Law in Contemporary Society

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CharlesSucherFirstEssay 5 - 18 Jul 2017 - Main.CharlesSucher
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Justice as Transfiguration of Trauma

-- By CharlesSucher - 29 May 2017

“But can the musician by his art make men unmusical? . . .

And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking in general can the good by virtue make them bad?"

The Republic, by Plato.

Historical Trauma: The Raw Materials

Jews are no stranger to trauma. It pervades our history. I am, myself, a product of this historical trauma. I exist because my grandfather's original family—his first wife and child—were chosen for the gas chamber at Auschwitz. My grandfather and his later wife (my grandmother) were only spared because they were useful as workers. Mercy was granted to them as tools in a grand machine of injustice. This legacy of trauma has burdened me and other spawns of the Holocaust with an intractable question: What justice can we cultivate as products of pure, unbridled injustice? And, as applied to my case, is there a role for an aspiring lawyer in producing such justice?

My family, like many others, still struggles to find an answer. We’ve fought plenty of battles against disassociation and righteous resentment towards those we perceive as wronging us in our own time—often leaving professional bridges burned and intra-familial animosity. Perhaps, as descendants of those subjected to grave injustice, we suffer from the interminable tendency to calculate our justice from the standpoint of use and abuse. The Nazis therefore represent our trauma, but they are merely a metonym for a broader cycle of injustice. I am convinced that our wounds cannot heal by inflicting further pain, just as good cannot emerge from more bad.

Through luxurious separation from this trauma, I have the privilege—bordering on comfortable vanity—of seeking a just answer. I've read history: remembered the names of each concentration camp, learned of their death toll, and studied the conditions that gave rise to the Nazis. And I've read philosophy, where thinkers like Plato struggled with similar abstract questions. These endeavors helped, but they were never enough. I’ve dissected the ugliness of injustice—but I hope to become a lawyer that makes it beautiful; it’s my sin as a pathetic romantic.

Mellifluous Empathy as Social Action

Along with their trauma, I inherited my family's love of music. My grandfather reportedly saw Fiddler on the Roof over twenty-five times. It helped heal his wounds—as musical theater has helped to heal mine. However, I prefer Cabaret to Fiddler as a more universal tale of trauma. I’ve always been drawn to one particular song: Tomorrow Belongs to Me.

It's jarring for a progeny of Holocaust survivors to experience a thrill from a triumphant Nazi anthem, sung by depictions of those who slaughtered my family. The song presents a dramatic epiphany about the conditions that led to injustice in Germany. Depicted are the ordinary folks who allowed this injustice to arise, drinking away their weary destitution and disassociation in the Weimar Republic—rising triumphantly in unison as they sing a redolent yet defiant tune of natural destiny: the form of justice the Nazis offered those traumatized souls.

It’s no surprise that neo-Nazi rock bands appropriated Tomorrow Belongs to Me for their own use. The song transfigures an ugly history in a stirring melody, beautiful aesthetic, and a hopeful message. When I first saw Cabaret, I understood what was most attractive about Nazi ideology. I touched the emotional populist stirrings roused by this moving anthem.

Ironic, because Tomorrow Belongs to Me was written by two gay, American Jews. It’s stunning how John Kander and Fred Ebb captured the phenomenology of being a Nazi as well as any Nazi. But there are some arts injustice cannot master: it can't tell an empathetic tale. The genius of Kander and Ebb's music lies in how it mercifully bestows empathy to undeserving subjects. And this is the essence of my theory of social action.

The Beauty of Justice

Music showed me that justice means teaching others how to break cycles of injustice. As Plato recognized, inflicting "justice" with injustice is no justice. Instead, through understanding and experiencing other lives—even when such treatment is undeserved—we learn to muster the strength to show unconditional mercy. This process transfigures trauma through empathy—and allows circles of injustices to be broken. I demonstrate this as I listen to Wagner while writing about justice. Instead of fixating on the injustices his music embodies and inspired as the soundtrack of the death camps, I allow my appreciation for its rich beauty to redeem him. I only wish I could compose music as well as him.

