To give you an idea of time frame, I conceived my son, Daniel, about halfway into this same Spring 1997 semester.
This same embryo is now a college student. Needless to say, it’s been quite a gestation period for this book you hold in your hand—or on your smart device.
Part of the struggle and subsequent delay for me has always been, Who am I writing this for? Is it for me? For my kids, both of whom are now on the cusp of adulthood? For my family? For my grandparents no longer with us? For the public? For academics?
For the agent I once had? For the editors and publishing companies that are more discerning than ever? For the other
“3Gs” and their families? (3G, standing for “third generation, ” is a term I use to discuss the grandchildren of Holocaust
survivors as a group.)
Every time I thought I knew who this was for and by extension, how it needed to be written, I was off. If I had a dollar for every proposal I wrote and revised, for every phone interview I painstakingly scheduled and recorded, for every iteration of title, website and approach or for every time I thought, This is it; I’m on my way!…well, let’s just say, I’d have a nice collection of dollars.
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It’s hard to describe the emotions—and pressure—I have felt around this ongoing “thing.” On one hand, I have always realized that this story is part of my purpose here on this planet. Not in some arrogant or self-important way, but in that quiet, knowing way of, I cannot be who I need to be, fully, until this is outside of me and on paper.
