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While this has been a year of incredible hardship and tragedy for the entire world, it has also been a year of ificant personal growth for me. And with the hindsight ofI now realize I have learned so much more than I could have expected. These women have braved the scary and intimidating experiences of putting themselves out there in an online space to make real tangible change. Watching these women proudly stand behind their powerful voices to carry out their missions has made me realize that I may still be leveraging my expertise to hide behind them and the organizations for which I work.

So in March ofI decided to interview my then year old grandmother, Rose Tyger Lindenberg, who is one of the last few alive to have survived the Holocaust. And, thus, from my own New York City lockdown, I began an important practice in listening, and took the opportunity to reach back into my somewhat dusty personal writing toolbox, and share her story. Perhaps it was the universe giving me a distraction to calm my rising anxieties over the unknown, or an exercise in understanding the value of perspective.

Either way, I went from drowning in my frustrations to finding parallels in the past to help keep my north star calibrated. While some of the details of her memory are fuzzy, what matters are the life lessons that shine through, and the wake-up calls it should give us all.

Compared to other hate crimes, antisemitism is covered with much less frequency in the U. Not to mention: One of the most common antisemitic tropes is the belief that Jews control the media. In fact. Even today, in May ofJews are targeted simply for being Jewish. Influential members of society, with more social media followers than there are Jews worldwide, are spreading hate behind the guise of misinformed political statements.

Even reputable news organizations, including CNN and The Associated Press, are using terrorist groups as reliable sources of information. I hope that through sharing this story, I can at least shed light on the endless Jewish fight for survival, and support my stance against terrorism and antisemitism. It is the greatest revenge.

I asked her if she missed my grandpa, a man who separately survived the Holocaust, and with whom she spent almost 70 years,who died in eight years earlier. I asked her if she was afraid of dying. She said being alone all the time is hard, and that made me a little sad. A life well-lived, like the Talmud says? Is my obsession with history and reading every museum plaque my subconscious reminding me to never forget?

In reality, I have learned that I can add to and check off as many items on my to-do list as possible, but what can I do that will make a difference? What will be memorable? Well, what would I regret less than not calling my grandmother, who is isolated in her apartment, and finally slowing down my own mania, and absorbing Free sexual social networking Deming chatting story?

I think it will be one to help us put our time in lockdown, isolation, and quarantine into perspective. How can we complain about being forced to stay in our homes with our families and Netflix, while her family and community were hiding or forced into horrific conditions just trying to survive?

Hopefully help us all move forward into the next chapter. This story is me, trying to channel her thoughts, feelings, and stories, 80 years later. For me, listening to someone open up about their history, no matter the context of the story, was enlightening, and I know for my grandmother this was a meaningful way to spend her time during quarantine. It was my last day in Munich, Germany, on a weekend away while studying abroad in Italy, and it was a miserable rainy Sunday. I was dreadfully hungover after a long weekend at Springfest with my friends, and I could still feel the Radler beer and pretzels from the days prior churning in my stomach.

The last thing I wanted to do on my last day in Germany before heading back to Rome to finish up my semester abroad was board a bus headed to a concentration camp. For context: Five years earlier, I completed a March of the Living Free sexual social networking Deming chatting in Poland and Germany, where we visited five concentration camps and other sites of Nazi atrocities many of which are still morbidly intact.

As the Free sexual social networking Deming chatting of survivors, and with parents who always stressed the importance of knowing where I come from was important to me. So I wandered off and ended up finding the victim lookup computer terminal, and while waiting idly tried my hand to see if I could find any names of relatives. Info in hand, I was able to find my great-grandfather, the date he died, and what he did as a worker in the camp. Knowing this was somewhat soothing to me: He spent his days in this horrible place providing the closest thing to comfort that the prisoners might have had.

Exactly 73 years ago from today, my great-grandfather was killed in the very place where I was standing. I was able to say Kaddish the Jewish prayer for the dead for him on the anniversary of his murder, and I was the first relative—to my knowledge, at least—who had stood in this spot as a witness to both his life and his death. I remember my childhood being a happy one. After all, I was the youngest child of a loving family and we were as happy as we could have been.

As far as I was concerned, it was going to stay that way forever. And then one day inwhen I was four years old, everything changed: My mother was terribly sad seemingly all the time. Maybe it was because three children, my recently orphaned cousins, moved into our house in Wuppertal-Elperfelt, Germany. She asked my mother to take her children as her own, and she did. Even as a toddler barely able to comprehend full sentences yet,I vividly remember that I felt there were too many children in the house.

We always had enough to eat and we had a roof over our he, but money was tight. Maybe I was, I thought. Of course, now I realize that my mother had her hands full, and as the youngest, I was the biggest drain on her energy. I lived in Poland for a year, and, to my surprise, I was happy there.

My time spent there made for a very classically happy childhood. There were no other children in the house, so I was spoiled rotten. My grandmother and uncle offered me the kind of love and affection that I craved and, quite frankly, needed. And I got used to that kind of love. They taught me how to sing and dance, and I was the center of their little world, growing and learning in the close-knit Jewish community mired with history and culture.

And the food, oh the food! It was wonderful, and they stuffed me with homemade love, fattening me into a little rolly-polly girl. It was the second largest city in Poland at the time,and it was a drastic change in scenery for me. My father had five siblings, most of whom were still living with my grandparents, along with their children. It was chaos, but they were loving and hardworking, and I was happy there too. I spent summers there, which I loved because they ran a penzion a summer camp with a main house and four small cottages that were rented out to guests.

