Meital's Wattsap group received a letter from September 1944 in which her great-grandmother begged for information, months before she died.

• Illustrative image // Photo: EPA

As the years go by from that war, the people are dwindling and the vivid testimonials that can pass on our lives are shrinking. But at the same time, more and more finds are being revealed, more souvenirs that we have not seen that tell a story of one person and of a whole people. Inexplicably, every year in recent years I also discover another detail, another story, an item that tells the story of Grandma, her three sisters, and of the family who was born in Germany and stayed there, in European soil.

This time as a greeting, a letter was written to the family wattsup group, written in square letters of a typewriter and dated 1.9.44. The letter written two weeks before Rosh Hashana was my great-grandmother, Metel, whose name I am named, from a hiding place in the mountains of France, and addressed to her young daughter who had been smuggled a year before to a children's home in Switzerland. She was hospitalized shortly thereafter, and did not recover until she died on the day of Adar, a month just before her husband, my great-grandfather, was last seen in Auschwitz.

My 'beloved child' Grandma opened and my tears were already flowing, interrupting me to read the tangible picture she had drawn in her words. "It's Friday afternoon, and we're done preparing. I have another hour to pray so I want to write to you. I hope and pray that with the help of God you are healthy, and so am I. "I was so pleased if I ever saw a few lines from you. Wouldn't you like that? After all, children write home themselves ..." That's how a smile comes on my face and I keep reading.

'From our beloved father and exiles (another daughter sent to Auschwitz) we have no knowledge yet. God will protect them and help them come back to us soon. You probably know what our dear Father used to say: Prayers of children are received by our Heavenly Father, remember this all the time and pray steadily. Then the blessing will soon help Father and dear Mary, like the other dear ones .. "Let's hope that in the new year there will be peace and an end to war, bloodshed and other horrors of war. If you can let us know what you learn, if you have a good friend and what's her name. Everything is interesting to us. Do you already have a photo from you that you can send us?"

I hear Grandma begging for a living, a picture, tangible words to say that her young daughter, who has not seen a good year, has someone to share her pain and worries with. While my tears were flowing on my own as I read her last words, the end of the letter came, a will for generations: 'Be always an innocent girl, be healthy and a religious girl with integrity, stay true to help, and be kind to adults, and wise among your friends. Keep the commandments at will of your parents, so the blessing of God will protect you from any moment. All the best and heartfelt kisses from your loving mother. '

The feeling of crunch and lack of words when I finished reading the only life letter from Grandma, I felt only one more time in my life. Eight years ago, for the first time in my life, I left the country, on a family trip, and visited Grandmother Metal's grave in France. In front of that tombstone, the old stone at the bottom of which is engraved two more lines marking the last date my great-grandfather looked in Auschwitz, I also ran out of words. Unlike a great-grandfather who arrived in Auschwitz and did not return, we were honored that the grandmother of German war and escape had subdued her, brought to Israel's grave, and also commemorated him.

And now it's our turn to perpetuate. Every year I mention that we are the transitional generation, between those who saw their eyes and experienced the horrors, and those who did not know even one survivor, and can only imagine the sounds and sights. The lines of Grandma and many others are the only thing left for us. But every time we read or hold testimony from there, we feel the difference here, knowing that we have done something more so that our grandchildren will not forget either. That way, it is possible that when asked in a few decades what the Holocaust was, all faces and names will still come to the eyes of future generations, and not just a date in the history book.