ABSTRACT
I am a Jewish mother because I am the daughter of a Jewish mother. My mother, Lillian Chesler (of blessed memory), died on February 24, 1998. Only now that she is gone do I really begin to know her. I think about her more now than when she was alive. She is more present, closer. I hear her more clearly—I know just what she would say in any given circumstance. I have learned her lines. I know them well. Although I fled from the family madness, violence, secrecy, and denial, I have also come to understand that my mother is the one person I have most tried to please, the one person whom I could never please—and she might say the very same thing about me.
