Halina Rubin books

Journeys with My Mother

—Wisława Szymborska We sit in a small restaurant, Jacqueline and I, by the impossibly blue and serene lake in Lausanne. Small boats bob on the water and all around us, under red and white parasols, people enjoy ice-creams. It’s a picture-postcard place. The irony is not lost on us: it would be di...