"Her poem was called “Death,”...and her parents enlarged it, framed it and hung it in the living room." -Taffy Brodesser-Akner

And let me tell you: On the matter of the Holocaust, we were educated. I need to disclose to you that yes, I am hyperbolic and that I know that hyperbole combined with the way the brain rounds down when it has been trying to make a point for too many years is deadly, but here it is anyway: In my most bitter moments, in times when I realize how much of my foundational education was given over to the war and how little was given over to, say, gym or art or the other humanities that would have helped me in life or at the very least in work meetings, I say I went to a Holocaust high school, a magnet school for Jewish death studies. I say my school taught us masters-level World War II history and also just enough math and science to pass the New York State Regents exams. I’m joking, but am I? I left high school having read “Macbeth” not once but Elie Wiesel’s “Night” three times over the course of my education. I can probably autocomplete any sentence from Anne Frank’s diary if you start…