I hadn’t given it much thought in many years, perhaps once or twice in passing since my father died almost twenty years ago.

In the mid-1960s, my father went to Germany to testify at a war crimes trial against former guards in the Plaszow concentration camp.

When he returned, he didn’t say much. However, he did tell me that the map of the ghetto in the courtroom was wrong. Streets were wrong. His testimony fixed the map.

I must have had a certain amount of healthy teenage skepticism as I listened.

A few weeks ago, I received an email from my cousin who had recently found the transcript of my father’s testimony. As I flipped through the transcript, I couldn’t make much of the German text. And then a page popped out at me. It was a map - in my father’s handwriting with his signature - depicting the streets in the ghetto.

I hadn’t thought about it in so many years.