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When I was born, Robert G. Mehlman was at the peak of his glory. He was more than a major talent. But within five years there wasn’t much of that glory left, and my mother sometimes compared him to a…
All the Jewish children’s homes and live-in kindergartens that Robi Singer had been attending since the age of four had something in common. Besides a birth certificate and vaccination papers, they…
The train pulls up to the platform, steaming and boiling like a samovar.
Lazar is standing on the platform—short, glowing, joyful—waving his dirty handkerchief at the cars.
The train is on its way to…