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“I saw then, perhaps never more clearly than in that moment, how my father's hands were just stronger versions of my own hands. They were the same as any man's hands his age. The same, the same, the same. The same as those of the innocent man in the death camp and the same as those of the Nazi soldier who'd raised his rifle and shot him dead. What made the three men different from one another was not their nationality or the shape of their hands or even the blood that flowed under the skin of their fingers. What made the three men different was how they chose to think. We decide who and what we will love and who and what we will hate. We decide what we will do with the love and hate. Every day we decide. It was *this* that revealed who we were, not the color of our flesh or the shape of our eyes or the language we spoke.” — Susan Meissner