The author's story behind the story:
It all started with a smile. Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) had arrived and my great-uncle Morris had come over for lunch to celebrate. In addition to talking and eating, I hoped that this would also be a day for reminiscing, for I'd always wanted to know about the man in the portrait that had been hanging in the hallway for years.
"Who was that man and what was he like?" I asked as my great-uncle brought the large portrait closer.
With his glasses now up on his forehead, he was face-to-face with a man he hadn't seen in 88 years-his own beloved grandfather Avram, whom he'd left at the train station in Russia so many years ago. That photograph, which I had always found a bit mysterious, was making my uncle Morris beam. For an instant, I could swear that Avram smiled back. And in that moment, a story was born.
It all started with a smile. Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) had arrived and my great-uncle Morris had come over for lunch to celebrate. In addition to talking and eating, I hoped that this would also be a day for reminiscing, for I'd always wanted to know about the man in the portrait that had been hanging in the hallway for years.
"Who was that man and what was he like?" I asked as my great-uncle brought the large portrait closer.
With his glasses now up on his forehead, he was face-to-face with a man he hadn't seen in 88 years-his own beloved grandfather Avram, whom he'd left at the train station in Russia so many years ago. That photograph, which I had always found a bit mysterious, was making my uncle Morris beam. For an instant, I could swear that Avram smiled back. And in that moment, a story was born.
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