Last Sunday, I attended the annual Commemoration of the Holocaust at Temple Emanu-El in New York. I watched, as I have for so many years, my Mother light a memorial candle with other survivors. We remembered.

During the ceremony, survivors were honored and as I listened to their stories, a theme resonated. The majority recounted how they fled and crossed borders or were hidden by those who risked their lives in doing so.

And I wondered again as I so often have wondered in the past. Would I have fled? Would I have crossed borders? Would I have hidden? Would I have found someone to hide me? And for the first time, I asked myself, would I have hidden others?