The World Must NEVER Forget! - Learn From The Storyteller By Jodi Picoult We Cannot Allow Going Back!

 It is impossible to believe anything in a world that has ceased to regard man as man, that repeatedly proves that one is no longer a man.--Simon Wiesenthal, The Sunflower

I promise you that I do not purposely choose the books I will next read... And yet, the stories arrive as if arranged... By God? You see, I can't help but compare, to a smaller significance, the "disappearing" of immigrants from America via ICE's removal of those who lived in America for years, by lying and claiming that they were all criminals and gang members, under this administration. Both actions are based upon hate, or hunger for power--for no reason other than that they have a different heritage... What evil can explain actions so cruel? 

From somewhere I learned that Donald Trump kept a copy of Mein Kampf on his bedside table when he was young... It was quite easy, therefore, to see the very real comparison as I learned of Reiner beating his brother in the exceprt below, who rose quickly in the German military forces... While at the same time, remembering how, when his Trump's brother, who had become an alcoholic, died, DJT worked to ensure that his two children would not receive their family inheritance as was normal in families... see books by niece, Mary Trump, by searching her name in th right-hand column...

Josef: I will not answer to the other name. That person, he is someone I like to think I have never been. But this isn’t true. Inside each of us is a monster; inside each of us is a saint. The real question is which one we nurture the most, which one will smite the other. To understand what I became you must know where I came from. My family, we lived in Wewelsburg, which was part of the city of Büren in the district of Paderborn. My father was a machinist by trade and my mother kept house. My earliest memory is of my father and mother fighting over money. After the first Great War, inflation spiraled out of control. Their savings, which they had diligently put away for years, were suddenly worth nothing. My father had just cashed in a ten-year insurance policy, and the proceeds did not even cover the cost of a newspaper. A cup of coffee was five thousand marks. A loaf of bread, two hundred billion marks. As a boy, I remember running with my mother to meet my father on payday, and then began the mad rush to the shops to purchase goods. Often, the shops had run out. Then my brother, Franz, and I would be sent at twilight into the fields of farmers who lived outside of Wewelsburg, to steal apples from the trees and potatoes from the ground. Not everyone suffered, of course. Some had invested in gold early on. Some speculated in fabric or meat or soap or produce. But most middle-class Germans, like my family, were ruined. The Weimar Republic, shiny and new after the war, was a disaster. My parents had done everything right—worked hard, saved well—and to what end? Election after election, no one seemed to have the answer. The reason I tell you this is that everyone always asks: How could Nazis come to power? How could Hitler have had such free rein? Well, I tell you: desperate people often do things that they normally would not do. If you went to the doctor and he said you had a terminal disease, you’d probably walk out of that office feeling pretty low. Yet if you shared this news with friends, and one told you, “You know, I had a friend who was diagnosed with that, too, and Doctor X cured him right away.” Well, maybe he is the biggest quack, maybe he charges two million dollars for a consultation—but I bet you’d still be on the phone to him immediately. No matter how educated you are, no matter how irrational it seems, you will follow a glimmer of hope. The National Socialist German Workers’ Party, it was that ray of light. Nothing else was working to fix Germany. So why not try this? They promised to get people back to work. To get rid of the Treaty of Versailles. To regain the territory we’d lost in the war. To put Germany back in its rightful place. When I was five years old, Hitler tried to take over the government at a beer hall—the Munich Putsch—and failed miserably by most accounts. But he learned that the way to lead a revolution was not violently but legally. And at his trial in 1924, every word Hitler spoke was reported in the German newspapers, the National Socialist Party’s first propaganda onslaught. You will notice I say nothing about the Jews. That is because most of us didn’t know a single Jew. Out of sixty million Germans, only 500,000 were Jews, and even those would have called themselves Germans, not Jews. But anti-Semitism was alive and well in Germany long before Hitler became powerful. It was part of what we were taught in church, how two thousand years ago, the Jews had killed our Lord. It was evident in the way we viewed Jews—good investors, who seemed to have money in a bad economy when no one else had any. Selling the idea that the Jews were to blame for all of Germany’s problems was just not that difficult. Any military man will tell you that the way to pull a divided group together is to give them a common enemy. This is what Hitler did, when he came to power in 1933 as chancellor. He threaded this philosophy through the Nazi Party, directing his diatribes against those who leaned left politically. Yet the Nazis pointed out the linkage between Jews and the left; Jews and crime; Jews and unpatriotic behavior. If people hated Jews already for religious reasons or economic reasons, giving them another reason to hate them was not really going to be difficult. So when Hitler said that the biggest threat to the German state was an attack on the purity of the German people, and so her uniqueness must be guarded at all costs—well, it gave us something to be proud of again. The threat of Jews was in the mathematics. They would mingle with ethnic Germans in order to raise their own status and in doing so, would bring down Germany’s dominance. We Germans needed Lebensraum—living space—to be a great nation. Without room to expand, there was little choice: you went to war to conquer territory and you got rid of the people who were a threat to Germany, or who weren’t ethnic Germans like you. By 1935, when I was already a young man, Germany had left the League of Nations. Hitler announced that Germany would be rebuilding its army, which had been forbidden after the first Great War. Of course, had any other country—France, England—stepped in and stopped him, what happened might not have happened. But who wanted to go back to war that quickly? It was easier just to rationalize what was happening, to say he was only taking back what had once belonged to Germany. And in the meantime, in my country, there were jobs again—factories for munitions and guns and planes. People were not making as much money as they used to, and they were working longer hours, but they were able to support their families. By 1939, the German Lebensraum extended through the Saar, the Rhineland, Austria, the Sudetenland, and the Czech lands. And finally, when the Germans moved into Danzig, Poland, the English and French declared war. I will tell you a little bit about myself as a boy. My parents desperately wanted their children to have a better life than they had—and the answer, they believed, was in education. Surely people who had learned how to invest better would not have found themselves in such dire financial straits. Although I wasn’t particularly bright, my parents wanted me to test into Gymnasium, the most academic education possible in Germany, the one whose graduates were university-bound. Of course, once there, I was always picking fights or clowning around, anything to hide the fact that I was in way over my head. My parents would be called into school weekly to see the headmaster, because I had failed another test, or because I’d come to blows with another student in the hall over a petty dispute. Luckily, my parents had another star to hitch their wagon to—my brother, Franz. Two years younger than me, Franz was studious, his head always buried in a book. He would scribble away in notebooks that he hid underneath his mattress and that I would routinely steal to embarrass him. They were full of images I did not understand: a girl floating in an autumn pond, drowned because of a lost love; a deer hollowed by hunger picking through the snow for a single acorn; a fire that started in a soul and consumed the body, the bedding, the house surrounding it. He dreamed of studying poetry at Heidelberg, and my parents dreamed with him. And then, one day, things began to change. At Gymnasium, there was a contest to see which class could first get 100 percent participation in the Hitler-Jugend. In 1934, joining the Hitler Youth was not mandatory yet, mind you. It was a social club, like your Boy Scouts, except we also swore allegiance to Hitler as his future soldiers. Under the guidance of adult leaders, we would meet after school, and go camping on weekends. We wore uniforms that looked like those the SS wore, with the Sig Rune on the lapel. I, who at age fifteen chafed at sitting at a desk, loved being outside. I excelled at the sports competitions. I had a reputation for being a bully, but that was not necessarily fair—half of the time I was beating someone to a pulp because he had called Franz a sissy. I desperately wanted my class to win. Not