The Red Tent

The Red TentMy name means nothing to you. My memory is dust. This is not your fault or mine. The chain connecting mother to daughter was broken and the word passed to the keeping of men, who had no way of knowing. That is why I became a footnote, my story a brief detour between the well known history of my father Jacob, and the celebrated chronicle of Joseph, my brother. Lost to history by the chronicles of men, here at last is the dazzling story of Dinah,