Since I was very little I’ve been hearing stories about the holocaust. These were not stories that a friend of a friend told me. These were my family stories. My grandmother used to tell me about the times she was separated from my grandpa, not knowing if he was alive. Whenever I wouldn’t eat she would bring up stories about starvation in the labor camp she spent years of her youth. The holocaust has always been present in my mind making me appreciate the life that I have and fear the possibility of something similar happening again.