because I had any great allegiance to the Führer but because the local leader of the HJ Kameradschaft was Herr Sollemach, whose daughter, Inge, was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She looked like an ice queen, with her silver-blond hair and her pale blue eyes; and she and her friends did not know I existed. This, I realized, was an opportunity to change that. For the competition, the teacher put everyone’s names on the board, erasing those of the boys who joined the HJ, one by one. There were some who joined out of peer pressure; some who joined because their fathers said they had to. There were more than a dozen, however, who joined because I threatened to pound them in the school yard if they did not. My brother refused to join the Hitler-Jugend. In his classroom, he and one other boy were the only ones who didn’t. We all knew why Artur Goldman did not join—he could not. When I asked Franz why he would align himself with a Jew, he said he didn’t want his friend Artur to feel like he was being left out. A few weeks later, Artur stopped going to school and never came back. My father encouraged Franz to join the Hitler-Jugend, too, to make new friends. My mother made me promise to watch over him at our meetings. “Franz,” she would say, “isn’t strong like you.” She worried about him camping out in the woods, getting sick too easily, not connecting with the other boys. But for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to worry about me. Because as it turned out, I was the poster child for the Hitler-Jugend. We would hike and sing and do calisthenics. We learned how to line up in military formations. My favorite activity was Wehrsport—military marching, bayonet drills, grenade throwing, trench digging, crawling through barbed wire. It made me feel like a soldier already. I had such enthusiasm for the Hitler-Jugend that Herr Sollemach told my father I would make a fine SS man one day. Was there any greater compliment? To find the strongest among us, there were also Mutproben, tests of courage. Even individuals who were afraid would be compelled to do what we were told to do, because otherwise the stigma of being a coward would cling to you like a stench. Our first test was climbing the rock wall at the castle, without any safety harness. Some of the older boys scrambled to be in the front of the line, but Franz held back and I stayed with him, as per my mother’s orders. When one of the boys fell and broke his leg, the training was aborted. A week later, as part of our tests of courage, Herr Sollemach blindfolded the group of us. Franz, sitting next to me, held tightly on to my hand. “Reiner,” he whispered, “I’m scared.” “Just do what they say,” I told him, “and it will be over soon.” I had come to see a beautiful liberation in this new way of thinking—which was, ironically, not having to think for myself. At Gymnasium I wasn’t clever enough to come up with the right answer. In Hitler-Jugend, I was told the right answer, and as long as I parroted it back I was considered a genius. We sat in this artificial dark, awaiting instructions. Herr Sollemach and some of the older boys patrolled in front of us. “If the Führer asks you to fight for Germany, what do you do?” Fight! we all yelled. “If the Führer asks you to die for Germany, what do you do?” Die! “What do you fear?” Nothing! “Stand up!” The older boys pulled us to our feet, in a line. “You will be led inside the building to a swimming pool with no water in it, and you will recite the Hitler-Jugend oath and jump off the diving board.” Herr Sollemach paused. “If the Führer asks you to jump off a cliff, what do you do?” Jump! We were blindfolded, so we did not know which of the fifteen of us would be pulled to the diving board first. Until, that is, I felt Franz’s hand being torn away from mine. “Reiner!” he cried. I suppose at that moment I was thinking of nothing but my mother, warning me to take care of my younger brother. I stood up and yanked off my blindfold and ran like crazy past the boys who were dragging my brother into the building. “Ich gelobe meinem Führer Adolf Hitler Treue,” I cried, streaking past Herr Sollemach. “Ich verspreche ihm und den Führern, die er mir bestimmt, jederzeit Achtung und Gehorsam entgegen zu bringen…” I promise to be faithful to my Führer, Adolf Hitler. I promise to him, and to those leaders he has assigned to me, to give them my undivided obedience and respect. In the presence of this blood banner, which represents our Führer, I swear to devote all my energies and my strength to the savior of our country, Adolf Hitler. I am willing and ready to give up my life for him, so help me God. And without looking, I leaped. Wrapped in a coarse brown blanket, my clothes still soaking, I told Herr Sollemach that I was jealous of my brother for being chosen first to prove his allegiance and courage. That was why I had cut him in line. There was water in the pool. Not much, but enough. I knew they could not let us all jump and kill ourselves. But since each of us was being brought into the building individually, we could not hear the splash. I knew, however, that Franz would, because he was already at the edge of the pool. And that, then, he would be able to jump. But Herr Sollemach was less convinced. “It is admirable to love your brother,” he said to me. “But not more than your Führer.” I was careful the rest of that day to avoid Franz. Instead I played Trapper and Indian with abandon. We split up into platoons based on the colors of our armbands and hunted down the enemy to rip off their armbands. Often, these games escalated into full-on brawls; they were meant to toughen us up. Instead of protecting my brother, I ignored him. If he was trampled in the dirt, I wasn’t going to pick him up. Herr Sollemach was watching too closely. Franz wound up with a split lip and bruises up and down his left leg, a nasty scrape on his cheek. My mother would hold me accountable, I knew. And still, when we were walking back home at dusk, he bumped his shoulder against mine. I remember the cobblestones on the street were still warm, from the heat of the day; there was a rising full moon that night. “Reiner,” he said simply. “Danke.” The next Sunday we met at an athletic hall and squared off in boxing matches. The idea was to crown a winner from our group of fifteen boys. Herr Sollemach had brought Inge and her friends to watch, because he knew that boys would show off even more if girls were present. The winner, he said, would get a special medal. “The Führer says that a physically healthy individual with a sound character is more valuable to the völkisch community than an intellectual weakling,” Herr Sollemach said. “Are you that healthy individual?” One part of me was healthy, I knew that much. I could feel it every time I looked at Inge Sollemach. Her lips were pink as ribbon candy, and I bet just as sweet. When she sat down on the bleachers, I watched the rise and fall of the buttons on her cardigan. I thought about peeling back those layers to touch skin, how she would be white as milk, soft as— “Hartmann,” Herr Sollemach barked, and both Franz and I stood. This surprised him for a moment, and then a smile spread across his face. “Yes, yes, why not?” he muttered. “Both of you, into the ring.” I looked at Franz, at his narrow shoulders and his tender belly, at the dreams in his eyes that scattered when he realized what Herr Sollemach wanted us to do. I climbed between the ropes and put on the padded helmet, the boxing gloves. As I passed by my brother, I murmured, Hit me. Inge rang the bell to get us started and then ran back to her girlfriends. One of them pointed at me, and she looked up. For one amazing moment the world stood perfectly still while our eyes met. “Come on,” Herr Sollemach urged. The rest of the boys were cheering, and still I circled Franz with my hands up. “Hit me,” I muttered under my breath again. “I can’t.” “Schwächling!” one of the older boys yelled. Stop acting like a girl! Halfheartedly, I shot out my right fist into my brother’s chest. All the air rushed out of his body as he jackknifed. There was a cheer from the boys behind me. Franz looked up at me in fear. “Fight back,” I yelled at him. I jabbed with my gloves, pulling my punches before I could make contact with his body again. “What are you waiting for?” Herr Sollemach screamed. So I punched Franz, hard, in the back. He fell to one knee, and there was a gasp from the girls in the bleachers. Then he managed to drag himself upright. He pulled back his left fist and threw a punch at my jaw. I do not know what flipped the switch in me. I suppose it was the fact that I had been struck, and was in pain. Or maybe the girls watching, whom I wanted to impress. Maybe it was just the sound of the other boys egging me on. I started beating Franz, in the face, the gut, the kidneys. Over and over, rhythmically, until his face was a bloody pulp and spit bubbled out of his mouth as he collapsed on the floor. One of the older boys jumped into the ring and raised my glove, the conquering champion. Herr Sollemach patted me on the back. “This,” he told the others, “is the face of bravery. This is what the future of Germany looks like. Adolf Hitler, Sieg Heil!” I returned the salute. So did all the other boys. Except my brother. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I felt invincible. I took on contender after contender, and everyone fell. After years of being punished for letting my temper get the best of me in school, I was being praised for it. No, I was being exalted. That night, Inge Sollemach gave me a medal, and fifteen minutes later, behind the athletic center, my first real kiss. The next day my father called on Herr Sollemach. He was very disturbed by Franz’s injuries. Your son is gifted, Herr Sollemach explained. Special. Yes, my father responded. Franz has always been an excellent student. I am speaking of Reiner, Herr Sollemach said. Did I know this brutality was wrong? Even that first time, when my brother was the victim? I have asked myself a thousand times, and the answer is always the same: of course. That day was the hardest, because I could have said no. Every time after that, it became easier, because if I didn’t do it again, I would be reminded of that first time I did not say no. Repeat the same action over and over again, and eventually it will feel right. Eventually, there isn’t even any guilt. What I mean to tell you, now, is that the same truth holds. This could be you, too. You think never. You think, not I. But at any given moment, we are capable of doing what we least expect. I always knew what I was doing, and to whom I was doing it. I knew, very well. Because in those terrible, wonderful moments, I was the person everyone wanted to be.

