Chana’s Chocolate   

Every time my grandmother told me this story, I was terrified. I also had to suppress a giggle, because Savta was so formidable that I could never imagine anyone intimidating her. In my mind’s eye, she must have stood tall and looked at her apprehenders with impatience and disdain.

During the deep winter of 1943, on a frosty day in a small village in the Ural Mountains — the natural divide between Europe and Asia, and not so far from Siberia — my grandmother, Chana, was caught in the act of exchanging bread for chocolate.

Within moments, she was handcuffed and dragged into a drab building, which she supposed was some kind of police station. She was thrown into a windowless room and locked in.

“I have a baby at home!” she yelled. “Let me out!”