The Polish poet Tadeusz Różewicz, a member of the Polish underground that fought the Nazi occupation, described in one of his poems the braid of a Jewish girl who was murdered in the Auschwitz extermination camp: “In huge chests / clouds of dry hair / of those suffocated / and a faded plait / a pigtail with a ribbon / pulled at school / by naughty boys.”
Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day, which is marked today, and Israel’s Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers are a tangled mass of memory threads, of pain and bereavement—twisted, knotted, and bound together, impossible to untangle.
On these days of remembrance, and on all the days in between, the strength of Holocaust survivors is braided like a plait—their resilience and the inspiration they awaken in us. They, who chose courage, rebirth, and continuity. And just as it is written of Samson the hero: “And the hair of his head began to grow again”—so too, their hair began to grow again. The braid was woven again: Holocaust survivors came to Israel and fought for its independence, built families, and took part in the construction of the country and the state.
Today, approximately 120,000 Holocaust survivors live in Israel. Now, in their old age, with their hair turned gray, and as medical, emotional, and financial challenges weigh heavily on their lives—it is our moral duty and our ethical privilege, as a society, to ensure they live in dignity and to help improve their quality of life.
According to data published from time to time, it appears that between a quarter and a third of all Holocaust survivors live solely on an old-age pension and income support. As time passes and they grow older, their needs change and increase. Their medical condition becomes more and more complex.
The state of Israel, the Claims Conference, and various organizations in the social sector—including private donors and different philanthropic bodies—are making great efforts to address and alleviate, as much as possible, their distress. As part of these efforts, and for many years now, the Foundation for the Welfare of Holocaust Victims has operated as an organization providing various channels of support to Holocaust survivors, including medical, social, and financial-material assistance. But more can and must be done. The state must prioritize Holocaust survivors and ensure that they live in the greatest possible dignity and well-being in the years they have left.
They need us by their side, especially now. The story of Moshe, a 90-year-old Holocaust survivor born in Yugoslavia and living in Jerusalem, is just one of many. At this advanced age, Moshe spends most of his days confined to the living room of his modest apartment, in front of the television screen. He struggles greatly with mobility, needs a listening ear and companionship, as well as help with grocery shopping, paperwork, and errands. The window of opportunity is narrowing by the day—Holocaust survivors cannot wait for tomorrow. Now is the time to tend to their pain, to assist them financially, to ease their loneliness—each such act is an act of light.
Różewicz touches, with his precise words, on the pain and the dramatic importance of the encounter with survivors: “The way of killing men and beasts is the same / I’ve seen it / truckfuls of chopped-up men / who will not be saved … I seek a teacher and a master / may he restore my sight hearing and speech / may he again name objects and ideas / may he separate darkness from light.”
In encounters with Holocaust survivors over the past year and a half, it is clear that the memories of the horror and hell of the Holocaust echo more powerfully against the backdrop of the events of October 7 and the ongoing war. The fact that there are still 59 hostages held in Hamas’s tunnels confronts them—and all of us—with the darkest depths of humanity.
The hostages are still there, in Gaza, in the darkness, in hell. Holocaust Remembrance Day obligates us, as a people, to look directly into that abyss—to them—and to stand by our responsibility toward them.
May they all return to us.
May our hands touch theirs.
May the wind tousle their hair.
May the light shine on them.
May we distinguish between darkness and light.
Tamar Cohen Shamai is the head of the Foundation for the Welfare of Holocaust Victims and the daughter of the late Yitzhak Cohen, a survivor of the Farhud—the Nazi-inspired pogrom against Baghdad’s Jews.