~~~

But my mother also would have been the first to tell me that good people are good people; religion has nothing to do with it.

Mother's favorite song...

No matter how many times you hear a story about the Holocaust, there will always be another perspective to learn about. This time, the writer, Jodi Picoult, has brought in the family of two boys who will become part of the military under Hitler. How many of us, today, have asked ourselves and others how is our president getting away with all that is happening. Can't something be done? And, yet, there are some who continue to support him no matter what he does!

Is it true what was said when the mother of the Jewish family began to see and fear what was happening? That there are good and bad people and it has nothing to do with religion? After watching the years since 2015, I tend to "want" to agree, especially as, at present, religion is being used by those who are bad, in their attempt to sway our opinions... Just as happened in WWII...

The book moves back and forth in time, as well as from character to character talking, beginning with Sage who is attending a small-group grief session where people bring things in that they can't get over, such as not being able to get over losing your husband... Sage goes, not saying much, since her mother died three years ago... But really, she is unable to get past the accident that left her face scarred...

It was at a group session that she and Josef started talking. Soon there seemed to be a connection, but Sage can't figure out why... And then he starts talking about what happened during the WWII... Josef is in his 90s and feels like his life should be over, but his health is good... Soon, Josef has come to know Sage well enough to know that she is Jewish... And, he wants to share with her about his life, seek and receive her forgiveness...and then... have her kill him... Yes, you understand correctly... Of course, this is very upsetting to even be asked to participate!

What Josef doesn't know is there is somebody who could possibly be a better individual to whom he should seek forgiveness... Her grandmother... Her grandmother is one who has never found it possible to share about her time during the Holocaust. The only way Sage learned of it is when she saw her tatooed prison number on her grandmother's arm...

Readers will then become intimately involved with exactly what happened during the time leading up to and during the actual deaths of the millions who were killed in the 1940s. If this is your first time reading details, be prepared. The story is disgusting, devastating, and impossible to understand just how humans can treat other humans as they do and have... And, if you haven't read any book on this slaughter of men, women and children, I can tell you that this is an excellent book from which to learn.

The inclusion of those young people who were pulled into the German military based upon lies and manipulation is something that, indeed, we should never forget! In my lifetime, the closest devastation I am aware of is what DJT is doing to the world right now. His words, lies, threats, attacks on people, including the loss of millions of jobs, threats of recessions, and so much more, all to fund a major tax break for the richest people in our country, including himself, is simply incomprehensible...and yet, just as those who followed Hitler, there are those who accept what is being done, such as on the basis of DEI, causing disruption at every level of activity that can possibly be destroyed by criminal actions "mandated..."

As we know that the World must Never Forget, we also see continued wars around the world... Loss of Freedom for Ukraine is practically being handed to Russia by America--one day, then something changes, all on the whim and insanity of one man who has no idea how to constructively lead the U.S. Government. We cannot go backward and lose all that America has gained in the period since WWII! Eighty years... A Lifetime!

Many share their stories; others can't bring themselves to remember their own lives being under such a cruel group of armed men who had total control of each and every one that was killed in their homes, or gathered up to ride toward their deaths, based upon lies they had been told...

No wonder that we now face those who use lies to persuade and then turn their backs on those they have lied to and often destroyed. I recognize that this has turned into more of an opinion piece... However, I, along with millions who are protesting and otherwise speaking out, am compelled to be one of the good people who care about others... No matter whether they are in some way different from me...

It's Sad, don't you think, that millions of people look back at WWII with regret, shame, and, fear of it happening again...

While at the same time, we see attacks against Jews one day and then turning against them another day... Could it be, that, it's really about good people versus bad people... And, it's our time for America to have all of the bad guys, who just happen to be greedy on top of being bad guys?

Still, the surprise ending from The Storyteller reminds us that it is extremely hard to trust anybody who is asking for forgiveness and then wanting you to murder them, all the time while continuing to lie directly to your face...

Our only hope...

Psalm 118:8 It is better to take refuge in the Lord 

than to trust in man.

God Bless Us All

Gabby

Diamonds In The Dumpster: A Silver Sisters Mystery Presented by Morgan St. James and Phyllice Bradner - Join The Fun!

“Stuff it. He’s got enough to do as it is.

Besides, don’t you know you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

“Hogwash. We’re old. 

We learn new tricks all the time.”

“Such a mensch, my son-in-law!” Flossie reached up and patted his cheek. “It was so sweet of you to do this for us. I read the cards this morning and they even indicated magic and mystery—reminded me of that old Beatles song Magical Mystery Tour.

Flossie plopped into her chair just as the orchestra began to play a John Phillip Sousa march and the lights dimmed. A stream of waiters carrying trays of Baked Alaska adorned with flashing sparklers marched around the dining room in step with the music. Their waist-length red jackets, worn over crisp white trousers, featured epaulets trimmed with gold braid. Their snazzy uniforms added to the spirit of a wonderful parade. Most of the other diners were excited, but Flossie was bummed. 

“I didn’t learn a darn thing. She couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.” “Well, Old Girl, I guess this show’s a wrap. Ali Kazaam won’t be zapping any more assistants with his electronic doodads, his murderer has been caught, and the elusive Jade will remain an enigma. It was an exciting cruise, though, with some mystery theater thrown in to keep us on our toes.” Flossie scooped a few morsels off her plate into a napkin and tucked them into her handbag. “I’ll bring these to Waldo. I think he deserves some extra treats for his part in sniffing out the bad guys.” “You can say that again. Waldo got quite a workout. I’m glad we left him in the cabin tonight. 

To think, Goldie thought this cruise would be relaxing. Hah!” Before they left the table, Red gave Flossie and Sterling hugs and told them how great it had been to have them on his ship. “Sorry about the murder, but I really didn’t have any control over that.” 

“Oy, it was a real shame that arrogant Sheik bit the dust, but it sure made things exciting for us.” Red shrugged. “That it did, but I could do without that kind of excitement. I might not see you in the morning because I’ll have my hands full with the passengers disembarking.” “Don’t worry about us, Red. Flossie and I will find our way off the ship with no problem.” “Just the same, I arranged for you to be in the first group of passengers to leave. Deke Hand, one of my crew members, will come to your cabins, help you with the whole process and hand you off to Godiva. I talked to her last night and she’ll be waiting at the dock. Take care of my favorite service dog, okay? I’ll miss old Waldo.”

