She will need a scribe. Someone who will walk around the factory and not simply assume that he has seen destruction, but will open his eyes and note down the details

How does she do it? Scratching out words and numbers and talking to him at the same time?

It is not a long journey, she repeats to herself, a mantra. But it is a journey that means stepping into the unknown

“The navi Hoshea. Can you imagine, Mama. He had a body, he lived and walked these hills, and here he rests”

As he moves, his tzitzis flap gently; they are dyed green, and she wonders why, for she has only seen tzitzis made of yellowing wool

And then, a rustle. Bilhah freezes. She blinks, trying to stare through the shifting shadows and the blackness. Someone is out here, with her

How could she? How could she be so cruel? Then again, what else to expect from a woman who has so much?

“I do not believe in coddling children. This is a harsh world. The sooner they learn this, the sooner they will adapt”

He pushes open the door and sees Leonora sitting behind her desk. She looks different here, her authority is unmistakable

“An old man does not mean a lame man. The next time the physician comes from Damascus, see him”

“Hurrem Sultan told me she would find me a match. And I want to know if you would look in the stars and see if that will come to pass”