While waiting for the siren I sit thinking about friends who are children of survivors.

Every year on the same day for the last 65 years we have been lowering the flag to half mast – standing at attention and remembering the 6 million Jews that perished during the Holocaust.

While growing up I had many friends whose parents were survivors.  Some of them spoke about their parent’s stories and experiences on how they survived and some of them never uttered a word about it.  They were silent.

I had one friend in particular (she is still one of my best friends today) and her mother was my mother’s best friend.  This woman was orphaned during the war and was brought to Canada with a large group of other children who survived the Holocaust and were adopted by Jewish families.

She really did not speak about her childhood openly.  I asked my mother why she doesn’t yell out to the world – I survived!  I am living! I have a family!

My mother hugged me and told me that she tells her story every day by living her life.

My mother also told me that it was difficult for her to talk about her past but a few times, quietly just the two of them, her friend would tell her about her memories of her family – the boat – and the sadness in her heart.   My mother felt honored to be her friend and that she was able to share her stories with her.

I had another school friend whose father had come to speak to us at school.  He was very short. He told us that the Germans where coming into the barracks of the camp and were going to do another “selection”.  He knew that short people would be “selected” as they were not big or strong enough to work. And hence would be sent to their death.   He quickly found a rock and stood on it with his pants covering it.  When the German walked by him he continued and passed him by.  He lived to tell the story.

After hearing that story – I promised myself (I was probably only 7 or 8  ) I would never ever make fun of short people!

Today as parents, together with my school friends who are first generation from survivors – tell their parents stories to their children, in hope that their children will continue and tell their children and their children and their children.  So that the stories of friends and relatives who were massacred during the Holocaust will never be forgotten.
As Hannah Szenes wrote:

My God, My God, I pray that these things never end,

The sand and the sea,

The rustle of the waters,

Lightning of the Heavens,

The prayer of Man.

Blog by Shari