~~~

What a Fun Story! I've been on several cruises, but never ones that resulted in my finding a dead body! And that's not even the whole story... He had been murdered! Ok, we knew that somewhere along the way there was going to be at least one murder, else it wouldn't be a mystery where amateur detectives actually solve the case! But... Most of the time, one of the detectives would not have verbally accosted the victim... Oy vey, what a mess!

So, let's begin at the beginning. Two retired magician act members--Sterling Silver and his sister-in-law, Flossie Silver, who was his assistant--but is also the proud mother of a set of twins--Godiva and Goldie--and Waldo the Wonder Dog. They now all of are living in small bungalows on the estate of Godiva who is a rich widow who arranges for the "oldsters" to go on a cruise. Goldie only comes for a visit from her primary home in Alaska, to help in this time of Distress, yes, with a capital D! 

Red Pepper, Goldie's husband, is Captain of a cruise ship, the Aurora Borealis... and after much discussion among the family, Red agreed to host Sterling and Flossie on a cruise when it would be hosting magicians from all over! And, with a little bit of truth-twisting, Waldo was to become Sterling's service dog because he was prone to "fits" and Waldo could tell when one was coming on and help...

Thing was, when Sterling actually had the "fit" for which he would be later jailed, Waldo did little, to help Sterling, because he was later very busy finding the body of Sheik Ali Kazaam... who was twisted between several deck chairs and discovered on an evening stroll during which Flossie pointed out that Sterling really shouldn't have made such a fuss after performance. The key point for Sterling was that the Sheik used electronic gizmos and the Sheik's former assistant had been electrocuted during their last rehearsal... Now, she had been replaced by another beautiful woman who could also be accidentally hurt because the Sheik had chosen these dangerous tools rather than learn the old, but safer vaudeville magic...

Even though Sterling was very upset, he, nonetheless, was personally attracted to the turban that the Sheik wore! And, when they found the Sheik and Flossie had gone for help, Sterling had picked up the turban between the deck chairs and stuffed it down deep into Flossie's large bag in which she always carried possible needs, including water, a sweater...and more... That would prove to be the worst mistake that Sterling had ever made, or at least...the latest! 

Of course, the investigation begins onboard; however, everybody there, including Red's family members were not only allowed to leave, but he had arranged for them to leave as part of the first group and would be met by Red's Wife, Flossie's daughter...

Actually, once they had left the ship is when the major work on the murder mystery begins... And it becomes quite complex, even if readers can begin to identify the villains. While the plot may be simple and fun, the complexity is found in the characters and how they play their roles... Flossie is certain, when she finds out that Sterling had stolen the turban, that it would lead to bad luck and began to read the cards to find out exactly what could happen. While the two daughters got together, comparing their clothes and personalities that were so different even as twins and then settled down to work.

Godiva was a newspaper columnist, called Ask G.O.D. for Advice and they had so many submissions, they picked the very "worst" to print:

Dear G.O.D., A few weeks ago I got sick and my husband said he would take care of the house. In a couple of days, when I felt better, I walked around and everything looked fine until I opened the dishwasher. I don’t know what he was thinking, but there in the top basket along with the glasses and cups were two toilet bowl brushes, a pair of old sneakers and the mud flaps from his pickup truck. Now I can’t bear to eat off my dishes. I’m using paper cups and plastic spoons. He says the hot water sanitizes everything and I’m just acting crazy, but I’m ready to throw the bum out with the dishwater. What should I do?

So readers will enjoy reading a number of letters from the many who seek advice... and I have to say, the responses are just as explosive as you will ever see in similar columns you might have read. I love this silly little addition to our reading pleasure. 

