Their names are listed on the wall or on stones in the ground, on memorials or written in books. In the silence, you can hear their screams for justice, for peace. Their stories are seared into my memory and inscribed upon my heart.
I cannot promise them the justice they deserve, but I can and will bear witness, and I will expect those I share their stories with to do the same.
I will share their truth – not just of their time imprisoned in ghettos, in hiding, in camps or as displaced persons, but of their lives – their worlds before the world turned against them; I will share their hopes, their dreams, their stolen futures, their legacies.
I will share the truth of those who chose to collaborate and perpetrate the unthinkable – turning on their neighbors and their community, stealing happiness, dignity, families and futures.
I will share the sad truth of the bystanders, the stories of those people who, when the summer snow fell upon their heads, allowed it to seal their eyes, their ears and their mouths against injustice and did nothing.
I will share the truth of the righteous, those who often sacrificed their own freedom to help their fellow man – to feed, to clothe, to care for those who needed it most and who answered the call to help, despite the consequence of possible death, all because it was the right thing to do.
I will share the truth of the upstanders who spoke against hate, whether with weapons or armored with words to open the eyes of a blind world at their own risk.
My journey may have started by happenstance, but it has been a gift, and I accept the onus. I strive to continue learning, to consistently delve into the research, into the stories of the people, to give names to numbers, to open eyes, to remember.
I will speak the truth.
I will not forget.
I will bear witness.
Thank you for teaching us how to remember.
