As I sit here at the desk of my father, Rav Shimon Schwab, zecher tzadik levracha, with my mother, shetichyeh le’orach yamim tovim,* at my side, my mind wanders back over many decades to the beautiful memories of Congregation Shearith Israel, the shul in which I grew up.

Let me say that our family has the deepest feelings of gratitude, hakaras hatov, to the congregation, its officers, and members for having been the messengers of Hakadosh Baruch Hu to save our lives from the impending disaster that was developing in Germany during the middle thirties. Had it not been for men