his story began
nearly four dec-
ades ago. I had
returned from
Israel after the
Sinai Campaign
of 1956 against
Egypt with my
wife, three children, Duffy, the fam-
ily dog and six dollars left in my
bank account. But I had an idea for
a book and the great Jewish cur-
rency — hope.
When a writer applies the seat of
his pants to the seat of the chair and
commences writing, his office trans-
forms into a small, dark, lonely
room. I was on top of my game and
the book exploded from my type-
writer. As I sent each section to the

publisher, I would get an excited
phone call from my editor pleading
with me to hurry up and complete
the manuscript. I told him, "don't
worry, whenever I finish this book,
the Jews will still be in trouble."
Exodus accomplished almost
everything I had hoped for it. But
never in my wildest fantasy, during
the writing in the dungeon, did I
believe that my words would eventu-
ally arch out over time and space to
find the lost tribe of Israel en-
tombed in the Soviet Union.
From the time of the Bolshevik
Revolution until after World War II,
we did not know what the status of
our people was. They had been
stripped of lbrah and synagogue, of
their press and educational facili-