Mr Colin

[Nature is Amazing ☘️ @AMAZlNGNATURE]

The bee hummingbird is the smallest bird on Earth

At just 5.5 cm (2.2 inches) long, it's so tiny that it's often mistaken for a bee

[Bilinmeyen Gerçekler @iyiTriloji]

Papua'nın yağmur ormanlarında bulunan Vogelkop Süper Paradise, sadece Endonezva'nın Papua eyaletinde bulunur. Karanfil siyah tüyleri 99.5% ışığı emer, bu da mavi gözleri ve göğsünü dijital bir ilüzyon gibi gösterir.

[EuroFoot @eurofootcom]

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 ENGLAND vs NORWAY 🇳🇴

World Cup quarter-final confirmed! ✅

[Massimo @Rainmaker1973]

Anthony Howe is a kinetic sculptor who creates wind-driven sculptures resembling pulsing, alien creatures and vortices.

This one is in downtown Montreal.

[Nature Girl @Natureegir1]

🚨This is a Xylethrus superbus
Spider, known for its Jewel-like
Beauty and Incredible Camouflage.

[𝕐o̴g̴ @Yoda4ever]

Freedom..🦅😍

[Belgesel Dünyası @belgeseIdunyasi]

Tüylerinin taranmasından büyük keyif alan yavru bir benekli geyik.

[Nature Clips @NatureClips01]

The puma is engaged in typical feline behavior by shredding cardboard.

[Mr Colin @MrColin15]

@leefer3 Shame if true

[leefer @leefer3]

Hearing that Holloway has gone

Anyone else heard the same?

#stfc

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

1943. A Jewish teenager dressed as a Boy Scout led 24 children through French forests toward the Swiss border. Nazi patrols were everywhere. The children had to stay silent. So Marcel Mangel—who would become Marcel Marceau—used the only skill he had: mime. He kept them quiet by making them laugh without sound. He was miming for his life.
Marcel Mangel was born on March 22, 1923, in Strasbourg, France, on the border with Germany.
His father, Charles, was a butcher. His mother, Anne, had fled pogroms in Eastern Europe, joining 200,000 Jews seeking safety in the west.
When Marcel was five, his mother took him to see a Charlie Chaplin film.
He was entranced. The silent comedy. The physical expression. The way Chaplin communicated everything without words.
Marcel started imitating Chaplin for friends and family. He dreamed of becoming a silent film star.
He had no idea his mime skills would one day save lives.
In 1940, when Marcel was 17, Nazi Germany invaded France.
The Mangel family—living in Strasbourg, right on the German border—was in immediate danger.
Marcel and his older brother Alain changed their last name to "Marceau," borrowing it from François Séverin Marceau-Desgraviers, a general of the French Revolution.
The family fled south to Limoges, deeper into France, away from the advancing German army.
In Limoges, Marcel's cousin Georges Loinger found him.
Loinger was a leader in the Organisation Juive de Combat—the Jewish Army, a clandestine network of the French Resistance dedicated to rescuing Jewish civilians.
"We need you," Loinger told Marcel. "We're evacuating Jewish children from orphanages and getting them to Switzerland."
Marcel was 19 years old.
He joined immediately.
The mission was straightforward but terrifying: lead groups of Jewish children—orphans whose parents had already been deported or killed—through occupied France to the Swiss border.
If caught, they'd all be sent to concentration camps.
Marcel posed as a Boy Scout leader. The children wore scout uniforms. They carried backpacks. They looked like kids on a camping trip.

