By: Don Horwitz
Growing up in my family meant inheriting a legacy of trauma that I didn’t fully understand at first. In my family, the past was never just the past—it was a living, breathing presence, etched into our hearts and even into the skin of those I loved most. The scars of the Holocaust were not just physical; they were emotional, passed down through generations.
And yet, even as time moves forward, this shadow of hate refuses to fade. Antisemitism is still here and is a constant reminder that the world hasn’t changed as much as we had hoped.
I can still remember that day so vividly, when I was only 5 years old. My entire family—my aunts, uncles, and cousins—were gathered around the dining room table for the Passover Seder. As my grandfather began the traditional prayers, my eyes were drawn to the arms of some of my aunts and uncles, where rows of numbers were etched into their skin.
I tugged at my father’s sleeve and asked, “Daddy, what do those numbers mean?” His face, usually so strong and composed, crumbled before my eyes. In that moment, I saw a pain I couldn’t yet understand—a pain that silenced the room.
How could my father explain to a 5-year-old the horrors behind those numbers? How could he put into words the living nightmare they represented? As a young sergeant during the war, my father had led his platoon through the gates of a concentration camp to help liberate it. The smells, the sights, the unimaginable suffering he witnessed—all came pouring out in his tears.
My father was lucky in a sense—he made it out alive. But over 6 million did not, including many members of my family.
What breaks my heart is that the hatred that scarred my family and millions of others—still lingers today. When I write online updates about our life-saving programs, the most common question I receive is, “Why do you help Jews? They just don’t deserve it”.
And yet, the very people who are so often vilified, have given the world countless gifts: the first effective chemotherapy for childhood leukemia, the polio vaccine, aspirin, and blood type classification. For a people who continue to be hated, blamed, and attacked, they sure have given a lot back to our world.
As I reflect on that day at the Seder table, I realise that my father’s pain was not just about the past—it was also about the present and the future.
