My father, Hirsh ben Oived, was a remarkable man—a person of extraordinary kindness and immense love for others.

He was a child who survived the Holocaust. Together with his mother, his older sister, and his younger brother, he spent nearly three years in a ghetto. Shortly after the war ended, within a very short period of time, my father lost his mother, his older sister, and his younger brother. He was left completely alone.

But fortunately, people came into his life whom I knew as Grandma Golda and Grandpa Chaim. They were the parents of his cousin, but after all the losses my father had endured, they welcomed him into their family, raised him as their own son, and became a true mother and father to him. That is why, to me, they will always be Grandma Golda and Grandpa Chaim.

Everyone who knew my father remembers him as an extraordinary person. He was always ready to help anyone in need. He knew how to be there not only in moments of happiness, but also when life was especially difficult. He could share another person’s pain, offer support, listen, and help—quietly, gently, and without expecting anything in return.

My father never once raised his voice at me.

I was not always the easiest child for my parents, and I caused them a great deal of worry, concern, and heartache. But my father never needed to shout at me or lecture me at length. One look from him was enough for me to understand that what I had done was wrong. After that, I would try never to do it again.

My father belonged to a generation of Jews whose faith in the Almighty had been almost burned out of their souls by fear, persecution, repression, and unimaginable suffering. This was true not only of him, but also of his parents and of many people of his generation who had lived through those terrible years.

And yet, despite everything he had endured, my father always spoke to me about one thing. He would say:

“My son, I do not know how your life will unfold. I do not know what awaits you in the future. But I want to ask one thing of you. Please fulfill this request: build a Jewish family.”

I fulfilled my father’s request. And it is because of those words that today, on his yahrzeit, I am able to recite Kaddish for him, light a candle in his memory, and study Torah for the elevation of his soul. It was those words that helped bring me back to the Almighty.

And today, I try to do everything I can so that my family, too, may return to Him. That was my father: a man who endured terrible losses, yet never lost his kindness or his love for others.

Perhaps he himself never imagined how important his words would one day become to me.

But his request became my road back—to Jewish life, to Torah, and to the Almighty. He survived a world in which people tried to destroy everything Jewish.

Yet through his request, he helped ensure that Jewish life would continue through his children and grandchildren.

As long as we remember him, pray for him, study Torah, and continue to live as Jews, his soul and his legacy remain alive among us.

May the soul of Hirsh ben Oived continue to rise higher and higher. And may his memory always be a blessing.

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