She pauses, looking across the room as if someone were standing there in front of her, someone I cannot see. Leaning forward, she smooths the cloth on the coffee table, making sure that the edges lie perfectly flat and at right angles to the table .
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She switches topics and begins to speak tenderly of the holidays .
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Frania was one of my best friends. She'd come over to our house to celebrate Sukkot, the harvest festival. We'd build an open-air shelter which we hung with little baskets with chestnuts or apples in them, colorful rings of paper, and nuts from the roof, which was made of tree branches. Then at Christmastime, Mama would let us go over to Frania's house and help her family decorate the Christmas tree.
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My favorite holiday was Yom Kippur, because on that day everyone forgave each other and would hug and make up. I loved the whole idea of wiping the slate clean and beginning new and fresh. Being hungry was all in my mind. I would dawdle on the way home just to stretch out my fast as long as possible, eating my dinner slowly and thinking about how my hunger was already gone. There was a sense of accomplishment in fasting all day, and a sense of peace after the Day of Atonement.
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When Zosia, Rena's second-oldest sister, got married, she begged their father to let her keep a little bit of her hair. Rena questioned the reason married women shaved their heads. It was a promise not to be attractive to other men, Mama explained, an acknowledgment of commitment to one's husband .
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Every few weeks Mama would take off her wig and I would shave her head, as is customary in Orthodox homes. With the washbasin and Papa's clippers I guided the teeth across her scalp, careful not to catch the delicate skin with the sharp teeth of the clippers. Mama would close her eyes as if in meditation, and I'd take that moment to study the serenity in her face. Then I'd wipe her scalp as if it were porcelain china. It was so clean and shiny, soft as a baby.
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She would let her eyes remain shut for just a few seconds after
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