Holocaust and Hope

My grandmother was my best friend and grew up hearing her stories, sometimes in the most casual of ways. Like the thunderstorm in Auschwitz story which I wrote about here. Or her tattoo story which I wrote about here and here.

So, when she told me she wanted me to write her story because people don’t know about the Holocaust, I was so naive, I thought she was being paranoid. I said, “Bobby, of course everyone knows about the Holocaust.”  The stories of the Holocaust were in my bones. They were in the air I breathed. Once I did just a little research, I realized she was, as usual, right. She said the world must know what happened to her, so it doesn’t happen again.

I had a different motive to write her story. I wanted to write about her belief and her hope which was so empowering to me and I believed it could be empowering for other people. I read lots of Holocaust books when I was younger and most of them were about a non-Jew saving a Jew which are powerful stories to tell and should continue to be told but, here I was growing up with this Jewish courageous woman who believed in and saved herself.

With both of our motives we set out to write her story and when it was done I was told by publishers that no one wants to read Holocaust books anymore. Then I found Amsterdam publishers and the great Leisbeth told me not only would she publish the book, but she would also do it as fast as she could so my 95-year-old grandmother could see her dream come true. And she did. And my grandmother signed it proudly for all her doctor. Almost three years later it is in 11 languages and it turns out, people still want to read, remember and honor Holocaust stories.

Lately I have been realizing that both my grandmother and my motive to write her story were the same.

My grandmother wanted to share her story because she believed in a world that would work to give it a happier ending.

After seeing the worst humans are capable of, she still believed in humankind.

After living through the worst of history, she believed that history could springboard a better future.

I wanted to write about hope. The fact that she could believe in a better world is the greatest proof of hope I know.

My grandmother passed away two years ago. Right before she died, she told my sister, “Sometimes I get nervous about the state of the world…but then I remember I have dozens of grandchildren, and thousands of followers, and I don’t feel so nervous.” Thanks to Amsterdam publisher for sharing her story, and thanks to YOU for reading and sharing her story, her hope never died. Neither should ours.