My grandparents… they’re suffering. Of course they are, a logical voice inside me says. She’s their daughter, isn’t she?
Breakfast is a depressing event.
Last night, there were so many people around, but this morning it’s just us: Bubby and Zeidy and Yaakov and me. Bowls of cornflakes and cups of coffee and tea that no one’s interested in.
Bubby is… well, I’ve never seen her so distressed. She keeps offering everyone things over and over, standing up, sitting down, whispering Tehillim. She’s made everyone hot drinks but hasn’t touched her own. Zeidy, I notice, has touched his glass perfunctorily to his lips but doesn’t seem to be drinking either.
I suddenly feel like I want all the aunts and uncles to come back, sit around the table with us. It hadn’t been fun, all the people and no one really knowing what to do or say, but at least I felt like everyone was involved. Like the world had stopped to try to get my parents and siblings back safely. Now what? Has everyone forgotten about us? About them, my family stuck in India? What do we do? What can I do? I’m just a girl, I don’t have contacts or have authority anywhere….
“We need to daven,” Bubby says, and it’s as if she’s reading my thoughts. Her voice is shaky and my heart twinges. This is badly affecting her. All of us.
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