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The memory that poured out my fragile soul, my mother's lover, my beloved father, followed the call of God to heaven and one went back, as Wiesel said, "The Almighty was slaughterer...." My wise mother chose to accept that tragic fact to continue his life in the end. Like a slap on the poverty, she raised the children of rabies, but if people refuse the past, what happens? Where has God been in all this?<br>
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