We may have finally made it from Kovno, but the way things looked, I’d never get to see what Chevron was like
February 1927
“Can I please, please go?” I begged for the tenth time. The baskets and boxes and valises were piled up all over the floor and I could barely walk without tripping on something. We may have finally made it from Kovno, but the way things looked, I’d never get to see what Chevron was like.
Mama looked up from where she was cutting a loaf of bread for little Leiba and sighed. “Alright,” she said, “when Papa comes inside, you can ask him. You’ve helped a lot, you deserve to see Chevron a little. “Me too?” Dovid asked, suddenly looking up from the box he was fiddling with.
“You, too.” Mama nodded tiredly. “As long as you push that box to the side so no one trips over it while you’re gone.”
I frowned at the floor. Why did he get to come along? I helped way more than he did, for all he thinks he’s so big and special.
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