Visiting Lieselotte

Today was a day I will never forget. We drove the hour to Bratislava, Slovakia this morning to see Grandmama's sister Lieselotte’s grave. Grandmama grew up here before her family had to flee. It was in the back of the cemetery and the gravestone and plot were so small. You don't need something huge for an eight-year-old. She died from malnourishment when the Nazis took her hostage and she's one of the reasons I will never forget. Her story is one that needs to be told just like my grandpa and his cousins and Grandmama's cousins and everyone who was affected by the Holocaust.

Today was a day I will never forget. It was chilling to hear Grandpapa chant the mourner's kaddish. You say kaddish when you visit a grave, on the anniversary of a relative’s death and everyday in the year after they died. I’ve heard Lieselotte’s story many times, but to hear it at her gravesite and hear Grandpapa saying kaddish in her memory was just indescribable. It was hard to hold my camera steady without crying. I never thought I would ever see Lieselotte's grave, but now I can never get it off my mind.