The Holocaust happened not so long ago. People were systematically treated with horrific cruelty. The memories haunt me, even though they are not my memories.
Though my family didn't go through the Holocaust, they knew friends who did. My mom met friends of her grandparents who had the numbers on their arms. All of that happened before my mom's birth, yet the shadow still casts upon my mind.
Ever since reading Maus, I have this sense of survivor guilt. The book seems to have been written for that purpose, to strike people with a guilt that passes through generations. In another book by the same author, the character who represents the author gives the guilt of the Holocaust to his son as a symbolic gift.
Why? There is no guilt in love, no condemnation in Christ. Of course, the author doesn't know Christ. Even so, why pass the burden of guilt to his son?
Indeed, this tragedy belongs to all of humanity. Yet instead of living with the burden of guilt, I believe we ought to live to the fullest. And we ought to stomp out antisemitism every time it rears its ugly head.