Holocaust Remembrance Day

Slicing the Beets

I rummage through leftovers in the refrigerator and find three beets.

While slicing this humble root vegetable, something shifted.

Layer upon layer, a different shade of crimson revealed itself. Because I have no window coverings in my kitchen, the sunlight streamed in freely, touching the surface of each slice. And suddenly, I was no longer standing alone.

I saw generations of my ancestors, pressed closely together, clinging to one another with all their might.

Each slice became a generation. At times glowing with a magenta warmth, like a cup of wine raised in celebration.

They shimmered like jewels in the light, and I thought of my mother’s ruby ring, how it caught the sun and held it captive for just a moment. And then, at the fragile edges, the beet began to crumble, softening into a muted gray.

When I finished, I did not move.

The house had grown still. The children and grandchildren had left hours earlier, swept up in the energy of their own lives, their laughter now only an echo in the walls.

I stood there, surrounded by silence, letting it settle inside me.

And I realized-

Today is Yom ha Shoa.

We take what was, and we lay it before us, layer upon layer.
We look closely.
We remember.

Some things are simply held,
passed from hand to hand,
from one generation to the next.