Note: I have decided to keep this post to the top for the rest of the day. I am continuing to post, so if you've already stopped by today, just scroll down to find the newer posts. - RG
Despite growing up in a predominantly Jewish suburb as a child, none of my friends had an uncle or a grandparent, or anyone else who was directly affected by WWII. In fact, the only ones I ever knew that had anything to do with the war were my own grandfather and great-uncle, who had served. Never were there class projects done about the horrors of the Holocaust. Sure, it was taught, and we all read Eli Wiesel's Night, but there were no personal recollections. I actually grew up thinking that everyone who survived the Holocaust must have moved to New York City, because I only ever heard about survivors from television shows based there.

I was fascinated by accounts of Nazi hunters tracking down old men in Brazil to charge them with crimes nearly half a century old. I was horrified to find out that Mr. Right's grandfather was a soldier in the German Army, until I learned the whole story: The German's shipped his parents off to Auschwitz, and held them there until the oldest sons enlisted. His mother died of TB shortly after her release. Thankfully, my grandfather-in-law stayed far away from those camps. His job was on the ground (and in the air), fighting the Allies. If he had been involved in Final Solution, I don't think I would have the relationship with him that I have today.

Since I have no personal or even hand-me-down recollection to share with all of you, I would like to direct you to Right Thinking Girl, who has done an excellent short work of fiction, entitled Seven. She posted this yesterday, but I felt it was more appropriate to link to it today. Please read it and enjoy - it's not very long, and it's wonderfully written and very touching. Here is an excerpt.

Upstairs in the children's suite, Amalie couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about her mother's face after the phone call and she wanted her mother to tell her what had happened, but of course there would be no explanation coming. She would simply be told that mother wasn't feeling well, and she shouldn't worry. Amalie told herself to sleep and forget all about it, but it was no good. Finally, she got out of bed and walked down the dark hallway to the room where Ben slept. She didn't knock, but simply turned the knob and walked inside. Ben stirred under his blanket when she sat down on the edge of his bed. She had not been inside this room since Ben had moved in. He had pinned a large map of Europe on the wall. Different colored tacks were placed over the countries. She had no idea what they signified.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Why are you living with us?" she asked.

Ben sat up. "I don't know," he said. "I think it's because my grandfather is Jewish."

That wasn't the first time she'd heard that word, but it was the first time she'd ever been that close to it. It felt dangerous. All of life was a mystery, but grownups believed that just because they didn't talk in front of you that they could somehow protect you from those mysteries. But she didn't want to be protected. She wanted to understand the phone call, and Ben's presence in the Loire.

Amalie suddenly felt very sorry for Ben, being in France when his home was in Austria, being so far away from his father. She might try to be more kind. Of course, her own father was in Paris, and it had been weeks since she'd seen him.