Years ago, my dad was looking at a photo from afar and asked if it was me. It wasn't me, because it happened to be Anne Frank. How fitting.
When you are a young, voracious reader, with dark hair and dark eyes, raised Jewish in a place with very few Jews - girls like Anne Frank hidden in a secret annex or Hannah Szenesh who parachutes behind enemy lines become your Ramona Quimby or Judy Blume's Margaret.
Their stories resonate with you, not because you have to wear a yellow star or hide yourself in Fort Wayne, Indiana, but because you can see a glimpse of yourself in their stories, because even across the decades you both know what it's like to feel different, other, outsider; and you wonder if you'll only experience empathy for their tragic lives or someday face such hatred yourself.
On this Yom HaShoah, may we continue to remember their stories and draw near those whom we see as Other, inspiring us to build a world where hate and genocide cease.