Se puede ser cristiano y estar satisfecho y feliz, hasta posar así en la foto, por un acuerdo que permitiría que una familia somalí con niños que solicitara asilo en un país de la UE acabe en un campo de concentración instalado en un país no democrático a miles de km como Uzbekistán o Kazajistán?
Qué pensará @zarzalejosj? Es cristiano? A la Iglesia le parece una aberración, claro.
Es precisamente al revés: el hecho de que las fortunas latinoamericanas usen Madrid para lavar su dinero hacen que la ciudad se convierta en un infierno para la mayoría de sus ciudadanos.
Es increible que esto esté ocurriendo. L destrucción de un lugar que debería convertirse en un espacio natural para los ciudadanos de Madrid. Responsables: Ayuntamiento y Comunidad de Madrid.
Selección de contenidos sobre naturaleza y biodiversidad recientemente publicados en blogs y medios digitales: contestación social a la caza del lobo, perro del Amazonas y el oso más antiguo, entre otros https://t.co/nYeCRSJytA
Grupo familiar de lobos (dibujo: Javier Talegón).
Han pescado salmones hasta casi hacerlos desaparecer de los ríos y ahora quieren echar la culpa a las lubinas, que seguro que son sanchistas y antiasturianas.
Iranian hairstylist Ami Moghadam received death threats for posting videos of women receiving haircuts on Instagram.
So she decided to troll the Islamic Regime and their oppressive mandatory hijab laws in the most epic, hilarious way possible. 😂
Llamar “trasplante” a arrancar y podar árboles urbanos maduros a finales de mayo es una excusa pobre desde el punto de vista arborícola.
Fuera de parada vegetativa, con estrés hídrico creciente y sin planificación previa real, estas actuaciones pueden comprometer seriamente la viabilidad del árbol. Un ejemplar adulto no es mobiliario urbano. 🌳
Yo creo que es importante que seamos muchos los que, fieles súbditos del Poder Judicial español, y en tanto esa decisión no sea revocada, repitamos en voz alta:
NO SE PUEDE LLAMAR GILIPOLLAS A QUIEN HA ORGANIZADO Y PRESIDE ESA ESTRUCTURA LLAMADA “Abogados ‘cristianos’”.
Finalmente, se autoriza el derribo de uno de los pocos edificios de viviendas del siglo XVII que se conservan en el centro de Madrid. La historia de España nos preocupa hasta que entra en colisión con la especulación urbanística.
¿Cómo se transloca una alondra ricotí? Lo contamos todo en este vídeo reportaje: captura, marcaje, transporte y liberación en las zonas de destino. 🎬 👉 https://t.co/hDPkO5vIgy
@UAM_Madrid@ctforestal@GBiC_CTF@gobjccm
@SEO_BirdLife: Lanzamos una campaña de firmas por los Parques Nacionales
https://t.co/OUSzmKHOVW
Para firmar pinchar en el enlace que hay en la noticia
Tras repasar la prensa de hoy (y del fin de semana), una recomendación: no se queden en los titulares, lean las noticias. No sea que los titulares estén dando a entender algo que luego el resto del artículo no detalla.
La rana madre, Aldama y el nancy de Desokupa convocando y encabezando una manifa por la regeneración democrática y contra la corrupción. Este país no te lo acabas.
Cardenal Cobo: "Muchas veces no se habla tanto de migrantes, sino de pobres. Por ejemplo, hay muchos migrantes que están en el barrio de Salamanca que han comprado todo el barrio. De esos no, de los que se habla son de pobres que vienen de otros lugares. https://t.co/xC8XDfbgs1
¿Qué querrá decir eso de "una gran transformación"? ¿Será un eufemismo? 🤔
No nos dejen hasta el 31 de agosto con la intriga, por favor.
La SER iniciará una nueva etapa de 'Hoy por hoy' tras la renuncia de Àngels Barceló https://t.co/KBK1Cca3fv a través de @La_SER
In Auschwitz, my mother taught me three rules.
Not stories. Not prayers. Rules. The kind that kept you alive.
Rule one: Never make eye contact with a guard.
Rule two: Never show that you are sick.
Rule three: Never, ever, lose your bowl.
I was five years old. I memorized them the way other children memorize nursery rhymes.
The bowl was a small tin thing. Dented. Scratched. It held whatever thin soup they gave us once a day. If you lost your bowl, you had no bowl. If you had no bowl, you had no ration. If you had no ration, you understand.
I guarded that bowl with everything I had. I slept with it. I held it against my chest during roll call. I knew where it was every second of every day.
Then one morning, I fell into the latrine.
There is no delicate way to say this. The latrines in Auschwitz were wooden boards with holes cut into them over a pit. The holes were large. I was very small. I was in a hurry. I slipped.
I went in up to my neck.
The smell. The cold. The rats. I do not need to describe it. Your mind already knows.
My mother tried to pull me out. She could not. I was slippery and she had no strength. None of us had strength. We had not eaten properly in months. She called out. Other women came. Together they pulled me free. Someone found a hose. They sprayed me down in the cold air while I stood there shaking.
I did not cry. Rule number one in Auschwitz was the same rule everywhere, do not attract attention.
But I got sick. Very sick. The kind of sick that comes from rats and filth and cold water and a body that has nothing left to fight with.
And I remembered Rule Two, never show that you are sick.
I hid it from everyone. From the guards. From the other children. Even from my mother, because I knew if she knew, she would do something. And doing something in Auschwitz got you killed.
But someone saw. I do not know who. I do not know why they helped me instead of reporting me. I never knew.
They took me to a room, a makeshift hospital. I lay in a bed, a real bed, not a wooden bunk, for the first time since we had arrived.
I do not remember much of what happened next. The fever blurred everything. Days passed like smoke.
When I came out, I still had my bowl.
I had held it even in the latrine. Even in the fever. Even in the dark when I did not know where I was or what day it was.
My mother looked at me when I came back. She looked at the bowl. She did not say anything. She just nodded, the way she nodded when something had gone the way it needed to go.
People ask me what survival looks like.
I tell them, sometimes it looks like a five year old girl climbing out of a latrine in a death camp, covered in filth, shaking with cold, still holding her tin bowl.
Because she knew that the bowl was the difference between eating and not eating. Between living and not.
Because her mother had told her. And she had listened.
I am Tova Friedman. I fell into a latrine in Auschwitz at five years old.
I came out still holding my bowl.
Tova.
#NeverForget #Survival #DaughterOfAuschwitz #ShesStillHere #TheirNamesLiveOn