For me, it was difficult to bridge the gap between Mirotchka, the daughter of Ephraïm and Emma Rabinovitch, and Myriam Bouveris, the grandmother I spent summers with between the peaks of the Vaucluse and the mountains of the Luberon. It was no simple matter to put everything together. I had trouble keeping track of all the different periods of history. This family was like an overlarge bouquet of flowers that I couldn’t quite keep a grip on.
