An Open Letter to My Niece:

In Honor of Yom HaShoah and the Power of Memory Across Generations

As we mark Yom HaShoah—Holocaust Remembrance Day, we pause to honor the memory of the six million Jews murdered during the Holocaust and to reflect on the strength of the survivors who rebuilt our people with courage and resilience.

For our family, this year holds deeper meaning.

My niece Taly (Gabrela's Daughter) is the first member of the fourth generation of Holocaust survivors in our family to participate in the March of the Living. It’s more than a trip—it’s a sacred journey that retraces the footsteps of our ancestors through the very places where they suffered and perished. It’s a powerful reminder that memory is not passive. It must be carried, spoken, and lived—especially now, in a world that feels increasingly uncertain.

This is the letter I wrote to her before she left. It’s a personal message, yes—but one that I hope resonates far beyond our family.

Dear Taly,

This letter will be short. I’m not going to repeat everything your parents and grandparents have probably already told you—because I know you already know it.

I want to share a personal experience from when I went on the March of the Living seven years ago. On the last day of the trip, we were dancing in a plaza in Warsaw, full of energy and emotion. In the middle of it all, a young Polish couple approached us. They saw how happy and lively we were and wanted to join in. While chatting, we mentioned that we were leaving for Israel the next day. One of them said something in Polish that we didn’t understand, but I’m almost certain it was an antisemitic comment—his girlfriend quickly squeezed his hand as if to say, “Be quiet.” When I asked what he said, the mood shifted, and they walked away.

I felt outraged. After seeing the horrors of the Holocaust with my own eyes, I thought those things were in the past—something you only read about in history books. I truly believed the world had learned. That antisemitism was over.

I called my dad, your grandfather Marcel, and told him what had happened. He calmed me down and said, “Today we have the State of Israel. Things aren’t like they were before. We have an army to defend us—and that makes all the difference.” I hung up feeling hopeful.

But today, just seven years later, I can tell you the world has changed drastically. Antisemitism has increased by over 400% since then. You've seen it yourself—in the news, on social media—especially in the last year and a half since the war between Israel and Gaza began.

My grandparents lived through antisemitism. My parents and I were lucky to grow up in Venezuela and the United States during a golden age for Judaism, where we could practice our traditions and values proudly and freely. But in recent years, that has changed. We’ve realized antisemitism never disappeared—it was simply asleep. It’s a monster that has always existed and, sadly, will probably always be there.

You've been born into different times—times where saying you're Jewish and Zionist isn't always easy. But I hope, with all my heart, that you can say it loud, clear, and with pride.

You’re lucky to come from a deeply Zionist family—one that cherishes its values and traditions, one that loves the State of Israel, and one that has made it part of our mission to support it:– aunt Titi through Tikkun Talks, your mom and I through Apeloig Collection, your dad through Federation and your grandparents through countless social causes.

You have all the tools, all the values, and all the role models around you to carry this torch for many generations to come.

I love you so much,
Nani

(Daniela Apeloig)

A Final Word for Yom HaShoah

On this Yom HaShoah, I invite you—whether you're Jewish or not—to truly listen. To sit with the stories. To feel the weight of memory. And then, to act.

Because memory alone is not enough.
It’s what we do with it that matters.
The past calls us to protect the future.

Let’s answer that call, together.