Today we explored the botanical gardens walking to Nayot passed the myriad Jerusalem cafes aligning Derech Aza. We saw the yellow green bark of the pistachio, the oak, the cypress, the olive, the balsam, the trees and flowers of the middle east and the mediteranean. And then continued to Ein Kerem and visited Yad Vashem (Hand and Name... huge triangular holocaust memorial). We saw it and came out of it with the setting sun over the Ya'ar Yerushalayim (forest of Jerusalem). I can't say any more about the memorial and the images and stories and recountings, and what I saw, and heard and felt, the room of books full of names. The images of children, the paintings, the journals, the ribbons from their clothes, the mothers holding their children, the tears, shoes, spectacles, emerald necklaces and the dark valley beyond tears. And the faces that turned away, and the very few faces who turned towards and the very many more evil hands. Some things can't be adequately written down.
And my shulamith, where is she. At the bottom of a pit? Transmuted into ash? Emaciated, cradling her child at the last?
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