By the way, did I mention that the main characters, Sterling and Flossie are in their eighties?! And, it was very clear that Flossie had the deeper drive to solve what happened... Her persistence in chasing after those with whom she wanted to speak is intense and when it results in not having moved the case further, she quickly acknowledges she shoulda, coulda, woulda figured it out if only... Actually, though, I could be wrong, but I think this book will have a follow-up story... Otherwise, there's a lot of rare jewels that are floating somewhere around the world, only waiting for Sterling and Flossie to get back on the trail! And I'll be waiting to follow them wherever they travel... I'm hooked on this fantastic and endearing family who comes together for any crisis... Got to love them all!

“Hmmmph. Who’d ever thought you’d have a jade Buddha, a gaudy menorah, and a huge jewel-encrusted gold cross all in the same display? Either she’s got a sense of humor, or can’t make up her mind. Wanna go in?”

~

Flossie jumped in before her daughter could say anything, “I just don’t get it, with your sister’s looks and all her money you’d think she’d find the prince—not the frog. But, what does she do? She attracts another schlemiel.”

~~~

GABixlerReviews

Faye Kellerman's Stone Kiss Brings Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus as Ongoing Series Main Characters!

 

The girl said, “May I see your identification and badge again?” “Certainly.” “It’s Lieutenant Peter Deck—” “Son of a bitch!” That, Decker heard. He staved off a smile. The girl hung up the phone, with a slightly bemused look on her face. “He’s in the middle of a shoot. You must really rate.” “I don’t know about that.” “He’ll be with you in a few minutes.” “Thank you.” 

Decker smiled, realizing that there wasn’t as much as a stool for him to sit on. Not much space for excess furniture anyway. It was a nondescript area with cream-colored blank walls and barely enough room for the receptionist and guard. Chris probably didn’t get much company. With Donatti, a few minutes actually meant a few minutes. The interior door opened, and there he was. No longer the lanky heartthrob of a teen, Christopher Whitman Donatti, at twenty-six, now cut a big swath. He was broad across the chest, with massive arms and developed biceps. His left hand gripped a Hasselblad that looked like a toy in his fingers. He was clean shaven, his abundant blond locks shorn just a step away from a buzz cut. A lean, long face contained high cheekbones and a wide forehead, with ruddy skin that wasn’t weathered but did hold some seams. He had a strong jawline, not chiseled but more manly than boyish. Generous lips that protected straight white teeth. Noticeable large blue eyes: ice-colored with no reflective quality whatsoever. What was the opposite of luminous? 

Decker and his six-foot-four frame had always faced Chris eye-to-eye. For the first time, he sensed his line of vision moving upward. “You grew.” “I always was a late bloomer.” Donatti wore loose clothing—a black T-shirt over khaki cargo pants, the pockets bulging—probably filled with photographic paraphernalia and, no doubt, a state-of-the-art piece. His feet were housed in black suede running shoes. He was still blocking the door, staring at Decker. “I need to pat you down.” “I made it through security.” “I need to pat you down,” Donatti repeated. The child/guard was on his feet, his right hand on his hip. His face may have looked young, but his eyes reflected pure business. “Can I be of assistance, Mr. Donatti?” “Thanks, Justin, but this one’s mine.” Donatti gave the girl his camera, then turned to Decker. “The position?” Without protest, Decker faced the wall, leaning forward on his arms. It was natural for Donatti to assume that Decker was wearing a wire or carrying a gun—something for defense. As it was, Decker was putty, nothing but his brain for protection. Donatti was thorough with the frisk—front and back, up and down, inside and out. He went through Decker’s pockets, sorted through his credit cards and personal identification. 

From his wallet, the kid pulled out the one lone photograph Decker was carrying—the recent snapshot of Jacob. Donatti showed him the photo. “This is the only picture you carry?” “My son gave it to me a couple of days ago. Normally, I don’t carry any pictures of my family.” “Protective?” “A lot of people resent me.” Decker smiled. Donatti’s face was flat. He stared at the snapshot. “He’s the image of your wife.” Decker’s stomach did a little dance. He didn’t respond and tried to look unimpressed. “Am I wrong?” Donatti said. “No, not at all.” Donatti returned the picture to Decker’s wallet, placed it back into the jacket pocket. He rummaged through the rest of Decker’s jacket, fishing out the envelope that held the crime-scene photos. It gave him pause. Carefully, he scrutinized them, studying them one by one. Again he stopped when he got to the photo of Ephraim with Shaynda. Though his eyes were fixed on the faces, his expression was completely blank. Abruptly, he placed the snapshots back in the envelope and slipped the whole package back into Decker’s pocket. Then he stepped away from the door. “Okay. You can come in.” 

The loft was enormous, with vaulted ceilings, and large, dusty windows letting in filtered light. Each window had a shade on it—some were rolled up, some drawn. The floor was made from old planks of cherry wood, scuffed but still intact. Most of the studio was empty space, except for a bank of built-in cabinets underneath the windows, a weight rack, a cello case next to a backless chair, and the actual shooting area. Here was the place of action: a jumble of prop boxes, numerous hanging backdrops, several differently colored carpets, chairs, tables, and lighting accessories. There were umbrellas, tripods, reflectors, and spots—all of them positioned around the main stage. There was music in the background—something classical but atonal and avant-garde which Decker didn’t recognize. It was very low-pitched like whispered conversation. Two young boys—probably teenagers—were rearranging props and photographic equipment, pulling things in and out of boxes and bags. They were flitting around the center stage and its main occupant—a naked girl wearing spiked heels on her feet and a boa around her neck. Her blond hair was pinned, but in disarray. She wore little makeup—lipstick, a spot of blush. Big blue eyes were taking him in. Decker averted his gaze, electing to look at his shoes. All his girls are legit. She was probably eighteen, but she was made up to look around fourteen. 

Wordlessly, Donatti started fiddling with the background tripod that held an electronic flash. “Go on.” “Are you talking to me?” Decker asked. “Yes, I am.” “Do you mind if we talk in private?” “Getting distracted, Lieutenant?” “Distracted is a good word.” “Hey, you said it was important. I figured we can talk while I work.” He regarded Decker’s eyes, his face cold and expressionless. “But if you want to talk to me alone, you’ll have to wait.” “How long?” “Beats me. But you can sit if you want. You can even take a cup of coffee.” Decker’s eyes swept across the room. There was a coffeepot resting on top of one of the cabinets. He walked over, poured himself a Styrofoam cup of black coffee, and looked around for a chair. Donatti said, “Matt, get the lieutenant a box to sit on.” One of the young boys snapped to it, bringing Decker a wooden crate. Decker thanked him, then watched Donatti pose the girl while trying not to stare too hard. Donatti positioned her, head back and legs apart. Then he nudged a reflector upward with his toe. “Up… up. Like this, okay?” Matt nodded, gripping the silver surface. Donatti took a lens out of his pants pocket and switched it with the one in his camera. “Keep the damn thing up!” Again he kicked the reflector. “Like that! Jesus! Reading?” The other young boy held up an exposure meter. A flash went off and the boy gave Donatti some numbers. The two assistants appeared almost prepubescent—narrow-hipped and narrow-shouldered, without any signs of facial hair. One was of dark skin—Latino or Puerto Rican—the other was Anglo. Both had long, silken hair—perfect chicken-hawk material. Decker wondered if Chris was swinging both ways, or at the very least pimping both ways. The boys were all work and showed no interest in the young girl, who was the center of attention—licking her lips provocatively as she parted her legs, her eyes on Decker. Again Decker looked at his feet. 

“Nice place,” he said absently. “Like it? I own the building.” “Very entrepreneurial, Chris.” “I like business. It suits me.” Donatti did a slow turn and faced Decker with lightless eyes. “By the way, I called you Lieutenant. That means you call me Mr. Donatti.” “I stand corrected.” Donatti went over to the center and peered through the camera. “Matt, you got to lift up the reflector around an inch… yeah, there. Richie, you want to kick up that back light, I’m getting a nasty shadow… to the left. That’s good. Hold out the meter.” A flash went off. “Reading?” Richie gave him the numbers. 

Donatti was not happy. He played with the lights, the umbrella, and the reflectors. As his frustration increased, Donatti’s assistants seemed to grow more and more anxious, exhibiting nervous twitches. There was no attempt at camaraderie. It was Mr. Donatti this, and Mr. Donatti that. Finally, the conditions met with Chris’s approval, and Donatti started snapping, talking the girl through it as he worked. He was fast and furious, dripping with sweat under the hot lights. The model was also sweating profusely. He worked continually for about five minutes; then without warning, Donatti stopped, swore, picked up a spray bottle of ice water, and blasted it over the young girl’s chest...

