Since I was a child my grandfather has made sure to teach me of the horrors of the Holocaust. That is because he is a survivor of it. Long story short, he was sent from his home in Transylvania to Auschwitz, one of the most famous death camps ran by the Nazis, along with his two younger brothers and parents. His brothers were immediately separated and were gassed and killed. He did not learn until after the war that his mother died while working at the camp. My grandfather stuck with his father, and on the first night of Hanukkah, he died in my grandfathers arms. The stories that I have been told by my grandfather make it impossible to believe that one is even capable to create such horrific ideas in the mind; stories about how he was beat, and was forced to clean up the remains of some of the millions of people who were murdered.