So, I instead endeavor to produce beautiful justice as a lawyer. I’m certainly drawn to the ugliest of legal work: criminal defense, civil rights, and death penalty abolitionism. My mother—a civil rights lawyer quite familiar with the injustices of our time—once told me that a legal document can’t serve justice by merely stating the law; it must instead tell a story. To this end, I’m willing to put aside my moral calculator and accept the challenge of advocating for these ugly cases to my peers. Like Kander and Ebb's empathetic music, my palette for justice will be telling the stories of clients who society desires to reject as useless.

In doing so, I simply hope to live up to my Hebrew name, "Paz"—meaning "Pure Gold"—which honors my grandfather. He understood justice all too well as he traveled with his Soviet liberators, fresh from Auschwitz. The party discovered a young S.S. soldier in hiding, and my grandfather was presented with a gun and an opportunity to do "justice." Carrying the fate of someone who inflicted unspeakable injustice on him, he transfigured injustice into a beautiful tale—and declined to do unto them as they did to him. That is where the justice of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) sanctifies Schiller's beautiful declaration that, "Alle Menschen Werden Brüder, Wo Dein Sanfter Flügel Weilt" (all men become brothers, where your gentle wing rests.)

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CharlesSucherFirstEssay 4 - 18 Jul 2017 - Main.CharlesSucher
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Justice as Transfiguration of Trauma

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 So, I instead endeavor to produce beautiful justice as a lawyer. I’m certainly drawn to the ugliest of legal work: criminal defense, civil rights, and death penalty abolitionism. My mother—a civil rights lawyer quite familiar with the injustices of our time—once told me that a legal document can’t serve justice by merely stating the law; it must instead tell a story. To this end, I’m willing to put aside my moral calculator and accept the challenge of advocating for these ugly cases to my peers. Like Kander and Ebb's empathetic music, my palette for justice will be telling the stories of clients who society desires to reject as useless.

In doing so, I simply hope to live up to my Hebrew name, "Paz"—meaning "Pure Gold"—which honors my grandfather. He understood justice all too well as he traveled with his Soviet liberators, fresh from Auschwitz. The party discovered a young S.S. soldier in hiding, and my grandfather was presented with a gun and an opportunity to do "justice." Carrying the fate of someone who inflicted unspeakable injustice on him, he transfigured injustice into a beautiful tale—and declined to do unto them as they did to him. That is where the justice of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) sanctifies Schiller's beautiful declaration that, "Alle Menschen Werden Brüder, Wo Dein Sanfter Flügel Weilt" (all men become brothers, where your gentle wing rests.) \ No newline at end of file

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CharlesSucherFirstEssay 3 - 30 May 2017 - Main.CharlesSucher
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META TOPICPARENT name="FirstEssay"

Justice as Transfiguration of Trauma

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-- By CharlesSucher - 10 Mar 2017
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-- By CharlesSucher - 29 May 2017
 
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"And that human virtue is justice?

To be sure.

Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

That is the result.

But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

Certainly not.

Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

Impossible.

>
>
“But can the musician by his art make men unmusical? . . .
 And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking in general can the good by virtue make them bad?"

The Republic, by Plato.

Changed:
<
<

Historical Trauma

Jews are no stranger to trauma. It pervades our history. I am, myself, a product of this historical trauma. I exist because my grandfather's original family—his first wife and child—were chosen for the gas chamber at Auschwitz. My grandfather, and his later wife (my grandmother,) were spared, because they could work. Mercy was granted to them as tools in a grand machine of injustice. This legacy of trauma has left me and other descendants of the Holocaust with an intractable question: what justice can we cultivate as the product of pure, unbridled injustice?

My family, like so many others, struggles to answer this question. We have fought our battles with disassociation and righteous resentment—vindictiveness towards those who are perceived as doing us wrong in our own time. The Nazis embody our trauma, but they are a mere metonym for a long historical cycle of injustice. And in my place within this cycle, I am convinced that wounds do not heal through further pain, just as good cannot emerge from bad.