But they were walking through forests patrolled by Nazi soldiers.
The children had to stay absolutely silent. One cry, one shout, one scared whimper could get them all killed.
So Marcel entertained them with mime.
He made funny faces. He pretended to be trapped in an invisible box. He walked against imaginary wind. He juggled invisible balls.
The children watched, mesmerized, silent, smiling.
"The kids loved Marcel and felt safe with him," Loinger recalled decades later. "He had already begun doing performances in the orphanage. The kids had to appear like they were simply going on vacation to a home near the Swiss border, and Marcel really put them at ease."
Documentary filmmaker Phillipe Mora, whose father fought alongside Marcel in the Resistance, said it plainly: "Marceau started miming to keep children quiet as they were escaping. It had nothing to do with show business. He was miming for his life."
On his first trip, Marcel led 24 children through the forests to the border, where other members of the Resistance smuggled them into Switzerland.
Then he did it again.
And again.
Over multiple dangerous journeys, Marcel Marceau helped save dozens—possibly hundreds—of Jewish children.
His cousin Georges Loinger's operations saved close to 400 children total.
Marcel also forged identity documents for Resistance fighters and Jewish refugees, using his artistic skills to create convincing papers.
Once, near the end of the war, Marcel ran into a group of 30 German soldiers.
Thinking fast, he mimicked the advance of a large French force—gesturing urgently as if warning the Germans that a massive French unit was approaching.
The German soldiers retreated.
All 30 of them.
Word spread throughout the Allied forces about the remarkable young mime in the Resistance.
In August 1944, Paris was liberated.
Marcel gave his first major performance as a mime to 3,000 American troops in the streets of Paris.
But the celebration was short-lived.
On February 19, 1944—while Marcel was still helping children escape—the Gestapo had captured his father, Charles Mangel, in Strasbourg.
Charles was deported to Auschwitz.
He never came home.

After the war, Marcel visited his childhood home for the first time since fleeing in 1940.
The house was empty. Stripped bare. His father was dead.
Marcel's mother and brother survived. But the loss of his father—the man he couldn't save—haunted him forever.
"I cried for my father," Marcel said in 2002. "But I also cried for the millions of people who died. Destiny permitted me to live. This is why I have to bring hope to people who struggle in the world."
In 1945, Marcel enrolled at the School of Dramatic Art in Paris. He studied mime under masters like Étienne Decroux and Jean-Louis Barrault.
In 1947, he created "Bip the Clown"—a character in a striped pullover and battered silk top hat, with a flower tucked in the brim.
Bip became his alter ego, just as the Little Tramp had been Chaplin's.
Bip encountered the world without words. He struggled with butterflies and lions, trains and ships, dance halls and restaurants. He represented life's fragility—the vulnerability of being human.
There was sadness in Bip. A melancholy that audiences felt but couldn't quite name.
Part of it came from Marcel's father. From the war. From the children he'd saved and the millions he couldn't.
"The origin of that pain was his father's deportation," Loinger later explained.
Marcel created one autobiographical sketch: "Bip Remembers." In it, he explored childhood memories of his father and the war.
But mostly, Marcel didn't talk about his Holocaust experiences. Not for decades.
"After the war I didn't want to speak about my personal life," he said. "Not even that my father was deported to Auschwitz and never came back."
Instead, he channeled that pain into art.

For over 60 years, Marcel Marceau performed "the art of silence" worldwide. He became the most famous mime in history.
His routines—"The Cage," "Walking Against the Wind," "The Mask Maker," "Youth, Maturity, Old Age, and Death"—became classics.
Pop star Michael Jackson credited Marcel with inspiring the moonwalk.
He performed 300 times a year. He taught at his pantomime school in Paris. He visited Israel multiple times.
And finally, in 2001, Marcel Marceau received the Wallenberg Medal from the University of Michigan—recognizing his acts of courage during the Holocaust.
When the award was announced, people wondered if Marcel would give an acceptance speech.
He smiled and said: "Never get a mime talking, because he won't stop."
Then he talked. For the first time publicly, he spoke about using mime to save Jewish children. About his father's death. About why he devoted his life to bringing hope through silence.
"When I learned about this story, I think I really connected to it because it's the story of this artist finding a way to use his work for the benefit of other people," actor Jesse Eisenberg later said when portraying Marcel in a film.
Marcel Marceau died on September 22, 2007—Yom Kippur—at age 84.
He was buried at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. His simple gravestone is marked with a large Star of David.
The man who made the world laugh in silence had first used that silence to save lives.
The mime who entertained millions had learned his craft keeping terrified children quiet as they escaped Nazi-occupied France.
And the artist who brought poetry to pantomime never forgot the father he couldn't rescue from Auschwitz.
"I cried for my father," Marcel said. "But I also cried for the millions of people who died."
So he spent the rest of his life giving the world what the Holocaust had tried to extinguish: hope, beauty, and laughter.
Without saying a word

