The author’s father was born in 1900 and fled the Ukraine and its pogroms.
He lived through the many tragedies that marked the 20th century and escaped
death more than once. During more than fifty years, he wrote his memories in
school copybooks, first in Russian, then in Yiddish and finally, in French.
These copybooks started piling up and filing up the cupboards. Some have a blue cover, other are red, gray or yellow. They also have a number on the front page, as well as various remarks. When one opens them, it is very difficult to read: the handwriting is tight, the words are often transformed
and the syntax is very free. 
However, this Yiddish-tainted French is quite delicious!