Tomorrow will mark seven weeks since I visited Obodivka, a place where I connected with my Jewish roots but in which I found no Jews. As Dmitriy and I were leaving Obodivka on that memorable Sunday, after we visited my great grandparents' old neighborhood, after we saw the mass grave to the Obodivka pogrom of 1919 and that old Jewish cemetery in the woods, after we had gathered some dirt from the ground on which my Zayde Charlie walked his milk delivery route, and after I had