~~~

The Ritual Bath was the first book I read by Faye Kellerman. I had already read books by her writer husband, Jonathan Kellerman and found I enjoyed them greatly. One reason I wanted to consider Faye's books was because of the Jewish flavor that, I knew, would be both informative as well as entertaining. I was not wrong. 

However, while I was doing book reviews professionally, I had stopped doing reviews for major authors, the Kellermans among them, because I knew they would get many reviews. And I was more interested in providing reviews for those requesting my assistance, normally those who were just beginning or were self-publishing, et.al. That proved to be an ongoing activity that has lasted for years and only stopped when my health became a factor.

When a LA Police Lieutenant gets called to New York to help, it can only be from family that would make the trip necessary... And, besides, Rina's sons were locating on the east coast so the trip could be turned into a vacation... At least that was the plan. Peter had been asked by his brother (half) because they had found his brother-in-law dead in a motel, naked. And, his niece who was close to him, had disappeared. 

If you're thinking what I first thought, it was, obviously, the one that most everybody had thought. Except, Shayndie was Chasidic and, when questioned, confirmed that she was not intimately involved with her uncle--he was somebody she could talk to as a friend. Still, the big question was whether she was there during the time that her uncle had been clearly murdered. And whether she might actually have done it!

Decker had finally agreed to come, but he had also contacted the local police and explained he was there and was being asked to help. When they realized his rank, they had no problem working with him as long as he provided anything he discovered back to them.

Strangely, though he had known he was coming, when Peter met with Shayndie's father, it was clear that he really didn't want his help. Even having Peter check out her bedroom, as would be done to attempt to discover where she might have gone, had been refused. What was going on? Had her father received a request for money for her return? Did he know something about the murder and didn't want further involvement?

One thing was for sure, however, once Peter had made the trip and had committed to help, he was not going to pull away. He started investigating on his own, by starting with seeing a very old acquaintance who happened to be, perhaps, a psychopath!

Decker had put Chris Donati into prison--but he had also helped to get him out later. He had also helped Donati's lover and child with money when nobody would help her after Donati was imprisoned. Now, Peter wondered how Donati would receive him.

Donati had gone into a safer criminal enterprise. Human trafficking was a distant part of it, but Chris ensured that his girls were 18. His endeavors included helping young girls get off the street, and taking care of them. They could leave at any time, but, after the chrismaric Chris had cared for them, few left. And when they turned 18, they were photographed by Chris, who had become an expert photographer, and made them look very young... Thus satisfying the law as well as his clientele... Decker knew that he would have a tough time in stomaching what was being done to young girls, but he also knew that if Shayndie had turned to the streets, it was likely that she had hooked up with other girls who worked the streets... And that Chris might know where she was...

Faye Kellerman, in writing this story, has been willing to share Jewish characters who are both extremely conservative religious in dress, but who also have turned to the sex trade to meet their desires. And, that that same group could become involved in criminal activities in order to become richer. Finding all of this out was difficult for Peter. In the end, his brother (half) was the only member of this extended family who were willing to continue to help work to find the missing girl.

There is an intriguing secret interaction between Chris and Peter and Chris and Rina that nobody is talking about, but which acts to move the mystery forward. Still, it is just Peter and his brother who are caught in the final search, find and ultimate climax where Peter almost loses his life... One final note, I know it is my age and background, but I found the, in my opinion excessive use of offensive language by Peter overkill. Complicated case, complex family relationships and police and Chasidic members being part of the criminal acts was just...awkward, to say the least. To bad, it reminded me too much of reality these days--not a good thing. The mystery and action was intense though and worthy of your consideration!

GABixlerReviews

Precious Jewels by Dale Martellino - Lest We Forget...

Katarina began her story. "Over one thousand years ago, there was an Arab-Jewish merchant with the name of Ibrahim Ibn Jacob. He wrote about Prague, mentioning that Russians, Slavs, Muslims, Jews and Turks were arriving in Fraga (Prague) which was then the biggest trade town. In the years 995 to 997, Jews were allowed to settle in Prague, and there they founded their own township, a ghetto, as a reward for fighting pagans alongside the Christians. So it was not unusual for Jews to be in Prague since there was a very long history of them in the area. Therefore it was not unusual for my family to be living in such a magnificent city as practicing Jews many centuries later.

"The Jews had lived a very content life with the independent Czechoslovak Republic of 1918, but things changed. In 1941, there were approximately fifty thousand Jews living in Prague, and I was soon to be counted as one of them. The memory of my parents is so dim, it barely exists. It comes solely from an old photograph that I would like to show you."

...The camera had frozen a slice of life from another era stubbornly held on to by this nun...

