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Every story about the Holocaust has a survivor at its heart. That sounds ridiculous on the surface, but it’s true. And it’s why I can tell (and hear) these stories repeatedly despite the emotional reaction each one brings. Allow me to explain.

Many of the stories we tell are stories of survival. Despite the horror of the story itself, knowing the person whose story I am telling lived to tell their own story gives me a sense of pride in Jewish courage and resilience in the face of unimaginable obstacles. It’s as if we stand as a people, united, to say, “We’re stronger than you think, and we will not let you win!”

Some stories, though, end in tragedy – millions of them, in fact. But let’s think for a moment about how we come to learn these stories. After all, the perpetrators of these murders, for all their meticulous bookkeeping, did not write down the stories of their victims’ lives, their hopes and dreams, or their acts of courage, defiance, love, and basic humanity. That knowledge had to come from somewhere else.

Sometimes it comes from a diary or journal found by a relative, friend, or bystander. Sometimes it comes from a relative who survived, shared as part of a larger story. Sometimes the story comes from a friend, a would-be rescuer, or even a stranger. In some cases, the survivor lived because someone else died to save them. Stories come from Jews and non-Jews, from soldiers, diplomats, and witnesses.

Here’s the thing, though – every single one of these people was also a survivor. Everyone who witnessed these stories survived something – if not the Holocaust, then the war. Jews and other victims survived camps, ghettos, and killing pits. Soldiers survived battles; townspeople survived bombings. Some of the witnesses were rescuers or would-be rescuers, putting their own lives and the lives of their families at risk, and surviving to tell the story.

So, no, not everyone who went through the Holocaust survived it. But yes, every Holocaust story we can tell has, at its core, a survivor. Stories that do not include a survivor are lost to us.

When I tell a Holocaust story, or listen to one, it is the courage and resilience of the survivor at its core that gives me the strength to keep telling these stories. That, and the knowledge that, despite efforts to the contrary, this history was not, nor will it ever be, lost to time.

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Zachor – Remember. This word appears almost 200 times in the Torah.

Over and over again, we are commanded to remember. We are commanded to remember that which makes us holy (the Sabbath). We are commanded to remember that which makes us who we are (the Torah). And we are commanded to remember our history.

We remember. We remember our forefathers and our foremothers. We remember our heroes. We remember our temples and our kingdoms.

At this time of year, we remember Egypt. This 3,000-year-old history is one of the most important stories we tell – a story that shapes us as a people. Every year at Seder, we remind ourselves that we must tell our people’s stories “l’Dor v’Dor,” from generation to generation.

At this time of year, we also remember another event that has shaped us as a people – a much more recent history. A week after Passover ends, we will mark Yom Hashoah, the commemoration of the horrors of the Holocaust.

We remember.

The Holocaust demands that we remember in a different way, however – a global way. The Holocaust did not only re-shape the Jewish people; it re-shaped the world. The Holocaust is one of the most significant events in human history, if only for how it changed how we see ourselves and our behavior.

This was not the first time that one group of people attempted to eradicate another, but it was the first time we recognized genocide for what it was. It was, perhaps, the first time humanity truly reflected on our own behavior as a species and blanched at the unimaginable cruelty we found there.

We may never truly understand how such an atrocity was possible, but we all have a responsibility to remember that it was possible.

We at Teach the Shoah have taken the task of helping the world remember as the central part of our mission.

Over the last 18 months, we have brought college students together with Holocaust survivors to keep these survivors’ memories alive. Each student learns a single survivor’s story. They stand in front of the survivors, and the world, and promise to keep this memory. They promise to share the story for as long as they can.

Most of these students are not Jewish. As they bring these survivors’ stories to communities across the country, they show the world that the Holocaust is a story we all must tell and we all must hear.

Our third cohort of students is preparing to start their journey to become keepers of survivor memories. As we approach both Passover and Yom Hashoah, we feel that we are beginning to fulfill our own promise – to remember l’Dor v’Dor, from generation to generation.

The photo collage shows our Lesaper tellers and survivors – from left to right and top to bottom: Emily Hand & Harry Davids; Henry Slucki & Sarah Dilatush; Sonia Chiappe & Ellie Rubin; Cooper Horton, Eva Brettler, & Libby Holden; Lya Frank & Riley Farco; Matthew Taleghani & Eva Nathanson; Torrie Herrington & Gabriella Karin; Avery Epperson & Henry Slucki; Taylor O’Neil & Gabriella Karin; Rowan Fripp with Monika White & Gitta Morris; Maddi Ruiz & Henry Weil; Eva Nathanson & Brenna Metts.

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There are times when the work is visible—when a teller stands before an audience and a story is carried aloud.

And there are times when the work happens more quietly.

February held both.

We gathered for an Echoes of the Past program, Saving Our Souls, examining acts of uprising through the perspective of rescuers, where resistance took the form of sheltering, hiding, and choosing to act. Through an Exploring Their Stories workshop, we began a new introduction to Holocaust storytelling class, inviting a new group into the careful work of listening that precedes telling.

At the same time, we are preparing a third Los Angeles cohort of Lesaper: From Survivor Memory to Living Teller. A new group of students will soon enter into this work—joining a growing community committed to telling these stories.

We are also beginning to shape an upcoming fundraiser—an in-person event in Los Angeles that we intend to livestream so that our broader community can join us in supporting this work. We’ll share more details soon.

Alongside this, we continue the longer work: building partnerships, refining what we teach, and asking how this work can endure.

Not every month is defined by the stage. But each month is part of what makes those moments possible.

In the coming weeks, we will share more about this work in our annual report.

With gratitude for being part of this work,
Deborah

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When I was very young, I learned that if I sat quietly, I could listen undisturbed to my mother and aunts telling stories from their childhoods. As I heard names I recognized and places I had seen, I sat fascinated at the revelations.

