The year was 1939 and the Kurc family was happy. The oldest son, Addy, was living in France and the others in Poland, but they were as close as family can be with five adult children, living separate lives. They kept in touch via letters and visits that had grown a little less frequent recently. Addy’s parents, Sol and Nechuma, were quite successful and had always encouraged the children to follow suit, wherever that may lead. But some events had shrouded their carefree enthusiasm in recent months and Nechuma’s letters to Addy had begun to hint at some growing trepidation. It began as nothing, really, at least nothing she could quite put a finger on; more of a feeling that life was not quite as safe as it once was.
