So my seven-year-old grandson asked me recently.
No,” I answered him. “The Shoah ended seventy years ago.”
“Oh,” the wheels were turning in Yehuda’s mind. “So, was Uncle Gary in it?”
“No,” I repeated and explained that my brother-in-law who’d come to Israel to celebrate his seventieth birthday last summer was born in America.
“What about Opa?”
Again I was able to reply in the negative. “Thankfully Opa and his family were able to leave Germany in time.”
“But,” his other grandmother joined the conversation. “Saba Yoel was in the Shoah. He had a wife and a daughter who were murdered. I had a sister I never knew.”
Her words intrigued our grandson but they bothered her eighteen-year-old daughter.
“Why are you telling him all this? He’s too young!”