“We’re a vanishing breed,” Lombroso’s grandmother told him. “So, if you want to do this, you’d better hurry.” I grew up around Holocaust survivors. As a kid in suburban New York in the late nineteen-nineties and early two-thousands, I knew that many of my relatives and family friends had heart-wrenching memories of living through genocide. The stories were so commonplace in our community that it was possible, as a kid, to shrug them off.