Sister

Dvora Baron

1910

As a symbol of the past—all sadness and humility—my mother’s face swims up and rises before my eyes. Her eyes two black abysses, anguish peering from them; her lips moist and rosy, a smile always hovering over them.

Did she also have beautiful hair? Did she have a nice voice? Who knows? She was a modest Jewish woman who never sang out loud in her…

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