Imagine you're a child sat at a table with your family; father, mother, uncles, aunts, grandparents, on one of the great festivals celebrated by your people. You are waiting, listening for that one reference to the destruction of the great enemy so that you can whoop with joy. But the conversation turns to matters of concern that you can't quite grasp. Arguments begin about whether resettlement might mean something else. When I first read the opening chapter to "Bread for the Departed" I was mesmerised; it was as though I was really there, part of the gathering. "Bread for the Departed" is the tale of the Warsaw Ghetto as seen through the eyes of one small boy. You share the memories as you sink into the almost everyday "normality" that the nightmare has become. It is a novel that will never leave you.