Today is a solemn day. Of course, it can be nothing else.

We remember those who died. Over 6 million. 6 million beautiful souls.

We remember the camps. They were inhumane, beyond comprehension.

We remember the survivors. What strength they have! I am sure they are haunted by the memories.

My personal connection to the Holocaust is not a survivor, but he was haunted every day.

My grandfather was in his 30s when he went to Europe to fight. He had a wife and two sons. He often said he had no idea what was in store for him.

Towards the end of the war, he ended up, with a lot of other men, at a camp. Dora-Mittlebau.

He did not talk much about what he saw. Once, his redheaded grand daughter asked him what he did during the war. He laughed and said “I will tell you one day”.

He did tell me. He told me about the people. “They were so skinny. We all gave them what we have.” He told me about their eyes, so grateful for anything. He cried when he told me these things. How could he not?

My grandfather’s story is no different from thousands of others. His story has become part of my story. He inspired me to speak out on Holocaust denial. Grandpa, thank you for inspiring me. I so hope I make you proud.