Aunt Leora just asked me to write up Safta’s life story. Safta’s a Holocaust survivor. Why would I tear open all of her wounds? ,I Promise You,Aunt Leora just asked me to write up Safta’s life story. Safta’s a Holocaust survivor. Why would I tear open all of her wounds?
February 4, 2015:
My Aunt Leora just approached me about writing up my Safta’s life story. Leora’s daughter, Tamar, my first cousin — well, her school puts on a Holocaust play every year, and she wants my Safta’s story to be featured. Apparently I’ve been elected the family writer. Seriously. Do I have time for this?
Besides, Safta lives in America while I’m here in Israel. How could it even work? And it’s not like her story is a pretty one. Safta’s a Holocaust survivor. Why would I want to tear open all of her wounds? Sounds pretty cruel to me. I think I’ll pass.
Feb. 15:
It’s 3 a.m. and I can’t sleep. Safta’s parents, Yitzchak and Chana Zisel Adler, were my great-grandparents. I never met them. How could I have? They were murdered by the Nazis. Who’s going to remember them, if not my family? How will my family remember them, if it isn’t written down? The Jews are the people of the book. Safta’s story needs a book. Who else will write it but me?
Feb. 15:
10 a.m. But I’m way too busy with other projects, deadlines, commitments. How am I supposed to budget my time? How am I supposed to rank the items in my life from most important to least important? Is there some objective system that I can use? Because I don’t know how to find the answers within myself.
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