A Fragile Life–A Memoir
It was just a whisper, a brush against my ear. “Elisheva.” He was calling my name. It was like that, on and off, since that dreadful day. Perhaps he had experienced the same calling from the grave, by his beloved parents. Both lost to him that year. My trips to the cemetery didn’t bring him closer. I’d crouch by his newly laid grave in the rose garden, and talk to him. I wasn’t supposed to be there. It was forbidden by Jewish law but I was looking for him, among the rows of unscented roses. It e
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Apr 18th 2019