All the time we lived up in Narewka, while my father worked in the glass factory in Krakow, his stories gave me a glittering image of that large city, 350 miles southwest and light years removed from the life I knew in my little hometown village. I yearned for the time our family could be together. His visits to us only increased that longing.
Finally, in the spring of 1938, after five years of hard work and saving, he was able to send for us. Without a backward look, with my mother, brothers, and sister, I embarked on my first train ride. It was well past eleven o’clock at night when our train reached the Krakow station. Father was there waiting.
“We’re almost there,” my father assured us as we crossed the Vistula, the river that meandered through the city.