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This is my child and she needs and needs and needs. I can’t look at her. I can’t look at myself

“Look at him, at him, behind the stained shirt and missing teeth, and you can’t help loving him, he’s another Jew”

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?”

I stand there with my years’ worth of baggage. Praying for another year

This year I’m not looking for much at all, thank goodness. You know, just health, happiness, sustenance. The usual

I opened the cover now the way I’d greet a long-lost friend, holding my breath and wondering what I’d remember