“Dinner’s ready!” my Aunt Esther called, and all six of us — my two sisters, three cousins and I — raced down the long hallway into the kitchen, the pungent aroma of chicken soup whetting our appetites. My mother’s older sister Esther lived in Bayonne, N.J. with my Uncle Abe and their three children: Marilyn, Ruthie and Alan. Growing up, we often took an afternoon drive to our cousins’ home. We went there for Thanksgiving dinner, the Passover seder and many Friday night Shabbos meals. They owned a duplex an … (read more)
