Aunt Lily

May 3, 2016

She married when I was 7 years old, breaking my heart. More a mother to me than my mother, she was not only leaving home, but moving with her new husband to Boston—which for me was some vague place as far-away as the moon. She said I would visit her, she said it would be the same, she said we would still be close. But even at the age of 7, I knew better. She would have her own children and a different life. I couldn’t stop weeping.


Born in 1894 she was placed with her sisters—my mother, Florence, and Mabel—in The Jewish Orphan Home in Cleveland, Ohio. Florence was 3, Lily 4 and Mabel, 6. Separated from her sisters, she was shorn and scrubbed in a scalding- hot pool, put into a dress that itched summer and winter and assigned a bed in the dormitory. Awakened at 5:45 every morning and called by her row to the washroom, she saw twenty faucets which shot ice cold water. Breakfast was a kind of gruel without milk or sugar, stale coffee, a slice of bread covered lightly with margarine. 


She worked in the kitchen, dormitory, and laundry, sweeping, scrubbing, washing, ironing. Carefully prepared along with the other girls to be a wife and mother and, if unmarried, a domestic servant. She was warned against being a stenographer or saleslady where temptation and corruption lurked to lead her astray...



Click here to read entire post on the Huffington Post Website

Please reload

Featured Posts

Although I believe censorship is a potential danger to the First Amendment’s protection of free speech, I find myself wistful for the bad old days of...

Why I Find Myself Wistful for the Old Days of Movie Censorship

June 24, 2016

Please reload

Recent Posts

October 21, 2016

August 10, 2016

June 6, 2016

May 3, 2016

February 17, 2016

January 8, 2016

Please reload

Please reload

Search By Tags

I'm busy working on my blog posts. Watch this space!

Please reload

Follow Us
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Google+ Basic Square