ABSTRACT
In the fall of 1981, I drove to New York City with a friend, Yaakov Naor, to attend the inaugural Children of Holocaust Survivors conference, where more than 600 children of Holocaust survivors gathered for the first time. I had met Yaakov, an Israeli psycho-dramatist, at Danvers State Hospital, just north of Boston, where I worked during graduate school as a psychology intern. Yaakov’s parents, like thousands of others, had immigrated to Israel from Europe after World War II. Growing up as a Jewish American, I had studied the Holocaust and, while in graduate school at Boston University, I immersed myself in Holocaust studies under renowned professor Elie Wiesel. But Yaakov’s recollection of his experiences growing up with survivor parents finally brought home the reality of this genocide for me.
