ABSTRACT
She lies on the couch in her room, in need of rest to appease her tired limbs after having completed the routine chores of housekeeping. I have come from afar to be with her in the big and fascinating city of New York, together with Tomer, my 8-year-old son. She, my grandmother-my mother’s mother-Klara (Kempler) Schlesinger. Her face has strong, sharp features, her green eyes shine with the wisdom of a woman of 84. Today, as usual, she is pleasantly dressed, a matching chain around her neck, her hair well cared for. Her image, her reddish colours and her straight chin jutting forward, awaken within me the association of an elderly lioness.
