Now I, nearly 2,000 years later, stood at the entrance to the mikvah.
My ancestors had wandered Europe for hundreds of years, but they always looked east, towards the Holy Land and their history.
I knew my companions would be coming to look for me. But I wanted to remain, to communicate with the generations who had gone before me.
My mother had survived Auschwitz; my father,It had endured and endured. Just like the Jewish people. Siberia and Tajikistan. Dozens of their family members were sent to Belzec and Majdanek. Some were killed in cemeteries after having been forced to dig their own graves.
And yet, here I was.
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