I wrote many short stories in my short artistic career. Most of them of generic content - real, unreal, romantic. Yet some of them, and without really trying, seemed to be drifting at one or other speed or intensity towards my roots, those roots that defined the who and the how of I. Even if with just a few words, a hint. My Jewish roots. Those that connected me quite unconsciously to parents, grandparents, tradition, to my people. The roots that the "others" never allowed me to forget. This is a collection of these stories - be they reality, unreality, romance. I wasn't aware roots could go as deep. They do.