I am sitting in the Garden of the Righteous, among the beautiful flowers, trying to unwind after speaking to a group of adults at the Holocaust Museum about the tragedy of the Holocaust and about the Nazi murder of countless innocents.
It is sixty-seven years since the years of suffering of many of the survivors like me. By the grace of God, I try to disseminate information about the tragedies of the Holocaust. I plead with others, in the name of God, to stop the hate, to hold tight to hope. I plead with God to grant me this life to be able to speak of the horror of the loss of irreplaceable loved ones and of the searing pain that remains within me. The flame in me refuses to diminish the pain, but the feeling for hope for peace—never hate—remains strong in this twilight of my life.