Some had never had the courage to talk about it even to other family members. The stories I heard could not have been invented. They recognized train cars and spoke of the Warsaw ghetto, of Auschwitz, Buchenwald and the others, where they saw their loved ones taken to gas chambers. It was so draining, and always the question came up, "Where was God when all this was happening"? The only answer I could come up with was, ‘He must have been crying that once again his people were being slaughtered and we don't always know why, and we perhaps someday will know, or not.'
I heard descriptions of the railroad cars, so crowded that children died when people fell on them. I listened to stories of people with whom the Gestapo (police) were friends of the families, and tried to help them, until it became impossible. There were many non-Jews who helped hide them and helped them escape, brave souls who are listed and honored on the Avenue of the Righteous in Tel Aviv.