Growing up in Israel, in the early days of the nascent state, was heavily overshadowed by the horrors of the Holocaust, more so than it is nowadays. Then, unlike now, those who had lived through it, the Shoa survivors were everywhere. They lived next door, on the same street or in the same town. Some bore the tattooed numbers on their arms; others had the hollow look and blank expression as if riddled by the reality of their survival.
To some Israelis, many were the lambs that went to the slaughterhouse. To me, they were the victims, the children, the babies and the elderly, those that were helpless and defenseless against the Nazi death machine. They had no choice and we remember each and every one of them always.