Stories About Jewish Names

“Listen to me, Mrs. Rosenberg,” her heavy face was flushed with excitement. “Let me take her. Why should she die, the innocent babe? I will care for her as if she was my own. I never had children, you know. Give her to me . . .”

One morning, when Paul was seven, I received a stat call to the emergency room . . . “Oh G‑d,” I pleaded in my thoughts, “Please, not this one. Not him.”