Hey. It’s 4:43 AM in Jerusalem. I just woke up crying, from the sweetest/saddest dream. I was holding you....
"Because I am totally nuts, but I can make it sound reasonably like a joke. It might even be a joke? I can't even tell myself anymore."
We are all products of the triumphs and foibles of our parents. Perhaps one difference is that while some of us try our hardest to forget, others of us work just as hard to keep our memories alive.
Was I right then to keep it, this piece of Israel forever mine, something to hold, something to carry, like a gift or a found treasure or a stolen trinket?
