As a little boy in Amsterdam in the 1920s, Maurice spent every Friday night after dinner with his family listening to his father sing. His grandmother played the piano to accompany him, even though darkness had long fallen and Shabbas – the time between sunset on Friday and sunset on Saturday when observant Jews do not work – had officially begun. “It was the highlight of our week, celebrating and singing together as a family,” he says, his chin resting on his folded hands, brow furrowed.

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