No rehearsal, no practice time. But someone, something, is rooting for us.
As the Rabbi continued chanting the Torah portion, Steven took the star-shaped paper to the back of the Shul, near where the coffee maker, the cheese Danishes, and the bottle of Slivovitz always were. He unfolded the paper and noticed first, that it was a hand-written note, and that whomever had written it had exquisite penmanship. ‘Dear Dr. Rice,’ it began.
‘I know you are upset...
Potential experiments are everywhere, but I'm afraid.
“Mommy, next time you daven to Hashem can you please, please, ask for another baby?”
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?
Food, you are sublime, terrifying, and filled with struggle. I love you, but why must you cause such guilt and fear?
Rachel wants you to be free. Even if it's scary.
