Looking back, I suppose you could say that writing has always been a part of my ethos. One of my earliest memories is falling asleep to the sound of my father tapping away on his Olivetti typewriter as he composed his first novel from his office in our small Massachusetts home in the woods. I was three when Dad’s Softly Walks the Beast was published, four when I penned my own first “novel,” Charlie Walks the Beast. At eleven, concerned about the effects of pollution on our planet, I pitched an Opinion piece to my local paper, The Sun Chronicle, and at twenty-seven, I quit my day job to become a travel writer, and, soon after, to tackle the daunting project of researching and recording my family’s Holocaust past. This last venture sent me on a journey that, over the course of nearly a decade, offered me a deep and heart-wrenching understanding of my roots (I had no idea as a kid that I was a quarter Polish, or that I came from a family of Holocaust survivors), and also of what it meant to be a young European Jew on the run during the Second World War. My family’s story is one of courage, perseverance, ingenuity, and love. Unearthing it turned out to be the hardest undertaking of my life, but also one of the most rewarding; it brought me closer not only to my ancestors—and in turn to my sense of self—but to a chapter in history that begged to be remembered.

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