. It tastes, well, like instant coffee; instant gratification without the actual gratification. But its ok, its caffeine and its Monday morning, so it’ll do. I have come to lower my standards on this and lots of others things I once seemed to hold to higher ones. Music, movies, books and coffee; some examples of too many expectations that have fallen short and less then have they risen to the occasion. I once believed that life was supposed to be seized; you know “carpe diem” and all that. Yeh, well, I have come to realize that’s a bunch of bullshit spoken by poor artists who didn’t have to raise a family and pay for a mortgage that was refinanced 3 times just to make ends meet. Fucking assholes; infecting us with all that “make the most of your day” crap. Yeh seize ‘this’ buddy. I walk towards the elevated platform on Avenue P and McDonald Avenue to take the F train into Manhattan. I live in Brooklyn, have lived in Brooklyn my entire life. Its in my blood and I will probably die here and be buried somewhere in this Boro Capital of the world. I wait on the platform and see the familiar faces; the Russian girl who thinks she is hotter then she actually is, the Asian girl who is hotter then she thinks she is, the religious Jew who carries a big book in his hand, the Talmud and then the Giant man who scares the crap out of me. He is well over 6 feet tall, really heavy set with over sized features on his head. Bit mouth, giant ears and big nose. He can pass for a modern day Frankenstein, in any case he scares the shit out of me. He lives in my area because I often see him walking alone and one time I saw him walking alone in the dark. I didn’t know what it was walking towards me, looked like a walking tree, but as he got closer I realized who it was, the giant from the F train. The train rolls in and we all walk onto the cars and scramble for a seat. Its usually not a problem since we are one of the first stops from Brooklyn to the city. I sit down and look around. Once again, I see the usual suspects sitting in their usual spots. Young girl mouthing prayers very quickly while the woman next to her applies make-up to her face, as if it’s going to make a difference. Its funny thing about makeup, sometimes I see a beautiful girl walk on looking all fresh and then she sits down and puts on make up that makes her look older and less pretty then nature intended. I don’t know, I am just happy I aint no chick, I don’t know if I could be so obsessed with my appearance just to impress others. I am sitting on the first seat next to the door and there is an Asian woman and her little son sitting next to me, one seat apart. She is speaking extremely loud to him and I have no idea what she is saying but she seems quite pissed off. She keeps speaking like a fucking siren in the middle of the night screaming and blaring. I say Asian because I have no idea if she is Korean, Japanese, Chinese or whatever. I am a Jewish Man from Brooklyn and I have no idea how to differentiate. That might sound racist, but I mean it in a non-racist way. What does piss me off about them is their loud voice. They can be sitting inches apart and they scream to each other as if they are a block apart. What's up with that? 18th Avenue and the Hasidic Jews walk onto the train, seats are scarce and people are beginning to be stuck standing for the duration. I open up my paper and read about the same old news. Bailouts, unemployment, Obama’s change is basically the same old story and the only change is the color of the skin which is the only reason he was elected in the first place. People all talk about how its such an amazing accomplishment that we have elected a black president and I guess to some extent I agree, but I feel the opposite is true. People want to convince themselves that they are better the generation before then so they vote for someone who, despite all the reasons not to vote for him, lack of experience, past affiliates, etc. vote for him because of his charisma and his call for change. I am hoping he turns out to make a difference simply because this country needs serious help. So I will stand behind him and hope for changes for the better. We go underground and hit Church Avenue; a large man walks in and decides to sit between the Asian lady and me. It takes a couple of seconds but the smell begins to make its way towards me. I stand up and walk towards the other side of the car. I cant believe I got screwed like that but, what am I gonna do? We hit Jay Street and a mass exodus occurs, I run and find myself a seat next to the chick who was praying before. She is listening to her ipod now and oblivious. No problem at least she smells nice. She looks at me and nods her head as if she is disgusted with me. “What?” I asked. “You just sat on a some yogurt or something.” She says. I put my hand on my butt and notice its wet now and all I can say is I hope its water and not yogurt. Black pants and yogurt don’t go well together and we have a meeting today with the boss and some board members. There have been rumors of lay-offs and cut backs, we already did not get any bonus this past New Year and its no secret that the company gambled 7 million dollars on a product that was at its peak and was now in decline. So this meeting was called to discuss the future of the company and its employees. The train stops in between East Broadway and Delancy Street, no announcement until 5 minutes into it. “Ladies and Gentleman we are being held here because of a stalled train on Delancy Street, we hope to be moving shortly.” Ten minutes pass by and the smell from my former neighbor across the car starts to make its way towards us. I stand up to walk towards the other side and the train jumps. We get to Delancy and throngs run onto the train.