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I’ll never forget the first time I learned about the Holocaust. It was in second grade at Congregation Mount Sinai in Brooklyn Heights. 

When we arrived at religious school that day, there were signs all over the classroom. If you had blonde hair, you went to one room, and if you had brown hair, you went to another. 

The water fountains were marked with who could drink from them, with different students' names. And different tables were marked saying who could and couldn't sit there. This was used as an allegory to describe the type of hatred that led to the Holocaust.  

I remember, at the end of the lesson, the teacher read poems and readings to us that tried to help us recover from the tragedy we just had learned about.

It is one of my most profound childhood memories - the day that I learned that such hatred existed, but I also remember being amazed that somehow we were able to recover and bounce back. 

There’s a teaching from Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, that embodies this. He was a hero who led his community with immense courage inside the Warsaw Ghetto. 

He wrote, taught, and preserved his words under horrific conditions—later discovered buried in a milk can after the war.

In one of his final teachings, he wrote:

“Even in a world that is completely dark, where no spark of holiness can be seen… it is still possible to serve God with tears, with brokenness, and with the smallest light that remains.”

This teaching is not just about surviving darkness—it is about sanctifying it. And this teaching is not only related to the Holocaust, but can be applied to our lives right now. 

He reminds us that even when the world seemed entirely absent of light, even when there was no visible path forward, our people lit candles in the dark. They whispered Shema. They held on—to each other, to God, to hope.

This Shabbat, we find ourselves in the shadow of Yom HaShoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day. 

It is a day when we pause to remember the six million Jews murdered in the Shoah, to honor the survivors, and to reckon with the depth of our collective loss. This Shabbat, as we light our candles, let us remember those who lit theirs in defiance, in devotion, in faith. 

Let us honor their memory by carrying their light forward—into our homes, into our prayers, and into our relationships. Reach out to a local survivor. Share the story of a loved one who was lost.

Read a book that bears witness. Light a candle. Plant a daffodil.

Do something that brings memory to life.

May their memories always be a blessing.
May their legacy continue to be our light.