In my new memoir, What They Saved,
I reconstruct my family’s missing past from a handful of mysterious
objects passed down from my father. The strange collection — locks of
hair, a postcard from Argentina, a cemetery receipt, letters written in
Yiddish — moved me to search for the people who had left these traces of
their lives and to understand what had happened to them. As I slowly
pieced together my family portrait and assembled a genealogical tree, I
felt connected in unexpected ways to an immigrant narrative that began
in Eastern Europe at the turn of the twentieth century, when my
ancestors headed for the Lower East Side of Manhattan. At the end of my
decade-long quest, I started to imagine the life I might have had with
the missing side of my family. Suspended between what had been lost and
what I found, I finally began to come to terms with the bittersweet
legacy of the third generation — faced with tantalizing fragments of
disappeared worlds. |
|
|