![](https://article-imgs.scribdassets.com/8ipck5npq8bo46ci/images/file66HL6I70.jpg)
My childhood was filled with my mum Mira’s singing and laughter.
She always looked beautiful and I loved the smell of her hairspray and the touch of her soft skin.
There was an undeniable light around Mum that nothing could dim – not even the tattoo on her forearm. That dirty blue prisoner registration number permanently etched onto her skin. A souvenir from Auschwitz – A-26103.
I’d always known she was a survivor of the Holocaust, the terrible atrocity that had seen six million Jews murdered in World