Six years ago, I met Emma, a Jewish survivor who lived hundreds of miles south of Moscow in 1943. Just a little girl then, she was there at the greatest tank battle in history. The devastation of the SS Panzer Corps at the Battle of Kursk marked the end of Germany’s offensive on the Eastern Front in World War Two. Whether a sandbag she contributed helped stem the tide, it didn’t matter. At Kursk, the deportations stopped. The death camp transports never made it to her home. Thirty years later, on the holiest day of the Jewish calendar, worshipers deep in fasting gathered at synagogues around the world. There they’d atone over the next ten hours for a year’s worth of sins, but few…