There was a neo-Nazi march in Sweden last week. The same day I had watched a documentary on Auschwitz with my eldest, crying my eyes out to stories of children torn from mothers and sent to their deaths in the gas chambers.

A few days after I met an old lady in the forest and as our dogs were playing she told me of her father who joined the Resistance in Denmark during the Nazi occupation, and how he had brought Jewish children to safety in Sweden in a rowboat.

I told her about the neo-Nazi group who had organized the march last week and how they had a small local branch even in our little town. That they are in fact growing.

It’s surreal, she said. How does one make sense of it, history repeating itself so soon?

I don’t know how to make sense of it. I try to answer the difficult questions my daughter asks but the theoretical explanations falter. All I can say is that there are things going on in this world that makes me bleed. That makes us all bleed.

There are Nazis. But there are also people who row across the sea at night to save the lives of innocent children. And we get to choose. That’s what we have. Our choice.

And that’s our power

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