When my father called me to tell me my mother Norah had died in hospital in London, I was having an ice-cream over 3,000 miles away in New York. What should have been the family holiday of a lifetime suddenly lost its shine. Once the bittersweet goodbye of the funeral was over, everything seemed to return to normal. But a lifetime of memories bound up with Mum seemed to have been left behind; there was no time to mourn. So my father Peter and I hatched a plan to go on a road trip to Scotland to take time out...
Monitoring Antisemitism Intel
