5/9, May 9th is Victory Day. I thought I’d take a break from honoring the mothers who hold a special place in my heart and remember those who perished in the last world war. There is no better way to remember, than to recount the impact and tell a story — a personal one.
My Deda was born in Poland. He was supposed to immigrate to America in 1939 and attend university. Poland was invaded mere weeks before his departure and so he (aged 18), along with his cousins ran east. He was captured and sent to concentration camps twice. He escaped once and once he was let go by a german soldier. He left behind his father, step-mother and sisters — never saw them again.
My grandmother (father’s mother) had three sisters. Two of her sisters and their children perished … executed point blank at Babi Yar.
My Dad’s father fought in the war. He never talked about his experiences much.
In my family, on this day especially, we remember those who gave their lives to defend others and those who perished in vain. Remembering means we will never forget and never let history repeat itself.