In early 2020, a play called Leopoldstadt premiered in London. Written by Tom Stoppard, it was loosely inspired by the playwright's own Holocaust history, and the story seemed remarkably similar to my family's past.
My father, for whom this history is far more personal and immediate, did attend a Broadway performance, and he found the experience to be moving and somewhat uncanny. He tried to convince me to go, but I never made it up there.
I figured Leopoldstadt would eventually arrive in Washington. Maybe I'd see it then, I said. I wasn't sure that was really true. As with the letter, it was easier to push it away.
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