Sunday, Nov. 28, 1943
Grim as life was in 1943 for most of the world, America was still a true haven for the oppressed — well mostly so. The Japanese citizens in internment camps might not have agreed. But Abe’s mother would have. Illiterate all her life but astute and practical when it came to her family, she was an incomparable master of the household and manager of the family. I have never had anything to compare with her home-made noodles, gefilte fish, or challah. Today, my parents made the long drive into Brooklyn via the Merritt and Hutchinson Parkways to introduce me to her and my cousins. My grandmother welcomed me into the fold, the third grandchild and the second granddaughter. I don’t seem too excited about the whole thing.