והיא שעמדה

Three of my grandparents were killed then: by the German, Romanian and Hungarian criminals - ימח שמו.  I never know where their graves are. My parents grew up without parents and close family, brought from a border to another, changing names and families in order to survive. We lived in a world of silences and double truth: at home, we were silent and tried to communicate in coded language; outside, we were trying to convince the others that we have a right to live and they should live us alone.

Looking for acceptance with an undeserved humility, mimicking their nonsense, not too brave to be ourselves. Accepting with a stupid smile on the face their arguments that we will never be able to go further because, 'you know, you are never one of us'. It took one generation of pain and silence to realize that, no, we don't want to be 'one of yours'. Leaving behind the prosperous position of second class citizens and assuming what we really are. 

Our protection is not that of the nations, many of them our enemies. Even if I tried hard so many years, I still don't understand why and what happened. But at least I understood why 'they', the culturally brilliant and educated creatures did not hesitate to openly or passively support the killing. 

Part of the task of remembering every one of the 6 millions is to assume our identity and our belief. This is what will protect our children and will give them the strength to fight the Amaleks of their time.