It was different before the birth, what did he have then? Grainy images, a sound like a horse or a train that they said was a heartbeat, a baby that seemed all Denya’s — and now the baby’s here, and he’s his
He passes the little security booth that was his camp for the night, waves to Yoav, who’s taken over for him an hour early. He crosses over to the small knot of houses at the entrance of the moshav.
The remainder of the houses are scattered over a dozen streets. They are a few hundred people staking out their claim to this land, this hill, to settle it, to work it, to live together — and apart from the rest.
They are stubborn, persevering, many of them following the path of their fathers before them, but a growing group of others, too. People with the unlikeliest of pasts coming up here, perhaps to flee, perhaps to find, drawn by the land and the love and the longing to be grounded in the most elemental way.
The breeze picks up, and it carries a cry.
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