I must admit that the Twentieth Century Holocaust isn't always on my mind. It isn't something I grew up knowing about at all. My grandparents on both sides made it to New York even before World War I, and my father's grandparents also managed to leave Poland and Belarus and lived in New York knowing their grandchildren.
This sets me apart from many of my generation of American Jews and Israelis for sure. My neighbor tells a wonderful story about her father and how he returned to Germany as an American soldier. Read it.
I'm haunted more by the fact that the world stood by and ignored the plight, the murder of Jews.
And yesterday I loved the irony of seeing the flame of the memorial candle on the black-draped table in Rami Levy for all to see, Jews, Arabs, Christians, all who passed by.
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