“We are a cursed people,” the speaker announces. “Periodically we are destroyed, we struggle up again, we are reborn. That is our destiny.” The words act like adrenaline on my mother. Her cheeks begin to glow. Tears brighten her eyes. Her jawline grows firm. Her skin achieves muscle tone. “Come inside,” she says softly to me, thinking to do me a good turn. “Come. You’ll feel better.” I shake my head no. “Being Jewish can’t help me anymore,” I tell her. She holds tightly to my arm. She neither confirms nor denies my words, only looks directly into my face. “Remember,” she says. “You are my
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