My twenty-third grandchild, my twelfth grandson was born this week. It behoves me to count my blessings. Both I and my wife, Judy come from families that were gradually dying out. I had only one cousin, Judy had four, yet all our grandparents came from large families. When our parents were young people didn't want children, certainly not in Central Europe. Some didn't marry, some lost their husbands or fiances during the Holocaust. So now, a generation later I count our blessings, six children, three boys, three girls, all happily married with families. Counting my blessings is an expression that I can't quite explain. I grew up in a liberal European tradition. I cannot believe in a God up above, who takes a personal interest in my welfare. Nor can I believe in the luck of the draw, fate, good things, just as bad things, just happen. All that I can do is to acknowledge my great good fortune and not take it for granted. Somewhere between not taking things for granted and fervently believing in a divine being that pulls the strings lies faith.