People I knew as sweet old ladies had once been rude and wild teenagers. I learned of families formed and broken, children lost to disease, cousins who went to war and never came home. I’ve never been addicted to soap operas, but these stories held me in their spell. Each unraveled tale made the people spoken of come to life for me – their work, their talents, their sense of humor, the kindnesses shown, the secrets taken to their graves.

With this background, I was excited to be part of the storytelling classes when my Teach the Shoah co-founder Deborah Fripp introduced us to storyteller Jennifer Rudick Zunikoff. Through the tools Jennifer laid out for us, we were taught to listen differently to a story – that it was in the listening that the telling grew.

I am more convinced today than when I began of the need for and importance of this method of teaching. Storytelling is powerful because it triggers the release of oxytocin and dopamine, hormones known to enhance our sense of empathy for others and to boost motivation. This is one of our goals as an organization – to motivate people to be not just passive hearers but positive doers.

As Holocaust educators, the stories we share are not easy ones to tell. Often painful to hear, they open a page of history that many tried to bury long ago. Simply speaking the word Holocaust can cause a strong emotional response.

We do not do this simply to unnerve or upset people. We share these stories so we can be the voice of those now silenced by time – so their lives will not be forgotten. We verbally open the door on their world, not just to reveal their suffering but to show their living. As my family stories helped me see relatives as ‘real’ people, so our storytelling advances the knowledge that once there was a people who faced the world they lived in with courage, uncertainty, and perseverance.

Being a Holocaust storyteller is an honor and a privilege.

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Growing up in Czechoslovakia (now Slovakia), I was always mesmerized by a black and white portrait in my maternal grandparents’ bedroom. It showed a gorgeous young woman with her head tilted slightly toward her shoulder, her subtle smile brightening her face. This was my grandmother’s beloved older sister Magdalena. Everyone called her “Dushika” (“little soul”). Even as a little girl, I remember my grandmother crying with her hands covering her face, mourning her beloved sister whom she lost so tragically.

What I knew as a child was limited. Magda was my grandmother’s favorite sister who died in Auschwitz. My beautiful mama was named after her. Only later did I learn the full story. Magdalena was one of 999 young single women on the very first transport to Auschwitz from the Slovak State in March 1942. They were ages 16 to 36 — exactly the age of my own daughters now.

As a Holocaust educator and storyteller in Los Angeles, my family story has often inspired my work. Three years ago, while preparing an exhibit at Holocaust Museum LA, I researched the other women on that first transport — their connections, dreams, and bonds of sisterhood. My sources included original artifacts, testimonies, and interviews I conducted or witnessed.

During this research, I discovered Teach the Shoah. I took their storytelling classes and was hooked. My mentor, Jennifer, offered me a chance to be a featured storyteller in January 2024. Working on and sharing Dushika’s story was transformative. It allowed me to connect more deeply to my family story and learn how to share it meaningfully with others.

The moment I finished, relief and pride flooded my body. “I brought her story alive! I remember her in a way she would feel seen!” Hearing the audience’s appreciation, I understood the power a well-told story can have. We are all storytellers, but our voices need to be discovered and sharpened.

Deep storytelling can shape us into better listeners and make us empathize on levels that statistics never can. It creates community, serves as a bridge without judgment, and conveys messages people might otherwise resist hearing.

When an opportunity arose to join LeSaper: From Survivor Memory to Living Teller, I became a bridge-maker and survivor coordinator. Witnessing students become storytellers and ambassadors of survivors’ stories was tremendously powerful. Their empathy and commitment left a lasting impression on all of us, including the survivors themselves. The survivors know that their stories will be preserved and alive for the next generation.

Today I have not only a photograph of Magda Altmann but also pride in our family’s story of memory and resilience. I honor our memory with joy and community-building on two continents, bridged by family ties, love, and the strong Jewish values my grandmother would be unshakably proud of.

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One of the things I find most rewarding as an educator is when a student finally “gets it” – that moment when the eyes light up with understanding, the face animates, and the person becomes truly engaged in the lesson. This holds true whether I am teaching language arts, social skills, or shapes, but it is especially true when I am teaching about the Holocaust.

Three Teach the Shoah storytellers recently presented stories about resilience and survival to a nearby high school. We tied in a lesson about the variety of cultures within Judaism. This presentation was meant to supplement current learning about the Holocaust. It served that purpose, but it also became much more.

As we told our stories, a room full of eyes focused on us. When we discussed Jewish cultures, students made connections between the cultures we discussed and their own. When we got to the Q&A, eyes lit up, faces became animated, and lessons were learned.

The students had been learning the concept of Upstanders, people who speak up when they see bullying or bigotry, people who do not just stand by and let such behavior continue unchallenged. This was part of our goal for this presentation, and I believe we accomplished that goal.

One student, after hearing a story about a teller’s mother aboard the MS St. Louis, asked if the knowledge of what his mother survived influenced his feelings about immigration in the present. This led to a discussion about how such things could be prevented from happening again. After I told a story about Olympic swimmer Eva Szekely, another student commented that she had always known the Holocaust was “a bad thing,” but it was only when she heard history relayed to her using a first-person perspective that she truly understood the enormity of what had happened. Only now did she truly empathize with those who went through the Shoah. For these and many other students, history became something real, something relatable, and the reasons for learning it were suddenly obvious. This is how being an Upstander starts – with an open mind and heart.

Survivors of the Holocaust have a saying, “The best revenge is grandchildren.” After this presentation, I would like to amend that: “The best revenge is grandchildren and those who call them ‘friend’.” As we honor International Holocaust Remembrance Day and contemplate the place Jews occupy in the modern world, isn’t it nice to know the Righteous of the future are learning and appreciating the lessons of the past?

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