My father never talked about the Holocaust.  He kept his memories locked up and thought he could hide what he had experienced during that time.  He was 25 in 1939 when the war started and by the time it reached his little village outside Vilnius, his young wife and baby son were in the direct line of fire.  He was away from home the day the Nazis stormed into Niemenczyn, rounded up the 500-odd Jews who lived there and marched them into the forest.  His hopes and dreams were murdered that day and he never forgave himself for not being there the day his young family was forced to give up their lives, not there to save them or die with them in the mass grave.

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Hope and wishful thinking are two different things.  Everybody knows that.  But we use the word Hope in the same way we use other words that used to be absolutes like:  Love, Beauty, Genius, Faith, Grace, Hate.  And since our world has become increasingly politically correct and non-judgmental, we have learned that “good enough” can also apply to our inner life, not just our outside life.  “I hope it won’t rain on Sunday for the picnic” seems just as reasonable as “I hope that people will always choose good over evil.”  But, of course, it’s not.

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