I do not remember how old I was, about eight years old, perhaps younger, when my mother told me about the last time she saw her mother. It was in the Lodz ghetto in Poland that my mother, a young girl then, found out that her mother was taken away. She ran as fast as she could to the train station and witnessed her mother being shoved onto the train. When her mother noticed her, she motioned with her hand, “Go away. Go away”.