While I want to be kind to the author, my gut reaction is anger.

While assuming the position of group spokesman, might makes it easier to address a difficult subject, it is also lazy and disingenuous. If this author had titled her essay, “I am a broken white woman” she would have had complete authority with me.

I am interested in her journey to self-discovery. For example, where did the author meet the woman she wants to call “sis”? How long has she known this woman? What made her think, they were as close as sisters? Are they neighbors, meet at work, the gym or do volunteer work together? I wonder about this, for a reason.

I found the author’s behaviour in the museums disturbing. She wants us to believe she was discreet, but I do not believe her. Discreet behaviour does not attract the attention of strangers. So what was this woman really doing in the African American Museum, that attracted so much attention from strangers?

In childhood, my family stories formed my identity — and taught me my place in the world. Pride in ancestors who endured and overcame is part of my legacy. For me, Holocaust Museums stir memories of stories told by people with numbers tattooed on their arms. However, out of respect for people around me who might also share these memories, I keep my emotions to myself. It is also self-defense.

Simply put, my family’s history on this earth, is not a soap opera. Spare me your histrionics. Take your drama home. My grief does not belong on your Facebook page.

I would like to offer this woman some advice. First, learn the difference between forgiveness and amends, then practice amends. In time, you will understand that forgiveness belongs, entirely to the divine.