“But maybe, just maybe, one of us will survive. And maybe that person will be you."
IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT IN A RESTAURANT IN WARSAW.
I was chaperoning a group of seminary students who’d just fi nished a week of learning about the glorious history of Poland as a center of Torah and chassidus terminating with the devastation of the Nazi churban. Sitting there in the restaurant were a few elderly couples who were revisiting their roots.
Taking in the scene, it occurred to me to ask the venerable seniors if they had stories to share with the seminary students.
“Bernie,” said one the ladies, “you need to tell your story. It will be good for you. And the girls need to hear it.”
Create a free account to keep reading.
