(Note:  I went for the first time to the Simon Wiesenthal Museum just this last Sunday.  For me it is a very personal issue.  This poem is dedicated to my late grandfather.  Here it is.)

We scarcely had a chance to meet,

But I know one thing:

I have never forgotten you.

I have never forgotten you.

How could I forget?

How indeed!

Your legend and your name

Were branded into my memory

When

I was a child still.

You were resourceful 

Where others were not;

You were a hero 

Where others were not;

You survived where others

Did not.

And yet the rest have

Forgotten that you ever were.

I honor you.

I remember you.

And tears well up in my eyes,

Both of my eyes,

When I hear the stories

Of those who, like you,

Lived through the horror

Steadfastly refusing

To lie down and die.

I almost wept aloud when

A woman born in Hungary

(You were born, I know, in Poland)

Stepped forward to tell of

Her ordeal

And her eventual escape.

I stopped myself from weeping 

Again

When I saw the tribute

To the man who gave you

A second chance

At life.

So many lies were told

Afterward;

I hear the siren call

Of the truth of

Your story,

Singing, 

Calling out to me,

Begging, pleading

For this one chance

To see at last

The light of day.

So be it.  I do what I must.

Because, you see,

I have never forgotten you.

I have never forgotten you.