This is an incredible story. It is heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. It’s a story of love and forgiveness and human frailty. It appeared on the wonderful blog Zicharanot.
In a box in my closet is a small scrimshaw necklace that I never wear. I will never give it away. I will never sell it. I hope one day one of my children will take it.
It is not that old. I bought it when I was 20, when I spent my sophomore year of college in Israel, 1974 to 1975.
Many holocaust survivors were still alive. Some of them related to me through my maternal grandparents who were both from Europe. My grandparents came to the USA in the 1920s. But most of their family remained behind. Many perished, others survived and moved to Israel.
My grandmother went to Europe in 1931 with my Mom and uncle. I have written about this before. She stayed on the farm owned by her in-laws. While she was there her mother-in-law, my great…
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