My Dad Never Told Me About His Holocaust Past. Then I Found His Letters

By Karen-Millie James, Huffington Post


The day my childhood came to an abrupt end and my life changed for evermore was 11th August 1967. I was twelve and was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of my mum’s piercing screams which rocked the house to its very foundations. The hospital had called to break the news my dad had died. He was forty-one.

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