With the luxury of distance from this trauma, I have the privilege—bordering on comfortable vanity—of believing I can discover a just answer. I've studied history: remembering the names of each concentration camp, learning the death toll of the Holocaust, and reading about the conditions that allowed the Nazis to rise. And I've read philosophical treatises, where thinkers like Plato have struggled with the same question in their own time. These endeavors have surely helped. But they are not enough. They teach the ugliness of injustice—but I seek to make it beautiful.

>
>

Historical Trauma: The Raw Materials

 
Changed:
<
<

Mellifluous Empathy

>
>
Jews are no stranger to trauma. It pervades our history. I am, myself, a product of this historical trauma. I exist because my grandfather's original family—his first wife and child—were chosen for the gas chamber at Auschwitz. My grandfather and his later wife (my grandmother) were only spared because they were useful as workers. Mercy was granted to them as tools in a grand machine of injustice. This legacy of trauma has burdened me and other spawns of the Holocaust with an intractable question: What justice can we cultivate as products of pure, unbridled injustice? And, as applied to my case, is there a role for an aspiring lawyer in producing such justice?
 
Changed:
<
<
In addition to their trauma, I inherited my family's love of music. My grandfather reportedly saw Fiddler on the Roof over twenty-five times. It helped healed his wounds—and listening to music and attending musical theater has helped to heal mine. However, I prefer Cabaret, because it is a more universal tale of trauma. I'm drawn to one scene—and one song—in the show: Tomorrow Belongs to Me. It's jarring for the progeny of Holocaust survivors to experience a thrill from a triumphant Nazi anthem, sung by those who caused the slaughter of one's family. The song is an epiphany of the musical's dramatic tension, as it captures the conditions that gave rise to injustice in Germany and the state of mind of the people who allowed it to happen. The song illustrates the injustice of that time, but also the dissociation and resentment that gave birth to it. Tomorrow Belongs to Me presents a diverse set of ordinary Germans at a beer garden, weary of destitution and trauma in the Weimar Republic, rising triumphantly, singing a redolent tune of natural destiny: the justice the Nazis offered those traumatized souls.
>
>
My family, like many others, still struggles to find an answer. We’ve fought plenty of battles against disassociation and righteous resentment towards those we perceive as wronging us in our own time—often leaving professional bridges burned and intra-familial animosity. Perhaps, as descendants of those subjected to grave injustice, we suffer from the interminable tendency to calculate our justice from the standpoint of use and abuse. The Nazis therefore represent our trauma, but they are merely a metonym for a broader cycle of injustice. I am convinced that our wounds cannot heal by inflicting further pain, just as good cannot emerge from more bad.
 
Changed:
<
<
It is no surprise that modern neo-Nazi rock bands appropriated Tomorrow Belongs to Me for their own use. The song transfigures an ugly history in a stirring melody, beautiful aesthetic, and a hopeful message. When I first saw Cabaret and heard this song, I understood what was most attractive Nazi ideology. I touched the passionate, emotional populist stirrings roused by this moving anthem.
>
>
Through luxurious separation from this trauma, I have the privilege—bordering on comfortable vanity—of seeking a just answer. I've read history: remembered the names of each concentration camp, learned of their death toll, and studied the conditions that gave rise to the Nazis. And I've read philosophy, where thinkers like Plato struggled with similar abstract questions. These endeavors helped, but they were never enough. I’ve dissected the ugliness of injustice—but I hope to become a lawyer that makes it beautiful; it’s my sin as a pathetic romantic.
 
Changed:
<
<
This is ironic, because Tomorrow Belongs to Me was written by an American Jewish, gay songwriting team. Somehow, John Kander and Fred Ebb, managed to capture the phenomenology of being a Nazi as well as the Nazis themselves. There are some arts injustice cannot master: it can't tell an empathetic tale. I am still am in awe of their creative genius. They displayed an empathetic mercy never displayed by their subjects. This understanding allowed me to form my own theory of social action.
>
>

Mellifluous Empathy as Social Action

 
Changed:
<
<

Transfiguring Trauma Through Justice

>
>
Along with their trauma, I inherited my family's love of music. My grandfather reportedly saw Fiddler on the Roof over twenty-five times. It helped heal his wounds—as musical theater has helped to heal mine. However, I prefer Cabaret to Fiddler as a more universal tale of trauma. I’ve always been drawn to one particular song: Tomorrow Belongs to Me.
 
