I am ashamed of my lack of Interest

I have always known that I am a Jewish descendent.  My grandmother on my mother's side was always proud of her heritage and shared as well as displayed it proudly.  Even before I had any Jewish knowledge, I nicknamed my grandmother "Baba" which, as I understand it, is a shortened form of the Polish word for Grandmother, "Babsha" (not sure of the spelling).  It's Yiddish, too, but right now I can't remember the main word.  Like my Baba, I have always been proud of my Jewish heritage.  We all have (and wear) a necklace that is a Star of David with a cross in the middle.  The Star of David, of course, is the Jewish symbol (Jews were required to wear a yellow cross on their clothes to identify them as Jews during the Holocaust) while the cross represents Christianity.  So a Star of David with a cross in the middle means "Completed Jew" or Christian Jew.  My Baba was proud of her Jewish heritage, but even more so of the fact that she had accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior.

I remember Baba telling me stories of her family from when she was a little girl, but sadly, I didn't listen well enough to remember the stories.  It breaks my heart that, like many young people, I didn't appreciate my Baba or my heritage very much while I still had her here to share stories with me.  I listened to her stories, but I listened with the mind and heart of a young person who has her whole life, her whole future ahead of her and as one who has never seen or had tragedy touch her young life.

I'm older now.  I've experienced severe traumas in my life--tragedies horrific enough that I would never wish my life on any person, not even my worst enemy, if I had any true enemies.  I wish my Baba was still here so I could listen to the story of her family's escape from Germany so that Hitler's regime couldn't touch them.  I would love to hear about how she must have felt as a little girl in a new country having to learn a new language, make new friends, and simply how to adjust to a whole new way of life.  I do know that my Baba's older sister, Marion--who I dubbed "Aunt Zazie," no idea why--had to go back a grade or two to be with my Baba in school because my Baba didn't know any English and had trouble learning the language.  Baba spoke Yiddish.  She still knew many Yiddish words in her adult life.  She tried to teach some of them to me, but again, I was too young to care to learn. 

If I have any real regrets in my life, they center around my lack of desire to learn more about my Jewish heritage--not only to listen to my Baba's stories, but to take them to heart--to learn them as part of me rather than just some stories of my grandmother. 

SARAH'S KEY could have been my Baba and her family.  While they didn't live in Paris, they still were in danger of being taken away.  What if my Aunt Zazie, in an attempt to protect my Baba, had locked my Baba in a secret room in their house with every intention of going back for her sister, only to be too late???  Why didn't I FEEL the power of my Baba's words as Julia does in this amazing story???  Why is it only now when it's too late do I FEEL the power of my heritage?  The pride? 

SARAH'S KEY is a story that, like Julia, makes me want to dig and research for more information.  I want to know everything I can.  I want to remember.  I don't ever want to forget.

(FYI:  the actress who plays either Julia or Sarah in the movie version of SARAH'S KEY is named "Polly."  Wow.  **Correction:  Polly Stone is the woman who reads the audio version of the book!  Sorry for the misunderstanding!!!!***)

Zakhor, Al Tichkah.