This letter was written by Philip Rosen, but it could have been written by any Jew -including me, that has reletives murdered in the Shoah. We are all damaged and need love A LETTER TO MY CHILDREN ON HOLOCAUST REMEMBRANCE DAY – REMEMBER
BY J. PHILIP ROSEN
So today is Yom Hashoah - local ceremonies, ceremonies in schools and then its over. But for me and thousands of other second generations it's never over. It haunts us and always will.
We lived mostly normal lives growing up. But just mostly. There were giant pieces missing. I had no grandparents. My father had one living relative - his brother. Nearly everyone else (his parents, 2 brothers, a sister and many cousins) were murdered in a concentration camp. Murder is an understatement. They were gassed and their bodies were burned. They didn't have a chance. Yom Hashoah is a day to remember; so let's remember. Think about Shiya and Pearl, our grandparents who were in their 40s when they were killed, Leon and Gittel Masha, aunt and uncle in their 20s, and Reuven Noach Rozen, only 12 years old. They were fine people and good Jews. They were killed solely because they were Jews.
I always wonder what life would've been like had they survived. My parents gave us a very normal life. But every once in a while...
I would wake up in the middle of the night (even back then I couldn't sleep) and find my father staring at the pictures of his mother and father that hung in our living room (and that currently hang in our living room). And there would be tears in his eyes.
And sometimes he would call me by one of his brothers' names - Leon or Noychele (Reuven Noach) or Pinyale (Pinchas) who survived in a Siberian camp, only to be killed as a soldier in Israel's War of Independence.
When my brother, sister or I did something good in school (always my brother or sister) or sports (me) the pride he had was almost beyond normal. We were everything to my father.
My father survived because of a series of miracles and a kind man named Sugihara. And so my survival and yours is because of an additional series of miracles. And if I ever seem over-protective of you, that's why.
One very special thing my father taught us was to care about Jews all over the world, in every nook and cranny. As you know I spend lots of time worrying about Israel and Jews in trouble. The Jews who survived felt and feel that the whole world abandoned them - for 6 years the concentration camps existed, thousands of Jews were tortured and murdered every single day and no one, no one did a damn thing. Simply amazing. And the argument that no one knew is just not true.
A few years ago I was on a business trip to Munich. On my way back from a meeting outside of town I saw a sign to Dachau - 15 kilometers away. I asked the driver if the camp was inside of town; he said he didn't believe there was a camp there. So I changed my plans and had this driver pick me up at 8am the next day and we drove the 10 minutes to Dachau. The Camp was smack in the middle of the City with very old apartment buildings, 5 and 6 stories high, and a slew of retail establishments all around the Camp. The Camp wasn't open yet so we drove around the camp from the gallows to the crematorium. When the camp opened there was a German school group visiting the camp - 50-70 teenagers. I asked if I could join their tour. The teacher agreed. So my driver and I joined. The teacher was germanic in the precision of her description of the camp during the war. It was a torture camp, not an extermination camp like Auschwitz. The teacher described the many tortures the prisoners went through in great detail. She said they hung the prisoners from their hands or legs, but in a way to break their shoulders or knees or ankles. She said there was screaming non-stop 24 hours a day. At the end of the tour she asked me if I wanted to say something (I guess my yarmulke gave it away). I said no, but I would like all the kids to sit on the ground and tell me what they hear. They did. Kids started to yell out - I hear a child crying, I hear a car starting, I hear a wife yelling at her husband. As they yelled these out, it became clear to the teacher and then the kids what this exercise was all about - if we can hear these sounds, the people who lived anywhere near the camps heard the screaming from inside. They all knew. Everyone knew.
So my lesson on this Yom Hashoah is Care - care about your brethren, care about those that are suffering. Don't ever let yourselves be silent. And don't ever forget Shiya and Pearl, your great-grandparents, Leon, Gittel Masha and Reuven Noach, your great-aunt and uncles. Please. Remember. | 
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