“Two books per visit per week,” said the unsmiling librarian as she handed a library card．Neither the limits nor her attitude 1 me, a 9 – year – old Jewish girl growing up in Berlin in the 1950s．I needed those visits．The books were filled with stories in which, however 2 things seemed, everything 3 well in the end, 4 justice, bravery, and wisdom – a striking contrast （对比） to my everyday experiences． Thirty years later, I, a recent immigrant to the US with a daughter aged 13, stood in front of another librarian．This librarian was 5