I rarely read books
about the Holocaust. My parents are
child survivors of that war, and I heard stories every day, several times a
day, about the bombings when the war started, the evacuation, life as refugees
in cold wilderness of eastern Russia
and Central Asia . I heard more than enough tales of the misery,
the misfortunate of being born Jewish, the divine injustice, the fear, hunger,
cold, humiliation, the degrading struggle to survive, what’s new in that story.
I felt oversaturated
with Holocaust, too much said and written about it, time to move on. However, Hashem renews our souls every
minute and every hour of every day, and the person who heard the same story
yesterday is not the same who hears the story today, and every time we hear the
story we have the same questions to the Almighty – why did this happen, where
were You, where was I, who was I at that time, in that generation, what have I
done that time to cause such terrible horrors, what could anyone possible have
done to deserve this kind of punishment?
