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Always, by the time the humid, breathless, summer night lifted its veil and a quiet, rosy dawn emerged, when some glimmers of soft, opaque light began to filter through the dried muddy, dusty window…
Great was the joy in the mid-1950s in Budapest’s Klauzál Square, in the house of a widow with many children. Those lining up before her vegetable stand in the market saw her smile for the first time…
The third whistle. Reb Zerakh Lilienthal clutched his beloved family to his heart, kissed them, and boarded the train. He did not have the strength to wish them well yet again. His throat was so tight…