I wasn’t sure how my appearance would go over with the old crowd. I was certain that my new style would trigger confrontational questions, maybe even mockery
“Look at him, at him, behind the stained shirt and missing teeth, and you can’t help loving him, he’s another Jew”
Add good food, company, and a story retold for generations, and you have the scene set for the tale of Zeidy z”l and the walnut
Who knows what she has sacrificed, this small, lone woman who embraces the Torah with strong skinny arms?
But today and yesterday, five years after burying them, in my nightly half-sleep, those dreams came to me, taunting, “What will be with you, Bracha?”
Year after year, as this scene repeated itself, a piece of my heart would crack. And then, lonely despite the small hands in mine, I’d start the short walk home
