ברוך אתה ה' אלהינו, מלך העולם...Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam...
her eyes speak the silence of how they left a long time ago with wealth abundant clothes, books, and a pinch of mud. the shelves lay bare lifeless and open waiting to be filled, no one brings anything. the walls yellowed, mouldy and cracked smells of unwanted longing. unkempt belongings, lie hither thither no order prevails, none exist. outside, the world moves tourists come, peers inside her home, the ruins. they look through the looking glass amused at the kippah and mitzvot seeing the remains of the day. seconds become hours, when there is no one coming her frailness is the culture's doom, her silence is the mischpacha's death.
