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My cousin Krysia has been with me every step of the way as I’ve embarked on this journey to uncover Jewish heritage. We’ve been in dialog with each other the whole time, literally talking for hours, but also thinking and writing on parallel wavelengths. For her what started out as a story about her father (my mother’s brother) turned into a search for our Jewish roots, and then took another turn to her reflections about bearing witness to aging, love, spirituality, and loss in her blog The Quest (follow the link to check it out). And now, I can’t seem to stop writing about my own experiences of mourning. I’m sure it’s partly a response to her reflections.

I’m working right now on a post that was supposed to be about the Okopowa Jewish Cemetery in Warsaw. I get to that eventually, but first I had to write about why I think about death in November.

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Krysia and me in Skierniewice, the birthplace of our great grandfather. April 2013

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Krysia and me in Skierniewice, the birthplace of our great grandfather. April 2013

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