Changed:
<
<
We only love justice when we hate the right kind of injustice. As Plato recognized, inflicting "justice" with injustice is no justice. It is only through knowing and experiencing other lives that we can muster the strength to show mercy—to allow the circle to be broken. Humans are at our best when making beautiful music out of trauma and injustice.
>
>
It's jarring for a progeny of Holocaust survivors to experience a thrill from a triumphant Nazi anthem, sung by depictions of those who slaughtered my family. The song presents a dramatic epiphany about the conditions that led to injustice in Germany. Depicted are the ordinary folks who allowed this injustice to arise, drinking away their weary destitution and disassociation in the Weimar Republic—rising triumphantly in unison as they sing a redolent yet defiant tune of natural destiny: the form of justice the Nazis offered those traumatized souls.
 
Changed:
<
<
I can't sing and I can't write music, so I have chosen to compose through the law. My mother—a civil rights lawyer all too familiar with the injustices of our time—taught me that a legal document cannot serve justice by merely applying the law: it must tell a story. Just as music served as Kander and Ebb's instrument of historical empathy, the composition of story through language is the lawyer's palette for justice. Winning cases, defeating adversaries, and securing damages for clients are fleeting victories at best. I aspire to become a lawyer who can tell a story, and engender a sense of justice through empathy—an aspect of human nature as intrinsic to us as resentment.
>
>
It’s no surprise that neo-Nazi rock bands appropriated Tomorrow Belongs to Me for their own use. The song transfigures an ugly history in a stirring melody, beautiful aesthetic, and a hopeful message. When I first saw Cabaret, I understood what was most attractive about Nazi ideology. I touched the emotional populist stirrings roused by this moving anthem.
 
Changed:
<
<
My Hebrew name,"Paz"—meaning "Pure Gold"—honors my grandfather, Philip. He understood justice all too well as he traveled with his Soviet liberators, fresh from Auschwitz. The party discovered a young S.S. soldier in hiding. My grandfather was presented with a gun and an opportunity to do "justice." Carrying the fate of someone who inflicted unspeakable injustice on him, he transfigured injustice into a beautiful tale—and declined to do unto them as they did to him. Justice does not cure or prevent injustice; it can only transfigure it. And that is where the justice of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) sanctifies Schiller's beautiful declaration that, "Alle Menschen Werden Brüder, Wo Dein Sanfter Flügel Weilt" (all men become brothers, where your gentle wing rests.)
>
>
Ironic, because Tomorrow Belongs to Me was written by two gay, American Jews. It’s stunning how John Kander and Fred Ebb captured the phenomenology of being a Nazi as well as any Nazi. But there are some arts injustice cannot master: it can't tell an empathetic tale. The genius of Kander and Ebb's music lies in how it mercifully bestows empathy to undeserving subjects. And this is the essence of my theory of social action.
 
Changed:
<
<
>
>

The Beauty of Justice

 
Changed:
<
<
This is good music. What is missing is only the words. There are to be sure plenty of words, but only inside the metaphor. Outside the metaphor, we are left with your feeling about what to do, but no actual example, illustration or even speculation about how to do it. The one route to significant improvement of this very accomplished draft is to cut somewhat the Plato and the middlebrow music (both of which no doubt have their place, albeit a smaller one) in order to reflect on what this might operationally mean for your lawyering.
>
>
Music showed me that justice means teaching others how to break cycles of injustice. As Plato recognized, inflicting "justice" with injustice is no justice. Instead, through understanding and experiencing other lives—even when such treatment is undeserved—we learn to muster the strength to show unconditional mercy. This process transfigures trauma through empathy—and allows circles of injustices to be broken. I demonstrate this as I listen to Wagner while writing about justice. Instead of fixating on the injustices his music embodies and inspired as the soundtrack of the death camps, I allow my appreciation for its rich beauty to redeem him. I only wish I could compose music as well as him.
 
