My great-grandfather was murdered by Iranian Nazi sympathizers in Hamedan at the outset of WW2. He was on his way home from work when the Nazis targeted him, beat him, and poured kerosene over his body to burn him alive. The monsters had already lit a match when someone finally intervened and convinced the gang to end the assault. But it was too late. He died shortly after of extensive injuries. His last days were spent in excruciating pain and agony. My family couldn’t report his death as a crime. In Iran at that time, the word of a Jew was meaningless. A crime would only be prosecuted if two Muslim men came forward to report it. And no Muslim would come forward for a Jew. Even worse, if they did try to prosecute my great-grandfather’s murderers, my entire family and the larger Jewish community of Hamedan risked being targeted and attacked in a similar brutal assault. So my great-grandfather died, and his family were left devastated, choked with hopelessness, forced to live in fear among the murderers who had targeted my great-grandfather. Today, on International Holocaust Remembrance Day, I remember my great-grandfather and the millions of Jews like him who suffered at the hands of cruel and sadistic antisemites. And I find comfort in the fact that the days where Jewish people quietly endure gangs of Jew Haters murdering us on the streets, raping our children, kidnapping our babies, and aspiring for our destruction is over. Jews fight back. We will defend our right to exist. And we are going nowhere. ❤️🫶🤘❤️