I haven't yet taught my children about the Holocaust. Honestly, I don't think I knew about it before I was 6 or 7, and there is no need for me to rush to educate my 5 and 3 year-old sons about something that they cannot even begin to comprehend.
But, when I was old enough, and when I was able to feel emotions from those very disturbing images, and ready to hear the stories, there were survivors to talk to.
Thankfully, none of my four grandparents were in a camp - My grandmother was the last one to leave Europe and she left right after Crystalnacht - but there were always other survivors. The people with numbers on their arms, the people with the stories to tell. To help personify the atrocities that took place. This wasn't a far-fetched story from years ago, but something that happened to my neighbors, to my relatives, to our friends.
One day, I will talk to my children about the holocaust, but I only hope that there will still be people to tell them first hand, so that they to can personify it, so that they too can see the pain and the suffering in that person's eyes. So that they too can tell the stories to their children. For when my grandchildren come around, I don't think a single survivor will be left.
Post a Comment