Precious Jewels

By Dale Martellino

With a beginning and ending story that in itself adds a heartwarming story, Martellino quickly enters into the flashback tale on the life of a young Jewish Jewel who is now living in a monastery... She has taken the name of Katarina, in honor of Katarina Orbhan, a young girl living in Prague when the occupation was just beginning. It was November, 1941, as they watched the soldiers march into town and then walked on their streets and walks, proclaiming their superiority to all.

Katarina Orbhan marched through the streets of Prague surrounded by a series of gray buildings blocking out the sun's warmth. The occupying Nazis had sporadically plastered cloth swastikas that flapped within the breezy corridors. She was tired of watching the machinations of their occupation unfold in front of her and was constantly worried about the endgame. She felt abject horror that the red and black insignias found everywhere were staining her fleeting youth.

She strove to climb out of her personal downward spiral. She fretted that blood and bones were now seeping their way into the surfaces where she walked and were wantonly easing into the bowels of the earth, where they would reflect on all Czechs who would tread there for years to come.

"Halt," commanded the young guard who jumped in front of her while she obsessed on her own state of the state.

His baggy uniform draped over his average frame, but Katarina concentrated on his searing blue eyes. Those same eyes viewed an extremely attractive girl around nineteen, with her own beautiful set of blues that melted his recently trained military vigilance."

"I am halted," responded Katarina. "I am a social worker, sir. Here are my papers, which are all in order, you will see. I need to work now, please..."

~~~

Katarina was from a well-to-do Czech family who would not have been too affected by the invasion if Katarina had stayed home, but Katarina had her own opinions about what was happening. Her father had already begun to warn to stay away from the German Soldiers, as well as the Jews since they would be the victims of what was to come. However, Katarina's concern for her town, their lives, as well as all of its citizens, led to her great sympathy for how the Jews were already being relocated. Their possessions had already been hidden in their holy buildings, hoping to reclaim them sometime in the future...Now every Jewish child, man and woman were forced to sew a star on their clothes and wear it at all times. They were crowded into a desolated part of town with little space, less food, and poor health conditions. Fortunately, there had been one doctor and his nurse wife, who had also been moved there and were helping all that they could. It is their daughter, Naomi, who was first smuggled out of Prague, a precious jewel, born in the ghetto and meant to survive and bring some joy to those forced to stay.

"Young lady," said Mlle. Zelinsky,
who conducted her interview, "I see
you have no hidden star to set you
apart. There is not even a shred of
Jewishness in your file."
"...If it were up to me and there was
even just one person in Prague
forced to sew on a Jewish star, all
of us would set it on...
"My dear," she instantly responded
with authority, "I suggest you keep
such opinions quiet, or you will
find yourself in serious trouble.
~~~

And it was the young Katarina who became totally involved in what was happening...

Katarina, with her mother's support, because her father didn't want to agree, was able to get a temporary job with Social Services...There's is a strange backstory on her boss there, who hires Katarina with a personal goal in mind...connecting with her former doctor and bringing back news of he and his wife's pregnancy.

First, it was clear that Katarina had no business taking the job; she was clearly not only not qualified, she was required to go into the ghetto with no ability to communicate and no working experience. She was required to do what might be called a census of those presently living there...

What she did have was a shrewd mind and a unbeatable desire to help the Jewish people. But the first thing that happened was that she had to pass the guard who controlled entry. She was smart enough to handle the mechanics and to get inside...

But she wasn't smart enough to not become involved with the young German soldier, telling herself she was doing this in case she needed some future support in handling something... 

Nor the young boy who offered to guide her with her survey. Her boss had warned her that she was not there to make connections with the people...merely to gather data.

But Katarina was overwhelmed and quickly knew she would need his help...All he wanted was to have her help him escape...

Her boss had told her to find Dr. Bonn immediately, but that didn't happen until much later and when Katarina got there to talk to him, his wife had just gone into labor!

Soon Katarina was caught up into personal lives...that of the doctor, whose wife had died in childbirth and that of her boss...
and that of the German soldier who had assigned the job, and had planned it purely for the enjoyment he would take from the two women in the office... 

It is hard to say that such a story can prove to be an exciting thriller, but it was...With the main character being a young Christian girl, who goes against her parents' knowledge to do much more than could ever have been expected, it adds a dimension beyond the tale coming from those who were imprisoned. But given that many soldiers were also criminals, it was soon apparent that Katarina would be swept into the death and destruction that the German army had brought with them... 

And Katarina brought forth the second precious jewel, from an unknown father who could have been any of those that had taken her... But her child escaped with financial payoffs and help from the prisoners... This child's mother dead also--this time from a bullet...

The words of a favorite hymn has always stayed with me...Lest I forget Thy agony...Lest I forget Thy love for me... I find I cannot read a book about what was done to Jesus' Race, the Jewish people, without remembering Lest we forget  the Holocaust... It was a Christian girl who, along with many others, saved as many Jews as possible during that time... This book is a wonderful remembrance of that time as Christians fought, even though mostly unsuccessfully, against the Germans to save those wearing that star...

Highly recommended...


GABixlerReviews

Dale Martellino lives in Middletown, Rhode Island. She is a retired English teacher. In addition to writing, Martellino loves traveling the world, both in real life and through her daydreams.

Latest From Ronald H. Balson out today! Karolina's Twins, A Literary Tale of Redemption...

I have come to the conclusion that the sound of war is not the guns banging nor the bombs blasting, it is the sound of a blessed voice that has made it through another stupid battle fought for naught... This book was inspired by the story shared to the author by Fay Scharf Waldman... and others...

"In those days, Chrzanow had about twenty-five thousand residents. Forty percent of the town was Jewish and the remainder was Catholic. The immediate area around Chrzanow was hilly and thick with forests. Beyond the perimeter, the countryside was a patchwork of farms, lumber mills and mining operations, especially coal. Krakow, Poland's second largest city, was forty-five kilometers to the east.

"My mother's family owned a store on the edge of the main square that sold building materials and farm provisions. It had been in her family for years. My mother, Hannah Scheinman, worked in the store se4veral days a week. My father, Jacob Scheinman, worked there as well. With both my parents working, Magda not only took care of the house, she took care of Milosz and me.

"The day I met Karolina, it was raining. Magda had gone out of town to visit her mother. My father was supposed to pick up Milosz, but he got tied up at the store and couldn't break away. He asked the school's headmistress to have someone help me bring Milosz home. Karolina was chosen.

