We Share The Same Sky is an intimate portrait of family history that tells the stories of two young women—Hana as a refugee who remains one step ahead of the Nazis at every turn, and Rachael, her granddaughter, on a search to retrace her grandmother’s history. Presented by USC Shoah Foundation, this seven-part narrative series explores how the retelling of family stories becomes history itself and how acts of kindness during war can echo across generations.
Chapter VII: A Strange Way of Feeling Alive
"There were really two plans. One, was to become something -- somebody. Two, was to go back and see who was left."Support the show
11/11/2019 • 42 minutes, 38 seconds
Chapter VI: I'm Going To Jump
"I was a citizen of nothing." Support the show
11/4/2019 • 45 minutes, 48 seconds
Chapter V: I Didn't Ask Him His Name
I always think how different it is, what is in your head and what is in your reality.Support the show
10/28/2019 • 38 minutes, 25 seconds
Chapter IV: The End Of The World
We went to the end of the world and back. We went to the site of their murder. We went to Sobibór.Support the show
10/21/2019 • 11 minutes, 46 seconds
Chapter III: This House Has Memories
“She’s 16. She should be in school. She should be with her family. Her letters shouldn’t be censored. Sentences shouldn’t be blacked out. Envelopes shouldn’t be stamped with a swastika. But I guess you can get used to anything.”Support the show
10/14/2019 • 33 minutes, 30 seconds
Chapter II: Don't Make Waves
The bridge always burned or was destroyed. There was no way to go back again. Once you made another step, you couldn't step back.Support the show
10/7/2019 • 34 minutes, 6 seconds
Chapter I: Like An Oak Tree
In the years after her death, I uncovered an incredible archive of her life. She’d left behind boxes upon boxes of letters and photographs and diaries. There were preserved albums dating back to the 1920s and letters she’d sent to lovers. There were report cards and deportation papers and love notes from her parents censored by Nazis. Then, amidst all of these papers, I found a plain manila folder. It had a note on it, written in red ink in her shaky cursive handwriting. She’d written my name.Support the show
