Mendel and Esther will not leave their child. Even though she’s an adult. Even though she’s being completely irrational.
I hold the cup of steaming Earl Gray, watching the gently unfurling wisps of steam.
My grandmother smooths the lacy embroidered tablecloth and her green eyes take on that faraway look. Wherever she is now, it’s definitely not at 22 Riverside Drive, Golders Green, London.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I refused to go into the bomb shelter?”
Stoke Newington, London, 1940s
The Nazis are blitzing through Britain with lightning speed. Night after night the Luftwaffe turn drizzly gray London streets into blazing infernos. The dreaded whine of the air-raid siren becomes an all-too familiar sound.
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