I need to amplify this subject, how my father treated his wife, my mother.  We can understand a person best by how they treat those closest to them.  For now, this one regular scene from our family dinner table, when the war was not actively raging.

My mother from time to time would express concern about some possibly life-threatening turn in my father’s health.  He always had the same breezy answer ready for her expression of concern.

“Don’t worry, Ehvie,” he would say cheerfully “only the good die young.”   

My mother’s response was always the same too.  Her nostrils would instantly flare, her eyes would become wet and she’d begin to sob.  My sister and I would look at each other and shake our heads, though neither of us could have explained exactly why we were reacting like two wise, old Jews.

NOTE to self (gracias a Gaj): loo-doo