My paternal grandmother was born in Berlin, Germany in 1900. She was, as was her whole family, Jewish. She was smart and driven. Had her own dressmaking shop by the time she was 25. But, the handwriting was on the wall, and she left home for New York in 1925. She learned English and worked as a dressmaker until she got married to an Italian immigrant she met in English language class. Some of her siblings stayed in Germany. Perished in the camps. Her youngest sister survived and came to America. But she was mentally damaged from that horror, attempted suicide at least once (had a scar around her neck) until she succeeded in drowning herself.

People talk about the horrors of fascism in the abstract. But for my family, it is very real. I think that we all need to speak about it.My generation, the grandchildren of the victims of the Nazis, is old now. I try to tell this story as often as I can.