The Diary of a Young Girl - B.M. Mooyaart, Eleanor Roosevelt, Anne Frank I feel like the Holocaust is important to my family history. Not because we are Jew's, but because while my Great Grandparent's were living in Holland (they moved to Australia some years after) they hid a whole family of Jew's in their house during WW2. It was awfully heroic of him, especially considering the consequence of being found out, which was certain death. I never got to meet my Great Grandparent's, but I wish I had. This is why I picked up this book. Not only was Anne Frank living in Holland, she is also my age. I felt like I could connect with her, especially when she was just talking about everyday mundane problems, but then I'd be reminded a couple of pages later that, in fact we had nothing in common. I was reading her diary in my quilted bed, with my lamp shining brightly beside me, when she, 70 years ago, was writing in her worn diary, probably with a flickering candle as her only light and freezing half to death. And then there was the bombings, and the gun fire and the Nazi inspections and every time, I read, frozen in my bed, so scared for her and her family and the other people living with them. When they did get caught, when the book ended, I started bawling. I'd come to like Anne so much, she felt like my best friend to me (which was non-existent back when I read the book. I was being bullied at the time, had no friends and was very, very lonely.). This was probably one of the best books I've ever read, and I'd like to say that if Anne had lived she would've been a very successful author, considering how old she was when she wrote her diary. I just feel this great hole in my chest, you know? I feel so sad for her. I would follow this train of thought and then I'd get misty eyed and start bawling. I just can't help it.This is why I am so proud of my Great Grandparent's. They risked everything to help strangers. Everything. I just... I can't. I just can't. I am just so proud of them :')