Holocaust Memorial Day.

 Holocaust Memorial Day.

So here we are again. We've arrived at that point in the year when thoughts turn almost naturally to the Holocaust. On Tuesday, the global Jewish population cast their minds, 86 years ago now, to the one apocalyptic event in world history that horrified, terrified and left a vast majority of the world in a state of numbed silence, shock, stunned horror and paroxysms of disgust and fury. The world found itself paralysed, broken, heartbroken and utterly despairing of the immediate future. 

And so it is that January 27th is the date that marks the day when the grandchildren of the Holocaust survivors stare mournfully into the ground because they have no words for there are none that can adequately explain or justify the life changing, momentous and horrific events of the Shoa. These flashpoint moments have now left the darkest shadow over the lives who witnessed it in all its gory, gruesome and blood curdling fashion. This is the day we recognise the admirable sacrifices made by armies, navies and huge regiments of soldiers. 

From a personal point of view, the Holocaust is the one day in the calendar year when you begin to rationalise the irrational, clarify the indefinable and inexplicable and then fill out all the missing details that may have gone over our heads. I remember who they were because they put their lives on the line, felt their brutality and then saw the horrendous savagery of it all and are still dumbstruck by something that seems so barely imaginable. 

And yet, ever year, I pay my respects to my late and wonderful mum and dad at Waltham Abbey Cemetery before wandering off to the Holocaust Memorial. The Holocaust Memorial is undoubtedly one of the finest, most impressive spaces and sanctuaries for those whose lives will always be remembered, dwelt upon deeply, lamented upon with absolutely appropriate grief and then thought about again and again with sadness and sombre reflections. Of course this is a painful process and the psychological scars  are still with you because you saw the tragic repercussions thirty years after the end of the Second World War. 

You are, when all is said and done, a grandson of a Holocaust survivor and the Shoa still hurts almost vicariously, jabbing you in the pit of your stomach, reminding you of the stark reality of what happened. You saw your beautiful grandma suffering the hellish flashbacks, tormented by the murderous terrorists who were the Nazis and convinced they were still in her vision. They were still behind her, still attacking her precious family and she screamed hysterically because she experienced the agony, purgatory, those relentless atrocities, the starvation, the terrible confinement of the concentration camps and gas chambers. 

It all feels so unbearably heartbreaking, loaded with poignancy and pathos, that one moment in history when all normality was suspended for a seeming eternity. But then you think back to your grandma and grandpa's Gants Hill home during the 1970s and you feel sure it was a never ending nightmare. Your grandma was showering her first son with demonstrative affection, spoiling him with crisps, chocolates, sweets and unfailing love, a love that can never be forgotten but felt so gloriously overwhelming. You were hugged and kissed over and over again and now they still return to your memories over and over again.

But then you were taken back to that one horrendous day at the height of the Holocaust. One day, my grandpa Jack set out on one of his many visits to the shops for a packet of cigarettes. On his way back, he was suddenly confronted by those vile and evil Nazi stormtroopers. A group of monsters descended on my adorable grandpa and suddenly all hell broke loose. One of these presumably grey jacketed men, complete with swastikas stitched to the material, ran after my grandpa with a bloodlust that can never be defined.

My grandpa, ever the battle hardened and most stoic, formidable of men, stood his ground and remained delightfully defiant, refusing to be defeated and overcome by force, violence and aggression. He must have lashed out at the Nazis, covered his face but was helpless to the inevitable barrage of punches. So, he fell awkwardly to the ground in a crumpled heap, face contorted with incessant blows to head and the rest of his body. You were not there of course, but the imagery must have been frightening. 

I've now discovered all the missing details, the six million lives who have now been inscribed and carved on the walls of innumerable Holocaust Museum and Memorial walls. Theirs were the lives I may never be able to recall because they were cruelly snatched from those who were adored by their loved ones. Their early childhood and adolescent days would never reach fruition because it was completely out of their reach. So we keep thinking, praying and pondering, chanting prayers clearly and then privately because this is the way we'd like it to be. It is only the way and there are no alternative scenarios. 

And now you gather together all of your heartfelt emotions, compartmentalising all of those innermost feelings because there can be no specific category for anything happened during the Holocaust. It is, put simply, man's inhumanity to man, his entire family and extended family. It is the unforgivable sin that can only reluctantly accept apologies because, several generations down the line, it is still there vivid, harsh, authentic, in my face and bones, sending chilling sensations down my spine. 

Now on Tuesday I will become aware of the historic magnitude of it all, the suspension of belief, knowing clearly that the damage has already been done. Tears have now flowed in gushing rivers and tributaries, eyes reddening and sore with every recollection and remembering your late and lovely mum and dad, grandma and grandpa. Tuesday will feel both sensitive, repeating itself endlessly in my mind. Their voices will never be heard again. And that's infuriating and frustrating because you wanted and longed  to attend their family parties and social gatherings, their weddings, anniversaries and their children's birthday parties.

But lest we ever forget the Holocaust. It's the most challenging and mentally demanding day of the year because indirectly your ancestors were there and they could never convey the gravity and soul destroying nature of what had just happened. So I'll be closing my eyes and bowing my head in contemplative sorrow and remember my family and extended family. It'll be extremely hard because it's always been and always will be. But my wonderfully loving and supportive wife, children and grandchildren and family will always be there for me. I have so much to be humble, grateful and blessed.