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On the eve of the Sabbath I am always tormented by the dense sorrow of memory. In the past on these evenings, my grandfather’s yellow beard caressed the volumes of Ibn Ezra. My old grandmother, in her…
One Sabbath eve, as darkness fell, Noah lay hidden among the thorns and thistles growing under the fences outside the quarter and waited. He knew that Marinka would be returning this way from her…