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<em>Hi there!</em>
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<em>Answer:</em>
<em>1. Meg was mending her socks.</em>
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<em>a. </em><em><u>repairing</u></em><em> b. revival c. decline d. withering</em>
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<em>2. I drank plenty of water yesterday.</em>
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<em>a. scarcity b. deficiency c. insufficient d. </em><em><u>abundance</u></em><em></em>
<em>❀Hope this helped you!❀</em>
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Answer:
subscribed!! here is my screen shot
Literature and the Holocaust have a complicated relationship. This isn't to say, of course, that the pairing isn't a fruitful one—the Holocaust has influenced, if not defined, nearly every Jewish writer since, from Saul Bellow to Jonathan Safran Foer, and many non-Jews besides, like W.G. Sebald and Jorge Semprun. Still, literature qua art—innately concerned with representation and appropriation—seemingly stands opposed to the immutability of the Holocaust and our oversized obligations to its memory. Good literature makes artistic demands, flexes and contorts narratives, resists limpid morality, compromises reality's details. Regarding the Holocaust, this seems unconscionable, even blasphemous. The horrors of Auschwitz and Buchenwald need no artistic amplification.
