To some people, sewing is an art, a satisfying means of creative expression. To others, it’s a profession. To many of us it’s simply a way of keeping our clothes from falling into tatters, a necessary evil that keeps our buttons buttoned, our hems from sagging.
To us Sisters, though, sewing represents one thing: our mother, Rose Stark a”h.
The word evokes an almost tangible image of Mommy plying a dressmaker’s needle in order to help Daddy — who gently wielded a butcher’s meat cleaver — feed and clothe the three of us, to pay for the steep but necessary costs of a Torah education.