My Mother’s Eyes

My mother, Chava Rosenberg, about 1946-47, aged 22-23. What those eyes had seen. Survivor of Auschwitz. When she and her elder sister, Charna, OBM, ¬†arrived at the death camp, my mother looked off in the distance and said (in Yiddish) to Charna, “Look at those fine white pigs”. My aunt said “Those aren’t pigs, they […]

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THE TRAPEZE by Elaine Rosenberg Miller She imagined herself standing on a powdery ledge, aloft, in a tutu. White tighted. No. Pink tighted. Hair tied in a top knot, a short satin ribbon dangling. One hand on the metal bar, the other on the rope, toes pointed, gazing down at the crowd, their eyes upturned […]

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FOURTH OF JULY by Elaine Rosenberg Miller My earliest memories begin at the age of three years old. I know I was three because I remember my fourth birthday party. We were living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn in a second floor walk up tenement located at 112 McKibbin Street. I, my sister, sixteen months older and […]

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