I didn't know he
was my shul
my language
my mother tongue
and prayer
the zeyde I lost,
and bubbies
I never had.
Or that he was my homeland.
And exile.
My nakedness.
I didn’t know
when I met him
twenty five years ago
that I had needed
a place to
dwell
in.
Or that knowing
turned less
into more
And more
into
less.
Oh,
where
shall I dwell
when he’s
gone
Where
shall
I
when
he’s
Where
I
-Esther Altshul Helfgott
Sunday, November 06, 2005
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1 comment:
Esther, I am so moved by the eloguence and poignancy of what you artfully leave unsaid.
I am trying to stand in that silence with you. I hope you can feel my presence.
Loce,
Pesha
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