The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

I AM NOT CERTAIN whether my earliest memories are truly mine, because when I bring them to mind, I feel my mothers' breath on every word. But I do remember the taste of the water from our well, bright and cold against my milk teeth. And I'm sure that I was caught up by strong arms every time I stumbled, for I do not recall a time in my early life when I was alone or afraid.

Like every beloved child, I knew that I was the most important person in my mother's world. And most important not only to my mother, Leah, but to my mother-aunties as well. Although they adored their sons, I was the one they dressed up and dandled when the boys were wrestling in the dirt. I was the one who continued going to the red tent with them, long after I was weaned.