Historians regale us with the exploits of mighty men and women from days long past. Across time, tales of the accomplishments of a few encourage us all to reach loftier heights. However, in the shadow of history, common folk live and love and exist. Exciting descriptions of leaders forming nations and saving the people often omit the details of those lives hidden beyond the bright light of famous legends.

The lives of shadow dwellers are woven within the minutia of historical events. We never know their names. The details of their days are only recalled, if at all, where their paths cross a famous junction in time.

I am a shadow dweller and this is my story. The story of a commoner caught up in the mist of world changing times.

Where a story starts matters. I could start with “I was born,” but in reality this tale does not start with my birth or my being named Chaya. I considered starting by telling you about the night my life was destroyed, but that is a different tale. Or maybe I could explain the complicated details of how I became maGen protector of the baby boys of Goshen, but that is not where this story starts.

This particular tale begins the day the stranger came to town.