from one second to the next, so I could play you again.  I lived for you, and the melodies I could play on you and for you.  You held my fears, and hardships, and tears, and hurt.  When I lost you, I feel like I lost myself, a huge part of myself.”

     She calmed down a little, and we both wiped our eyes.  She clutched to the violin with her tiny, withered, wrinkled hands.

     “I didn’t really wear a yellow Star badge as much as it was an arm band to wear on our upper arms with the Star on it.  Our businesses were taken from us, and so were our houses.  We had to move into ghettos, almost apartments, with several families sharing one apartment.  We stayed there until we were shipped out, transported out. ...

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