Not often, but sometimes when my father in law is feeling particularly wistful, he will speak of what he remembers. He remembers learning to swim with his sister on the banks of the mighty Tigris. He remembers the bountiful fruit trees that benefited from the rich soil of her banks, bearing the most beautiful and fragrant fruits. Pear trees, grapes, pomegranates. If I close my eyes, it all sounds so sweet, and aromatic and exotic. He is describing for me his childhood in Iraq. When they were still young, both my husband’s parents and their families left their homes in Iraq. They left everything they knew, and a land that by all accounts, was beautiful. Why? Why would you walk away from everything you have and everything you love? Because of fear. They were Jews. And at a certain point, being Jewish in Baghdad had become a dangerous way of life. It was clear: they were no longer welcome in their own home. In America, my mother in law went on to study and get her Master’...