The stories my father never told me


I wonder what my father would say if he saw people bending the knee to others in shame for being so privileged after everything he survived, never complaining, perhaps pretending it never happened. What would my father, Abraham, say to his Jewish great-grandchildren when they talk about Black Lives Matter, its connection to Louis Farrakhan, Jew hater extraordinaire, having lived through Jew hatred in Poland/Russia, whatever, before making it on his own at 12 to a new world? Are they at all aware of the life he led that made it possible for them to live the life they live? Is there any gratitude in that privilege?

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