I wanted to say sorry, I wanted to tell her I could not forget the roundup, the camp, Michel’s death, and the direct train to Auschwitz that had taken her parents away forever. Sorry for what? he had retaliated, why should I, an American, feel sorry, hadn’t my fellow countrymen freed France in June 1944? I had nothing to be sorry for, he laughed.
I had looked at him straight in the eyes.
“Sorry for not knowing. Sorry for being forty-five years old and not knowing.”
p.192 (Sarah’s Key)
I read this book a few months ago and this always stuck with me. If you want a good read, read this book.