BY Patrice O’Shaughnessy

Holocaust survivors protest Iranian president’s visit to the UN.

When I worked as a teller at Citibank on White Plains Road and Pelham Parkway, before ATMs took hold and everyone had to come up to the counter to make deposits or cash their paychecks, I got to know many of the customers. The neighborhood was predominantly Jewish then, and the clientele included a lot of older immigrants who oozed warmth and humor through thick accents.

There was one lady in particular, though, who only smiled shyly, nodded hello and said a quick thank you after every transaction. Nothing more, nothing less each time.

One day I spotted the numbers on her arm, bluish tattooed digits. The Nazis had marred her body with this ink. She had been in a concentration camp.

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