My Namesake

Reading about the Holocaust reminds me of something that hadn't crossed my mind in quite a while: my namesake. My father's mother's father's (great-grandfather's) niece, Rachel, lived in Poland at the outset of the war. My great-grandfather was living in Canada with one of his brothers, but his 12 other siblings lived near to Rachel. Rachel's aunt and playmate, Chairna ( was about her age. When Rachel was about seven or eight, she and the rest of her family were sent to Auschwitz because they were Jewish. By the end of the war, (besides the two brothers in Canada), only Chairna survived out of the entire family. Chairna was able to join her brothers in Canada and live a long life there, but Rachel was not so lucky.
When I was four years old, I was lucky enough to be able to visit my Aunt Chairna in Vancouver. She showed me old photographs of Rachel and herself from before the war. Unfortunately, I don't remember the photographs (it's hard to have a spiritual experience at four), and she has since passed away, but knowing that I was able to get a glimpse of a nice playful girl that I was named after is really amazing to me. It's really sad that I never got to meet her, because after all, if Chairna lived that long, maybe Rachel would've also. Of course, I probably wouldn't have been named Rachel then, because in Judaism, it is not traditional to be named after a living person. So, in a way, I have the Holocaust to thank for my name. And I'm glad that I am able to live out the life that Rachel was never given a chance to live. Maybe her spirit sits inside me so that she can experience life too. This will always serve as a reminder to be thankful for my life, and never to waste it, because others close to my life never got the chance.