This is the first post in a series of reflections from Milken seniors currently on March of the Living.
A few days ago, I had the once in a lifetime chance to march from Auschwitz to Birkenau, the concentration camp that my grandma was forcefully taken to 72 years prior to that day. When we arrived, I looked out into the acres filled with chimneys, brick bunkers, and watch houses, and couldn’t help but imagine six million unique faces peering at me through the endless gates. I looked down at the grass, which was overflowing from the train tracks, and questioned how nature could grow and stem from a place that houses death and endings. The March of the Living has ultimately changed me and my appreciation for Judaism and its people’s inhibition and perseverance. We are still here and we are not going anywhere.