Dorina

My grandmother nursed twelve.
Like the tribes.
She nursed my mother — and eleven others who weren’t hers.
Children of other mothers, with less luck and less milk.
On a small boat, on the journey from the inferno to the Promised Land, in 1948.

She lived to see three fifth-generations in her lifetime (the children of her great-grandchildren), and passed away a year and a half ago at the age of 96, with her spirit and mind still her own, still clear.

She extended her breast — and from the collective bleeding, gave milk and life.
Just like we do now.
In a world torn by flames — we are still passing down the basket of Moses.
Together, we protect the offspring.
Heroic women sharing breast milk.

In life-saving mutual responsibility.
Just as we always were. Just as they always told of us in the Diaspora.
Our mutual responsibility is not a slogan — it’s the connecting thread flowing between us.
And just like back then, on the boat, in the dark — we are passing down the Milky Way at the speed of light.

And this is our gift.
My grandmother passed on the scarlet thread, made entirely of life —
And I, her Shunik, could not help but carry it forward.
Right now.

🙏🍷
I named this painting “Dorina” —
After my grandmother. After feminine courage and mutual responsibility.