Like most Jews my age, I don’t remember learning about the Holocaust. It’s one of those things I feel like I’ve always known: the sky is blue; the Florida Gators are the best team; and Nazi Germany rounded up my people, sent them to concentration camps, and murdered 6 million of them.
I can remember being a little kid and sitting on the swing in the playset my dad built, spinning in aimless circles, and wondering: Why? What was the point in killing so many people? And why us?
I felt like everybody else, but something about people like me must have been terrible. If not, why would something like the Holocaust happen?
It’s not something I could appreciate at that age, but I know now that I wasn’t the only kid struggling with those questions. For every group targeted for hate, there’s a child staring at the clouds wondering if they can find a way to scrub off the things that make her different.