"Our home was three blocks off the market square--a two-story, stone house with a gabled roof and a small attic. I mention the attic because it would soon become the centerpiece of my existence. When Karolina brough Milosz home, she hung around for a while. As young girls will do, we have a snack and gossiped away the afternoon. Soon my mother arrived and insisted that Karolina stay for dinner. I was twelve at the time. Milossz was seven. Karolina was thirteen.

"I had seen Karolina at school, but she was a year ahead of me. She was also very popular. Even then, as a young teen, she was exquisite and she grew more beautiful with each passing year. She was strong, athletic and vivacious. She had dark, curly hair and big expressive eyes. Coy, flirtatious, smart, bold and very sure of herself, the boys flocked to her.

"I didn't know at the time, but her confidence was a charade, an appearance that she wore like an overcoat. Inside she was unhappy and insecure. Her father, Mariusz Neuman was a withdrawn, severe man, always worried about his business. He had little patience for Karolina's gaiety. His business was struggling, especially in the 1930s. So, Karolina started spending a lot of time at our house.

"Karolina became an adjunct member of our family. We all loved her and she loved us, but I think she loved Milosz the most. She would sit and listen to him play even when he was just practicing his scales." Lena shrugged. "Or perhaps it was my mother's kreplach soup. Any way, Karolina practically lived at our house..."

~~~

Karolina's Twins

By Ronald H. Balson

It was a good life there in Chrzanow...There was no strife between neighbors because of their religions... Death occurred naturally and was accepted as part of the life cycle...

The Scheinman family had been comfortable and Lena's father had served during WWI, as no religious distinction was made at that time. One hundred thousand Jews fought in the German army, often holding high ranks, and twelve thousand lost their lives. Jewish families had been welcomed then and Jewish society flourished. After the War, Captain Scheinman was still referred to by his title in honor of his rank and service... They were happy days when Lena's mother would often be singing as she worked in the kitchen.

But when Hitler rose to power, everything changed for everybody.. But it was the Jews he planned to exterminate...

It is through Ben from Once We Were Brothers, that Lena Scheinman Woodward meets Catherine Lockhart, lawyer, and her husband and private investigator, Liam Taggart... Catherine is impressed with this elderly woman who is well-dressed, meticulous in her care and effectively communicates her wishes...

But she needs to share her story at her own pace and with her own memories... At first Catherine and Liam are ready and wanting to move on to the investigation to find two baby girls that were lost during the War. However, Catherine, who is the primary listener of the story, is soon caught up, just like I was, in Lena's life...

Come with me.
Where are we going?
To the Synagogue. We'll say Kaddish for your family...
"Kaddish?" I said to Yossi. My tone mocked him. "To Whom? To the absent God?" My voice was rising. "Do you think someone's listening when you chant Kaddish? Face it, Yossi, if there's a God, he's ong ago check out of this hotel. Where is he when they're torturing us? Where is God Almighty when pious people are slaughtered? Where is . . ."
"Stop!" he commanded. He grabbed my arms. "You are a Jew. They cannot take that from you. The Nazis can take away your house, they can take away your bread, they can even take your body, but they cannot take away who you are. The Nazis seek to kill us physically and spiritually. I may not be able to stop them from killing me physically, but I am in control of my spirituality. I, and I alone, will decide when to say Kaddish, when to welcome the Sabbath, when to dance on Simchat Torah. Your father, your mother and your little brother--they were all Jews. Nazi Germany, with all its might, attached their Jewishness, but it did not win. It did not rob them of their faith. The Nazis cannot win as long as we remain Jews. Do you understand?"
"I admire your strength. I admire your resolve. But I cannot share your reverence. Look what they've done to you, Yossi. A learned man living minute to minute on a basement floor. No food, no water. All because you are a Jew."
"And I am still a Jew. And so are you. If you will not say Kaddish, will you assist me to the synagogue and I will say it for both of us? Walk with me, please. We will santify the name of God at a time when such sanctification seems wholly unavailing. And that is precisely why we do it. Walk with me."
~~~

The story is written as a first-person biography. I imagined that Lena had gone over and over the events to keep everything fresh in her mind. Not because it wouldn't have been better to forget much of her life story, but because she had made a promise to her best friend, her adopted sister, Karolina, to try to find "Our" babies.

For it had been Lena, Karolina, and a nurse Muriel, who had come together, moved into a tiny furnace room, where heat was still available, and took care of the two beautiful little girls who brought bright light to the world, a love breaking through the hate, the pain, the hunger and the suffering that plagued every Jew who now had been pinpointed for elimination from Chrzanow - in one way or another... 

I find though I've read other individual stories from Holocaust survivors, I never tire of reading each singular tale. The war and the German soldiers' actions may change very little, but it is in the lives of those who suffered that we gain their memories, their losses...so that, we, too, can never forget.

Lena's father had forced her to promise to hide in their attic if the German's came for them. She could hear what was happening and then see the ravages to their home, including her brother's wheelchair, which had been totally destroyed, and his one shoe, which had undoubtedly fallen off when they lifted him out and carried him away... Lena picked up and treasured that shoe, taking her into what she faced ahead, as the only remnant of her family...

Almost the entire book is Lena's story, interspersed with the responses and beginning investigation activities by Liam... But the drama deepens when Lena's son begins legal action to have his mother declared incompetent to handle her own affairs... I must say that the legal and court portion of the book is quite interesting and is certainly a learning experience regarding this potential situation for all seniors....

Undoubtedly, the extensive coverage of the war is of interest to historical enthusiasts. I have noted that the author has expanded into other information of the time as it relates to the specific book. For instance, this book included much more about the Russian involvement...and also about those who secretly sought to eliminate Hitler...

There is both happiness as well as tears shed as Lena shares her story with us. The author mentions in his afterwords that the novel is made up of other people's stories in order to fill out the overall storyline. To me, that only broadened the impact, knowing that the Holocaust survivors are speaking out and sharing about the degradation--the horror--perhaps the worst, ever, that's been seen on this earth... Why did we not learn from it???

The contrast between such a beautiful old song and pictures of such a terrible event shows all sides of humanity. The beautiful side is shown by the song and the terrible side is shown by the photographs.
-..creator of video...

Ronald Balson has been given a wonderful gift--a gift of listening and then sharing individual stories molded into a novel that reaches into the hearts of readers. It may bring tears, but it also shares the joy that does come...

Highly recommended!


GABixlerReviews

Ronald H. Balson is an attorney practicing with the firm of Stone, Pogrund and Korey in Chicago. The demands of his trial practice have taken him into courts across the United States and into international venues. 

An adjunct professor of business law at the University of Chicago for twenty-five years, he now lectures on trial advocacy in federal trial bar courses. 

Travels to Warsaw and southern Poland in connection with a complex telecommunications case inspired Once We Were Brothers, his first novel.