He never knew his grandmother. She died before he was even a twinkle in his own mothers’ eye. That was why one of the first places I had to travel on my adventures in Europe was to the Nazi concentration camp Auschwitz in Krakow Poland, to pay tribute to the woman I had been partially named after, and to give my dad a chance (even if it was just in seeing her name) to try to put the pieces together of what had happened in our family more than 70 years before. (more…)