For me as well, my son’s bris took on an extra sweet aspect. Both sets of his grandparents were Holocaust survivors from Poland and Romania. My mother in particular was the only survivor of her entire immediate family and my father had lost his mother and 10 older siblings and dozens of his nieces and nephews. (His father had died before the war or he would have been murdered as well.) When my son’s name was called out – Menachem Mendel ben Shmuel – I felt as if my hand had gone through gehennom and I had slapped Hitler’s face.
With the birth of every Jewish child we are stating to those who wish we disappear – you’re going to be bitterly disappointed. Am Yisrael chai!
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