Miriam Hall

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They were as foreign from my ancestors in the shtetl as could be. And yet they were—in the strict definition of the word—my ancestors. Who were these people? What did this family have to do with me? Once again I became that child standing outside the warmly lit houses of my neighbors, alone in the fading dusk, longing to be invited inside.
Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love
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