I am a refugee, just two generations removed.
At age 15, my grandfather, Alexis Leon Kolshanov left Wirballen, Lithuania, through Estonia, and boarded a ship for New York. His father insisted he leave for his safety. Something was politically amiss in his homeland, and whispers of “relocation” and “extermination” filled the quiet corners of dark bedrooms late at night. Continue reading “Life forgotten, or life remembered? You choose”