ABSTRACT
Temporality was merely an interesting intellectual exercise until I entered Hannah's diaries. There, without the protection of my familiar sense of time and space, I began to understand our frightening dependence on such fragile constructs. Time is our continuity. It makes the "agonizing sense of the infinite" (Grotstein, 1993, p. xiii) consciously experienceable by creating minutes in hours in days, and an internal sense of going-on-being. Our capacity for time is a developmental milestone without which nothing goes forward.
