“They need words. Persuasion. Reassurance, that they are doing the Will of the Almighty, and that He is orchestrating this crescendo of history”

IT is still hours before daybreak when Leonora gives up on sleep. She pulls herself to a sitting position and reaches over to her bedside table. She picks up a bottle of olive oil infused with lavender and rose, and rubs a few drops on her wrist, bringing it to her face.

The fragrance calms, but she will not sleep. Not with the seudat preidah tonight, or, as she calls it in her mind, the seudat hageulah.

A peek into the looking glass confirms what she feels: old, haggard. What was it that Ines said to her last night? Is it not heavy for you to carry the great boulder of our exile on your own shoulders?

She whips off the covers and dresses quickly, then pads down the stairs to the working area of the house. She sits down at her desk and reaches for the first letter that has been waiting for her attention. She lifts the parchment close, but the light is too dim.

A soft knock at her door, and it gently opens. She looks up. Who would be awake at this time?

“Amram.”

Seeing her hand on the unlit candle, he takes it, leaves the room, and returns a few moments later with a dancing flame. He sets it beside her on the table.

She smiles at him, surprised at how grateful she feels.

“How did you know I was here?” she asks.

“We know how hard you work, Mama. It is no secret.”

Her smile becomes a grimace. “Ines makes me feel that it is something for which I must apologize.”

Amram shrugs. “You make your choices.”

“But it is nice when someone cares what those choices are.”

Her voice is sharper than she intends and she sees Amram stiffen. She regrets her tone.