My Dad's Hate Saved His Life

My dad was a survivor of the Holocaust. He never showed vulnerability after the harlocaust. His accumulated rage, which it was tempered by a very fierce o still always bled through. I felt like the holocaust was this unspeakable abyss between us. It was unspoken and it was untouchable. But our huge discovery, which didn't come for years, was that we both needed each other. How do you find them? You become a friend, and that's how you'll find them. So in addition to friends, one thing kept my dad alive during his years in camp, and it was his hate. And his saving his life allowed us our life.