On Jan. 27, I happened to click on the BBC and they were remembering the 1940-1945 European Holocaust with purple-lit buildings in London, England: Piccadilly Circus, the Parliament buildings, Edinburgh Castle. I began to wonder whether or not this special day was being remembered in my adopted country, the United States.
I was born in the Netherlands and was 3-years-old when the 1940 war began. I certainly remember much between the ages of 6 and 8. Those two years will never be erased. The Holocaust signifies to me a Nazi dictator bound and determined to take over as much European territory as possible and erase from Earth human beings he disliked, i.e. Jewish people, homosexuals, gypsies, etc. etc. My memories of when I was seven I will never forget: I lived on a city street with many 4-story row houses. In one of those row houses I had a little girlfriend I played with every day on our street. Upon questioning my mother earlier in the day why my little friend always wore a yellow star, my mother told me she was Jewish. At seven I was not quite sure what that meant. However, I rang the bell but nobody came to the door. I ran home and told my mother and she said. “The Nazis came last night and took the whole family, parents and three children away in a black car.” Not until after the war when I was 9 or 10 did I realize the horrors of the Nazis in our country and in others. I never saw that family again. I still think about them and I do remember the Holocaust years. Do you?
Joyce Bol
Northampton