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While my parents were overwhelmed, family was everything and we made it work. It was not what you might consider a traditional childhood, but it was a happy one and I was grateful for it. Inwhen I was about seven years old, I came home after a long summer to attend a German public school in Wuppertal, where I was one of only two Jewish children in my entire class. The other was named Ursula Hamm, and despite being a third-generation German, she was subject to the same virulent antisemitism that I was in school. I believe that, like me, she also survived the war, having escaped to England.

While the early onset of antisemitism may not seem like a big deal, it was everything. It was the beginning of me feeling alone, isolated, and different for the very first time, and the onset of experiencing rampant antisemitism that infected Wuppertal like a virus. Allegedly, the painful and overt hate for Jews that was reborn during that era was incubated in our town long before Hitler even rose to power. The sunny summers I spent enjoying pastries, listening to music, singing, and dancing became a distant memory. And my experience at school was terrible: The students and teachers were cruel, and they, the kids and adults alike, threw stones at me on my way home from school.

Right before my eyes, Free sexual social networking Deming chatting name changed from Rose Tyger to Dirty Jew. The community became so quickly brainwashed to accept and perpetuate the thoughtless hate. In fact, lashing out against the hated Jews was not condemned, but rather encouraged. Remembering the good times was nearly impossible as I, just a young girl, started to consider suicide. From then on, I was unable to form a positive relationship with school, which marked both the end of my formal education and the beginning of a decades-long anxiety around learning.

I became insecure about my ability to learn through my many years of verbal, and sometimes physical abuse at school. What felt like a lifetime later, my young son, Mark tried to teach me Hebrew since he was sent to a parochial school at the insistence of my father-in-law, Henry Lindenberg.

Equipped with his own Hebrew primer books, Mark sat with me and became my teacher. We enjoyed my lessons. When he was sixteen, both he and my son-in-law tried to teach me how to drive, which felt like an impossible challenge. I was proud of the fact that I had one of the cleanest driving records in Florida history!

After so many days of coming home from school, a place where I was supposed to feel safe and protected, bleeding and bruised, I became so emotionally broken that, for the sake of my sanity and safety, my mother decided to send me back to my grandmother and my uncle in Poland.

Like the last time I was there,I felt happy there. He was a handsome, fun guy who treated me so well. After two years in Poland, I was old enough, my parents thought I could tolerate antisemitism, and came home. My parents were still able to make a living. My father had begun researching ways for us to emigrate, but his Polish citizenship made it difficult to go anywhere. In fact, at that time, Poles had a hard time legally getting anywhere at all. During my time back home in Wuppertal, luckily, both my parents were still working.

My father, Moritz, was a custom tailor, and my mother, Lena, had a trousseau linens business, most frequented by fashionable newlyweds looking to outfit their homes with tablecloths and bedsheets. But this time, my father was trying to sell ready-to-wear clothing alongside 12 employees, and he was finding moderate success.

He faced Free sexual social networking Deming chatting, of course, but always said that he was too old to leave his home, so there was nothing we could do and there was nowhere to go. Once I was back in school, all of the familiar struggles returned: The teachers and students were still horribly antisemitic, and the only thing that had changed was my age; I was finally old enough to understand what antisemetism was. I found solace in a new Jewish classmate as we suffered together in a classroom beside with Nazi children. After school, we attended Hebrew lessons at the local synagogue, but that was our only reprieve.

My oldest brother, Yitzak, tried to step in and tuto mer, but it was too late. Between my negative attitude toward school and how behind I was, I was held back. It wasand Hitler had just been named chancellor of Germany. For me, though, it was the beginning of the end; the political shift that changed the world after which, I would never be the same.

Almost immediately after Hitler was appointed chancellor, the treatment of Jews in Wuppertal worsened, but part of me was still naive enough to think we would be okay. The fable was about boiling frogs.

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You could place the frog into a pot of hot water, but as soon as it feels the heat, it will jump out. Instead, drop the frog in a pot of cool water and then turn on the stove. Not sensing danger ahead, the frog will stay put. As the water steadily warms, the frog relaxes and starts to feel at ease. Tragically, the tragic fate was the same for amphibians as it was for European Jews.

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The lesson? Unlike the ill-fated frog, be vigilant. The success of their newly founded businesses let my parents feel comfortable in the pot of water that was slowly getting hotter. And at that point, it was too late. We thought things would pass and eventually return to normal. Of course, we were very wrong. One night, the Gestapo came to our home to arrest us—all of us. Though the Nazis formally arrested the men, they let the women go. We left reluctantly knowing that this very well could be the last time my mother and I would see my brothers and father.

This one small act of defiance became the catalyst to one of the most brutally violent nights I can remember. Kristallnacht, also known as the Night of Broken Glass, resulted in the gruesome deaths of myriad Jews, and the irreparable destruction of synagogues, Jewish-owned businesses, and homes. Who knew that this night of stunning bloodshed and carnage would be just the tip of the anti-Jewish iceberg? That night, nearly one thousand Jews were slaughtered, and another 30, Jewish men were arrested and forced into concentration camps.

At the same time, synagogues and more than 7, businesses were destroyed beyond repair, and bystanders just sat back and watched. It was as close to hell as I could have imagined, and I was just a little girl in the middle of it.

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