Holocaust Memorial Day

Israel, 2025

My heart skipped a beat when the siren began, even though I had been expecting it. This was not the run-for-shelter sound of the air raid sirens; this was a memorial siren, a signal for the nation to come to a halt and silently remember. Unfortunately, the same speakers are used for the memorial sirens and the air raid sirens, and the rising sound of the memorial siren starting up to maintain its steady blast sounds a bit too close to the up-and-down wail of the air raid sirens for comfort.

I stopped walking, coming to a halt outside of a grocery store. Around me, cars slowed to a stop, their passengers getting out to join those of us standing on the sidewalks. We all stood in silence, giving time and space for remembrance.

During that time, I thought about a story. A story that is both mine and not mine to tell. It is the story of how I am alive today, and the story of those who are not. 

Vienna, 1930s

War was in the air, and rumors of worse were on the winds. My great-grandfather's family was uneasy. The situation wasn't yet dire, but there was cause for concern. Annexing Austria had long been a goal of Hitler's, and the Jews weren't faring very well under Nazi rule. The family decided to take precautions.

The concern proved well-founded. Austria was conquered by the Nazis and they started rounding up the Jews - and my great-grandfather's family was stopped.

When the Nazi officer stopped them, the family didn't panic. Instead, they made the officer an offer. Producing the silver cups they had sewn into the lining of their clothes, they made a bargain: silver in exchange for their freedom. "Come with me," he told them.

He led them down a back alley. The bargain was made, and the treasured silver found its way into his hands. He left them with one message: "Make sure I never see you again."

They hadn't been planning on it.

They fled Austria. Crossing borders and evading roundups, my great-grandfather's family found their way to the Netherlands, where they stayed in a Displaced Persons camp.

Those who made it out, that is.

Three siblings made it out, such as to the DP camp in the Netherlands or to France. A DP camp is not the best place to be, but the other types of camps were far worse. We have the certificates from those worse camps: death certificates. Two siblings went into Auschwitz. They never came out.

The homeless, tempest-tost

From the Netherlands, in 1939, they boarded a boat. Destination: New York.

The United States of America; the Land of the Free. The Land of Opportunity, where the streets are paved in gold.

Even though it was past the heyday of Ellis Island, the immigration center was bustling. Hundreds of immigrants a day passed through the island, getting medical check-ups and being approved for entry into America. There was no complicated months-long process or endless bureaucracy to get there, although there were restrictions imposed in the 1920s that severely limited immigration, such as adding reading comprehension tests and maximum quotas. My great-grandfather's family made it in.

And from there, America was indeed the land of opportunity. They established themselves and started their families. My grandmother was born, in a house that spoke English and Yiddish and German. They had survived Europe and arrived in America.

True victory

Today, the family lives on. Some still in New York, others in different states, and some, like myself, in Israel. And that is the true victory over the Nazis; that we continue to live, as people, as families, and as a nation. They tried to stamp us out of existence, but that will never happen. We will survive, and we will live, and we will grow.

And we will learn. The Shoah taught us many lessons that we can't afford to forget. We cannot forget how normalizing dehumanization and othering led to six million dead. We cannot forget how many more could have been saved if they hadn't been turned away because of immigration quotas. And we cannot forget how many people were willing to simply sit back and let it happen.

The memorial siren lasted two minutes. As it ended, the world began to move again. People sat down and resumed their conversations. The cars began to pass by on the roads. And I began to walk again, passing the "together we will win" flags and signs flapping in the wind.

We're dealing with a devastating war, against another group whose goal is to destroy the Jews. Across the world, dehumanization is once again on the rise - against the Jews and against others. And we cannot sit back and let it happen; we've seen where that ends. We must maintain the solemn pledge of Never Again.