By Stephanie Woodrow

For most of the world, Monday was April 16. But for Jews around the world it was the 28th day of the month of Nisan, the day after Yom HaShoah – Holocaust Remembrance Day. It is a day of solace. The names of the six million victims are read, Mourner’s Kaddish is recited and at 10 a.m. in Israel, air-raid sirens are sounded, marking two minutes of silence.

At 9:05 a.m. on Monday, Dr. Liviu Librescu, a professor of engineering science and mechanics, began teaching his Sold Mechanics class in room 204 of Norris Hall at Virginia Tech.

Moments after class began, Librescu, 77, and his students heard screams and gunshots in the building. As the shooter attempted to enter the classroom, Librescu pressed his body against the door, hoping to keep the gunman from entering the classroom. He instructed his students to escape danger through the window as bullets flew through the door, killing the professor. None of his students were hit.

After learning of their professor’s death, many of his students began referring to their fallen teacher as a hero, remaking they wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for his bravery.

Although this tragedy has affected everyone, the Jewish community has a special place in its heart for this hero, as his story was one we have all heard too often.

Librescu was a Holocaust survivor.

Born in Romania, Librescu was a learned man, earning a doctorate from the Institute of Fluid Mechanics from the Academy of Science of Romania in 1969. He made aliyah (the process of becoming an Israeli citizen and resident) with wife Marlena in 1978 after then-Prime Minister Begin interceded on their behalf with the Romanian government.

In Israel, the couple raised their two sons, Arieh and Joe, while Librescu worked at Tel-Aviv University as a professor of Aeronautical and Mechanical Engineering. He and his wife moved to Virginia for a year in 1986 for his sabbatical, but decided to stay after enjoying their new lives.

Librescu’s body will be flown back to Israel for burial.

It is Jewish tradition that after someone has died, the body is not left alone. It is watched over, often by close relatives, until it has been buried, to ensure the body is not desecrated.

The idea that Librescu died alone is heart-breaking.

Until police were able to enter the building this professor, this survivor, was alone. He felt the importance of protecting those around him, his students, more important than his own safety.

There are very few Holocaust survivors left. Sixty years after the war ended, survivors remind youth that they will be the last generation to hear the stories first hand.

But maybe as we lose more survivors we should remember not only those who died during the Holocaust, but those who suffered; the ones who lived to tell their stories, and continued on with the pain of knowing.

Librescu was one of those people.

Although we are a year away from the next official Holocaust Remembrance Day, maybe we should all take a moment to remember those who died fighters and believers, not just sixty years ago but those who we’re are losing now.