This is so beautifully written. My father is one of those Hungarian Jews from Budapest. The apartment he grew up in faced the back of the opera house. In 1944, he went into hiding in a safe house. Later he was reunited with his aunt who raised him after his mother died. His father was sent to the eastern front - to a labor camp and then later to Theresienstadt. He survived and after the war ended, made his way back home. He weighed 90 pounds. After the communists took over, my dad, then 17, his father and aunt immigrated to Israel. He’s 90 years old now. He’s devastated about the war in Gaza. We both are. Recently he said he would never have gone to Israel if he knew what it would become. I was born in Jerusalem. It’s home but it feels more like something I dreamt up. I mostly grew up in the US but have always felt like an outsider.