Changed:
<
<
>
>
So, I instead endeavor to produce beautiful justice as a lawyer. I’m certainly drawn to the ugliest of legal work: criminal defense, civil rights, and death penalty abolitionism. My mother—a civil rights lawyer quite familiar with the injustices of our time—once told me that a legal document can’t serve justice by merely stating the law; it must instead tell a story. To this end, I’m willing to put aside my moral calculator and accept the challenge of advocating for these ugly cases to my peers. Like Kander and Ebb's empathetic music, my palette for justice will be telling the stories of clients who society desires to reject as useless.
 
Deleted:
<
<
Word Count: 1,000
 \ No newline at end of file
Added:
>
>
In doing so, I simply hope to live up to my Hebrew name, "Paz"—meaning "Pure Gold"—which honors my grandfather. He understood justice all too well as he traveled with his Soviet liberators, fresh from Auschwitz. The party discovered a young S.S. soldier in hiding, and my grandfather was presented with a gun and an opportunity to do "justice." Carrying the fate of someone who inflicted unspeakable injustice on him, he transfigured injustice into a beautiful tale—and declined to do unto them as they did to him. That is where the justice of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) sanctifies Schiller's beautiful declaration that, "Alle Menschen Werden Brüder, Wo Dein Sanfter Flügel Weilt" (all men become brothers, where your gentle wing rests.)
 \ No newline at end of file

CharlesSucherFirstEssay 2 - 11 May 2017 - Main.EbenMoglen
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META TOPICPARENT name="FirstEssay"

Justice as Transfiguration of Trauma

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  My Hebrew name,"Paz"—meaning "Pure Gold"—honors my grandfather, Philip. He understood justice all too well as he traveled with his Soviet liberators, fresh from Auschwitz. The party discovered a young S.S. soldier in hiding. My grandfather was presented with a gun and an opportunity to do "justice." Carrying the fate of someone who inflicted unspeakable injustice on him, he transfigured injustice into a beautiful tale—and declined to do unto them as they did to him. Justice does not cure or prevent injustice; it can only transfigure it. And that is where the justice of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) sanctifies Schiller's beautiful declaration that, "Alle Menschen Werden Brüder, Wo Dein Sanfter Flügel Weilt" (all men become brothers, where your gentle wing rests.)
Added:
>
>

This is good music. What is missing is only the words. There are to be sure plenty of words, but only inside the metaphor. Outside the metaphor, we are left with your feeling about what to do, but no actual example, illustration or even speculation about how to do it. The one route to significant improvement of this very accomplished draft is to cut somewhat the Plato and the middlebrow music (both of which no doubt have their place, albeit a smaller one) in order to reflect on what this might operationally mean for your lawyering.

 Word Count: 1,000

CharlesSucherFirstEssay 1 - 10 Mar 2017 - Main.CharlesSucher
Line: 1 to 1
Added:
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META TOPICPARENT name="FirstEssay"

Justice as Transfiguration of Trauma

-- By CharlesSucher - 10 Mar 2017

"And that human virtue is justice?

To be sure.

Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

That is the result.

But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

Certainly not.

Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

Impossible.

And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking in general can the good by virtue make them bad?"

The Republic, by Plato.

Historical Trauma

Jews are no stranger to trauma. It pervades our history. I am, myself, a product of this historical trauma. I exist because my grandfather's original family—his first wife and child—were chosen for the gas chamber at Auschwitz. My grandfather, and his later wife (my grandmother,) were spared, because they could work. Mercy was granted to them as tools in a grand machine of injustice. This legacy of trauma has left me and other descendants of the Holocaust with an intractable question: what justice can we cultivate as the product of pure, unbridled injustice?

My family, like so many others, struggles to answer this question. We have fought our battles with disassociation and righteous resentment—vindictiveness towards those who are perceived as doing us wrong in our own time. The Nazis embody our trauma, but they are a mere metonym for a long historical cycle of injustice. And in my place within this cycle, I am convinced that wounds do not heal through further pain, just as good cannot emerge from bad.

