I know. Discovering Frankfurt sounds like the title of a tour book. But it was a journey of discovery because my husband, Pat, and I had few pre-conceived notions other than an undercurrent of fear, a feeling that I should not wear my Jewishness on my sleeve. After all, this was the place my parents were forced to flee from the Nazia. But Frankfurt embraced me in ways I did not expect. My preeminent hope was that I would have a chance to meet Tilman Ochs, a local historian who lives outside of Frankfurt in a hill town called Kronberg. Tilman is an octogenarian and retired schoolteacher who volunteered to decipher my grandparents’ old-fashioned handwriting, allowing me to translate dozens of poignant letters from the tumultuous 1940’s.
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