Babette Saebisch, DPG / German Psychoanalytic Society At first, I thought it was all a misunderstanding. Nobody saw through all the confusion - nobody could see through it. And then that noise! But then I realised that Herb was serious about what he had just suggested. I turned to him and wiped the sweat from my brow. "But that's where they're coming from!," I threw at him, shouting loudly to drown out the noise that surrounded us from everywhere. "That's what we thought so far, yes," he replied, nodding. "But what if it's an illusion? Look!" I followed his outstretched arm with my gaze. Churning dust and flying debris made it difficult for me to make out what he was trying to show me, but then I saw it. I was astonished. Small pieces of rock were raining down on us again and I ducked under a pillar protruding from the side of a destroyed house wall. "Max!" Herb shouted, and I hurried to signal to him that everything was OK. OK. OK. ... - nothing ... was … OK anymore. I scanned the horizon where my hometown had stood until a few days ago, and, filled with a sudden, deep pain, I looked into the void. "Max!" "Herb ..." I reached for his outstretched hand. Christiane H. Schleidt, Akademie für Psychoanalyse und Psychotherapie Munich At first, I thought it was all a misunderstanding. It was only decades later that I decided to read through all the documents again and carefully examine all the photographs. Actually, it was too late. I was over 80 years old and almost everyone from back then was no longer alive. Who could I tell my story to if there was no one left who could remember? Was I really the last witness? Back then, when I thought it was all a misunderstanding, I was a teenager and still looked to the future with curiosity and daring. Everything was still ahead of me. Now everything was behind me. Was it important to look back? Now that life had become so precious, shouldn't I rather be in the here and now? Did it make sense to analyse and uncover misunderstandings? It is what it is. It is what it was. The misunderstanding is part of it. Without the misunderstanding, my whole life would be different. Should I reinvent my life now, at over 80? It was my life, after all. But then I wanted to tell someone about it. And as luck would have it, while I was shopping, a young man bumped into me so clumsily that my
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