With the luxury of distance from this trauma, I have the privilege—bordering on comfortable vanity—of believing I can discover a just answer. I've studied history: remembering the names of each concentration camp, learning the death toll of the Holocaust, and reading about the conditions that allowed the Nazis to rise. And I've read philosophical treatises, where thinkers like Plato have struggled with the same question in their own time. These endeavors have surely helped. But they are not enough. They teach the ugliness of injustice—but I seek to make it beautiful.

Mellifluous Empathy

In addition to their trauma, I inherited my family's love of music. My grandfather reportedly saw Fiddler on the Roof over twenty-five times. It helped healed his wounds—and listening to music and attending musical theater has helped to heal mine. However, I prefer Cabaret, because it is a more universal tale of trauma. I'm drawn to one scene—and one song—in the show: Tomorrow Belongs to Me. It's jarring for the progeny of Holocaust survivors to experience a thrill from a triumphant Nazi anthem, sung by those who caused the slaughter of one's family. The song is an epiphany of the musical's dramatic tension, as it captures the conditions that gave rise to injustice in Germany and the state of mind of the people who allowed it to happen. The song illustrates the injustice of that time, but also the dissociation and resentment that gave birth to it. Tomorrow Belongs to Me presents a diverse set of ordinary Germans at a beer garden, weary of destitution and trauma in the Weimar Republic, rising triumphantly, singing a redolent tune of natural destiny: the justice the Nazis offered those traumatized souls.

It is no surprise that modern neo-Nazi rock bands appropriated Tomorrow Belongs to Me for their own use. The song transfigures an ugly history in a stirring melody, beautiful aesthetic, and a hopeful message. When I first saw Cabaret and heard this song, I understood what was most attractive Nazi ideology. I touched the passionate, emotional populist stirrings roused by this moving anthem.

This is ironic, because Tomorrow Belongs to Me was written by an American Jewish, gay songwriting team. Somehow, John Kander and Fred Ebb, managed to capture the phenomenology of being a Nazi as well as the Nazis themselves. There are some arts injustice cannot master: it can't tell an empathetic tale. I am still am in awe of their creative genius. They displayed an empathetic mercy never displayed by their subjects. This understanding allowed me to form my own theory of social action.

Transfiguring Trauma Through Justice

We only love justice when we hate the right kind of injustice. As Plato recognized, inflicting "justice" with injustice is no justice. It is only through knowing and experiencing other lives that we can muster the strength to show mercy—to allow the circle to be broken. Humans are at our best when making beautiful music out of trauma and injustice.

I can't sing and I can't write music, so I have chosen to compose through the law. My mother—a civil rights lawyer all too familiar with the injustices of our time—taught me that a legal document cannot serve justice by merely applying the law: it must tell a story. Just as music served as Kander and Ebb's instrument of historical empathy, the composition of story through language is the lawyer's palette for justice. Winning cases, defeating adversaries, and securing damages for clients are fleeting victories at best. I aspire to become a lawyer who can tell a story, and engender a sense of justice through empathy—an aspect of human nature as intrinsic to us as resentment.

My Hebrew name,"Paz"—meaning "Pure Gold"—honors my grandfather, Philip. He understood justice all too well as he traveled with his Soviet liberators, fresh from Auschwitz. The party discovered a young S.S. soldier in hiding. My grandfather was presented with a gun and an opportunity to do "justice." Carrying the fate of someone who inflicted unspeakable injustice on him, he transfigured injustice into a beautiful tale—and declined to do unto them as they did to him. Justice does not cure or prevent injustice; it can only transfigure it. And that is where the justice of Tikkun Olam (repair of the world) sanctifies Schiller's beautiful declaration that, "Alle Menschen Werden Brüder, Wo Dein Sanfter Flügel Weilt" (all men become brothers, where your gentle wing rests.)

Word Count: 1,000


Revision 5r5 - 18 Jul 2017 - 23:35:38 - CharlesSucher
Revision 4r4 - 18 Jul 2017 - 21:35:41 - CharlesSucher
Revision 3r3 - 30 May 2017 - 01:56:44 - CharlesSucher
Revision 2r2 - 11 May 2017 - 10:42:47 - EbenMoglen
Revision 1r1 - 10 Mar 2017 - 17:39:46 - CharlesSucher
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