Whenever I see her I see Ethiopia.
I picture her walking in the barren woods on the mud-packed paths or whatever they have — I don’t really know how it looks there — but I know by her spirited innocent childlike steps while she carries 50-kilo boxes on her shoulders that she’s there.
We are about the same age I imagine. She works in the house just across the street. I work in mine. We see each other at the trash bin sometimes.
For about a year we just smiled and inclined our heads. The next year we exchanged some words. But already we are friends and hardly need any words.
She is a Jew and so am I. This is our language.
Create a free account to keep reading.
