When I was a little girl, most of my childhood we lived in Jersey City, New Jersey. At one point we lived across the street from a Jewish Synagogue. I was approximately there from the ages of 9-12. I can't tell you exactly when I read 'The Diary of Anne Frank', but when I did, I know I cried. Was it before or after this place, across the street? I'm not sure. Somehow though, seeing and knowing it was there, brought me comfort. In this place we lived in, which was about 100 years old, we had…
