Her father, in particular, defined her - she grew up with his legends and stories his well-worn prayer shawl, which she gave to her own son and framed photographs of his ancestors, “small, wiry, dark-eyed people of the shtetl, the men swaying over crumbling tombstones, prayer books in their hands.” After all, she knew who she was: The daughter of the very difficult Irene Shapiro and the beloved, sadsacky Paul Shapiro, both Ashkenazi Jews from New York. In her fascinating new memoir, “Inheritance,” Shapiro sends off a sample of DNA to be analyzed, mainly as a lark. In memoir after memoir, she has sifted through her memories, questioning everything.Ĭould the answers have been in her DNA all along? Dani Shapiro has built a career writing about the perplexing corners of her life - the mysteries of her marriage the discomfort she felt as a child who never quite fit in the quandary of growing up in a strict Orthodox Jewish home but never connecting with her faith.
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