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A Mother’s Shoah, An apology

An apology


Before the deportation, in 1944.

Oh my Alex …… these goodly number of dots stand for all the love-stricken phrases I want to heap on you… They also let me dispense with writing in a poetic flourish usually associated with sixteen year old girls, in love for the first time. The first few sentences I wrote as an apology, in case you get lost or confused while reading, considering how long this letter might become by the time I finish it. I would like to start at the last time we were together; that is when you were ordered, along with every other men of your age to march on the double out of the Tapolca ghetto. I do want to write about everything, except for those details I could explain to you much better in person, once we are together again. For certain events, one could write novels about; except that they still hurt so much I’d rather allow the wounds to heal sufficiently before reopening them again.