n class="drop">That ten years have passed since my biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer appeared is hard to fathom. Though a cliché, it’s nonetheless a rude certainty that as time passes it accelerates, until years skip past with the disconcertingly blurring rapidity of subway cars. I first observed this, albeit secondhand, in 1973 at age ten when my German grandmother saw a newspaper mentioning the tenth anniversary of JFK’s assassination. “Ach!” she said, incredulous. “Can that be ten years already?” And her observation — still so fresh and vivid to me — is itself nearly a half-century old.
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