In 62 brief chapters, my memoir moves between three perspectives. After my mother's death, I found my grandfather's diaries. They revealed that my beloved Api had been a member of the Nazi Party. Shocked and ashamed, I hid the diaries again, just as my mother had done. It took me two years until I could confront a past I had evaded all my life.

In part, I was persuaded by historians who stressed the importance of such documents for our understanding of the times. But a major impetus came from a book about slaves the author's grandfather had kept. He overcame his reluctance to write about this by thinking that he may not be responsible, but he is accountable for what his grandfather did. This also led me to reflections about my grandfather's guilt and all our political responsibility.

A large part of the book tells the story of Api's diaries, his struggle to survive and help others in Berlin 1945, homelessness, hunger, and epidemics. He worked as doctor in the center of Berlin under day and night bombing, the air filled with acrid smoke and the stench of corpses. Medical cellars had neither water nor light, and the dead were simply stacked outside. This in turn is juxtaposed with my recollections of living with Api after the war, my first stable home and the happiest years of my childhood. He loved me and played with me, taught me Latin, and showed me how to build a kite.

Reviews show that audiences feel compassion for Api and at the same time understand that we all have to confront our family's and our country's past. I hope the final takeaway is to gain a new appreciation for what binds us together, to feel empathy for all of us, no matter how different we are.