I came across this book quite by accident. I was cleaning out the desk of a former co-worker, and there it was. I put it on an office shelf, where it sat. And then one day while waiting for my ride home, I picked it up.

Once I finally began it, I did not want to put it down. The story was compelling, neither overly-dramatic or pedantic. It spoke of a family that lived the unspeakable,of perseverance but also of despair, and denial. Of it can't happen to me.

As I read the story of this culturally Jewish (but baptized Catholic) family's life in the lead-up to the Holocaust, I became profoundly aware of how easily people can slip from acceptance, to tolerance, to hatred, and destruction and genocide. We, humans are so very good at hatred.

This story's, written over 15 years, is more relevant now then when it was written. And that makes me profoundly frightened and sad.

With about 18 chapters, plus Epilogue, Acknowledgments, and Selected Bibliography. ( )