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But they cared profoundly about issues of justice and fairness, and they cared profoundly about people—all people, not just their own. The lessons of the Holocaust were always presented to me as both particular (that is, Jewish) and universal. Perhaps most importantly, they were presented as indivisible. To divide them would diminish the meaning of both. Looking back over my life, I realize that through their actions and words, my mother and father never tried to save me from selfknowledge; instead, they insisted that I confront what I did not know or understand.

The creation of a Jewish state was imminent and Frania felt it was the only safe place for Jews after the Holocaust. My mother disagreed and adamantly refused to go. She told me so many times during my life that her decision not to live in Israel was based on a belief, learned and reinforced by her experiences during the war, that tolerance, compassion and justice cannot be practiced nor extended when one lives only among one’s own. “I could not live as a Jew among Jews alone,” she said. “For me, it wasn’t possible and it wasn’t what I wanted.

My mother, Taube, was one of nine children—seven girls and two boys. Her father, Herschel, was a rabbi and shohet—a ritual slaughterer—and deeply loved and respected by all who knew him. Herschel was a learned man who had studied with some of the great rabbis of Poland. The stories both my mother and aunt have told me also indicate that he was a feminist of sorts, getting down on his hands and knees to help his wife or daughters scrub the floor, treating the women in his life with the same respect and reverence he gave the men.