“A long time. I commit an offense. I wait a few years. Does this make the offense go away? Does this make it right?”

“No, Father. But maybe if you talk to him …”

Her father was leaning forward now, staring down at the piano’s ivory keys. He shook his head. Then he rocked his body back and forth.

“I cannot see him,” he said softly.

“Maybe if—”

“You don’t understand. I cannot see him. I cannot bear …”

And suddenly Sarah understood. Her father wasn’t angry, he was in terrible pain.

“This is how it begins,” he said. “Always it is the same. In Germany, the Jews thought they were Germans, and they intermarried. But then, even if you had a Jewish grandmother or great-grandmother … they killed you. You think the Jews will be accepted? It is an illusion.”

“That was Hitler—”

“And before that it was the Poles, it was the Russians, it was the Spanish Inquisition … Many countries have accepted the Jews, Sarah, and always they have turned against them in the end. The Jews will only survive if they are strong. This is the lesson of history.” He looked up at her. “We were commanded to keep our faith, Sarah. So let me tell you: every time a Jew marries out, we are weakened. Marry out, and in two, three generations, your family will not be Jewish. Maybe they will be safe, maybe not. But in the end, either way, all that we have will be lost.”

“You feel this?”

“I know this.” He shook his head. “I sat shiva for my brother. He is dead to me. Go up and tell him so.”

Sarah hesitated, then turned toward the stairs. But before she got to see Uncle Herman, his voice came booming down from above.

“Daniel, I’m here. You won’t speak to your brother?”

Sarah glanced at her father. He was still staring down at the keyboard. Uncle Herman’s voice came again.

“Time has passed, Daniel.” There was a pause. “I won’t come here again.” Another pause, then, in a voice of fury, “If that’s what you want, it’s finished.”

A moment later, the front door slammed. Then there was silence.

Sarah sat on the stairs. She didn’t want to intrude upon her father, but she didn’t want to leave him. She waited a little while. Then she saw his shoulders were moving and, although there was no sound, she realized he was weeping.

She couldn’t help herself, she had to go to him. She came back down the stairs, and stood by the piano, and put her arms around him and held him.

“You think I don’t love my brother?” he managed to say, after a little while.

“I know you love your brother.”

He nodded slowly. “I love my brother. What should I do? What can I do?”

“I don’t know, Father.”