When I was in high school, my Spanish teacher, was out one day. Instead of having a substitute to muddle through our Spanish assignment that hour somehow we had a guest teacher who had been, I believe, in Auschwitz. She showed us the tattoo, and spent the whole period telling us about her experience, and answering questions. I don't remember the details, but I remember the reality of the history – that it wasn't just something that happened years ago, to strangers. It happened to her, a real person. I can't imagine a more important use of an hour of Spanish class.

I also have two friends locally who barely escaped a similar fate. The gentleman's father had been a professor. He was out one night after curfew, and happened to run into a former student who was in the German military or police. Instead of arresting him, his former student strongly advised him to leave. Now. He did, family in tow, that night, and the next day everyone in his town was taken to one of the camps. The woman had a similar story. I think she was about 7 when her family left. They made her run across through the border crossing first, thinking they'd surely be allowed to join their little girl. I guess they were right – the all made it.

When I was home-schooling my nephew a few years ago, for a short while, he was studying that period in history in high school. We were able to get together with these friends over a meal, hear them tell their stories, and see their family photos. I'm sure no history book could have had a greater impact.