looking for Selinger, part 4

I've come to realize I'll never know what really happened, and I'm trying to make my peace with that. Did Willy Selinger, Commandant of the labor camp at Adampol, order the SS down on his own people? Harold Werner, a partisan, says he made a phone call. Under oath, Selinger tells a different story, of... Continue Reading →

bedtime stories

After the birth of our fourth child, my mother comes to stay with us. She has wavy red hair, the high cheekbones of Eastern Europe, a ready laugh, and boundless energy. She is a much better homemaker than I am, a real balebusta. Before she goes to sleep at night, the house is spotless, the... Continue Reading →

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