[Architecture & Tradition @archi_tradition]

Imagine seeing colors like this for the first time in the 13th century

[Gabriele Corno @Gabriele_Corno]

I've gotten to meet with the cheetah when I was in Africa, and this is the coolest part of it

[Linda Fritz @LindFritz]

🖤

[ANIMALS WORLD @itsanimalworlds]

The cutest family on the feed today.❤️🐆

[Cats with Aura 😺 @catwithaura]

A cat discovered sunlight and didn't understand why it suddenly felt hotter

[Crazy Vibes @CrazyVibes_1]

A Nazi commander loaded his pistol, pressed the cold metal barrel directly against the forehead of an American soldier, and gave a chilling ultimatum: "Order the Jewish soldiers to step forward, or I will shoot you right now."

What happened next in that frozen prisoner-of-war camp changed history forever, yet the man who stared down death kept it a secret for the rest of his life.

It was January 1945, and the bitter winter of World War II was at its peak. Inside Stalag IX-A, a notorious German prison camp near Ziegenhain, thousands of American soldiers were trapped behind barbed wire. Among them was Master Sergeant Roddie Edmonds, a twenty-five-year-old from Knoxville, Tennessee. As the highest-ranking non-commissioned officer in his section, Edmonds was responsible for the lives of 1,275 men.

One day, the camp commander, a fanatical Nazi major named Siegmann, issued a terrifying directive.

He ordered that the following morning, all American prisoners of Jewish faith must step out of the ranks during roll call. Everyone knew what this meant. Separating the Jewish soldiers was the first step toward sending them to extermination camps.

Inside the dark, freezing barracks, the prisoners panicked. Some of the Jewish soldiers considered stepping forward willingly to protect their Christian brothers from Nazi wrath. But Edmonds refused to let that happen. He looked at his men and gave a clear, definitive order: "Tomorrow, everyone steps forward. Everyone."

The next morning, the ground was thick with snow. Major Siegmann walked out onto the parade ground, expecting to see a small, isolated group of Jewish soldiers standing apart from the rest. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks. All 1,275 American soldiers had stepped forward together in perfect unison.

The commander turned red with anger and stormed over to Edmonds. "They cannot all be Jews!" Siegmann screamed.

Edmonds stood completely still, looked the Nazi straight in the eyes, and replied: "We are all Jews here."

Enraged, Siegmann drew his Luger pistol and pressed it against Edmonds' forehead. The tension was suffocating. Hundreds of men held their breath, waiting for the gunshot. But Edmonds did not blink.

"According to the Geneva Convention, we only have to give our name, rank, and serial number," Edmonds said, his voice steady and calm. "If you shoot me, you will have to shoot all of us. And when the war ends, you will be tried for war crimes."

Edmonds knew the German army was collapsing and the Allies were advancing. Siegmann knew it too. The Nazi commander looked at the wall of unified men, realized he could not break their spirit, and slowly lowered his gun. He turned around and walked away without saying another word.

Because of that moment of defiance, two hundred Jewish-American soldiers survived the Holocaust. When the war ended, Edmonds returned to Tennessee, married his sweetheart, and raised a family. He never bragged about his actions, never looked for medals, and never even told his own children what he had done. To him, protecting his men was simply his duty.

Decades after his death in 1985, his son uncovered the truth by talking to the survivors. In 2015, Edmonds was officially recognized as Righteous Among the Nations, the highest honor Israel bestows upon non-Jews who risked their lives to save Jews during the Holocaust. He remains the only American soldier to ever receive this recognition.

True heroism does not look for applause, and love will always be louder than hatred.

By standing together in the snow, those soldiers proved that when we refuse to abandon each other, ordinary human beings can become absolutely invincible.