You were born in a hospital?" Hilde says as she lays down her black bread and cheese sandwich. She sits opposite me at my kitchen table. Looking up from my salad, I nod. "Yes, I thought everyone by the 1940's was born in a hospital." "Hell no." Hilde stares at me. "In Germany I was born at home, on the couch, delivered by a midwife." Thus began the noontime conversations of an American housewife and a German cleaning lady about their contrasting lives during and after WWII. My mother taught me that an important word in any language is while. While one thing is happening, so is another. "While I wash dishes, Peggy, you dry. While we are in nighttime, someone is in daylight. While one person dies, another is born." While WWII began, two little girls were born and grew up in opposing countries and living in its aftermath. With this word while, we started this book of extreme contrasts, startling discoveries and sometimes striking similarities.