Hi everyone, welcome to thanks for being here a short weekly pod to remind us of the many essential

and beautiful ways we affect one another. Every Sunday I'll read a submission from a listener,

Kelly Corrigan wonders, could be wedding vows or about mitzvah toast, a eulogy, or retirement speech.

We believe this is probably the loveliest way to tap into our better selves and remember

our highest values. We encourage you to share this podcast each week with one person you love.

Maybe someone you miss need to bring closer, someone you want to feel your appreciation or admiration

or both. This is thanks for being here.

Today's submission comes from Karen McKinney, who has some very poignant observations

about the marriage of her parents, both of whom escape the Holocaust.

I do not want modern love. I want a historic, enduring, relentless love, the quiet pulse of a

lifetime of boring moments, building into a fire of endurance and commitment, even if that

sounds like that's ancient love. I want the love of Stanley and Dora, the Holocaust survivors who

raised me. Their love is captured forever in a black and white photo on my desk. It immortalizes

a moment when Stanley left Italy by boat for the United States. To do that, he had to say goodbye to

Dora, not knowing if they would ever reunite. He had already lost as had she, all those they

loved in brutal circumstances. To walk away from love again, to risk forging a new life for both

after these losses was brave, poignant and seemingly impossible. But they were still young and

somehow found love again in Italy. And they mustered hope to chase opportunity, risking losing

each other all over again. In the photo on my desk before he got on the boat nearby, he looks at her

while brushing her hair from her face with a tenderness that simply makes my heart swoon.

After while on his journey to America by boat, he continued to use the camera he had taken off

a dead Nazi to take photos documenting the long trip. After landing in the States, my Stanley

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