Yad Vashem and the Picture

First off I wanted to apologize for my lack of blogging recently. I've been ill much of these past 2 weeks.

This past Sunday all of the kids in Section 1 of Young Judaea traveled to  Yad Vashem as part of a 2 day Holocaust (Shoah) seminar. Those two days were some of the most powerful and thought-provoking days I've experienced not only here in Israel, but in my life. This was the first time I had gone into Yad Vashem. Previously when I was here, I was only 12 or 13 and my parents didn't think I could handle the museum (good call).
It was a very emotional day and there's one picture that stuck out more than any other picture in the museum. That was a picture of a boy, a teenager who perished in the Shoah. As I looked up on the wall and into his eyes, it immediately sent shivers down my whole body. As we locked eyes, it wasn't just a picture that was staring at me, it was my eyes that stared back at me. It was my face that was looking at me. It was the 1940s version of Jesse Abelson. It was almost as if there was a picture of myself on the wall. I stood, without words to say, staring at a picture of my twin on a wall of people who perished in the Shoah. As I stared at the picture, all I could think of was why him? What did he do to deserve that? And then I began to wonder, did he have a mom and dad like I did? Did he have a brother? What did he want to be when he grew up? I've never thought of Shoah victims on that sort of level. I've never known of any relatives of mine that perished in the Shoah so it's been personal to me by the fact that 6 million people of my religion were murdered but until seeing this picture, it's never been personal on the family level. I don't even know if this child and I were related in any way but just by the fact that by looking at him I saw myself on that wall, it became as personal as it could get. 6 million is not just a number. It's not just a statistic. It's 6 million stories that ended too soon. 6 million people with families and stories to tell. 6 million people that will never live to see their children, grandchildren, mothers, fathers, or siblings.It's 6 million separate faces, all with different stories and lives. 6 million dreams shattered. of the 6 million killed, 1 face stood out to me among all of them.  His name, I may never know. His story, I may never know but his face I will never forget. I will carry with me a piece of him for the rest of my life. He will never be forgotten. Along with the other 6 million people, they will not be forgotten. Never forget. Never again.