What is better, bitterness or innocence? Emptiness or the wisdom that comes with facing the darkness?
H
annah swallows her anxiety as she faces the little wooden door, deep in the old Jewish ghetto. Even the snow is gray here, trodden on by muddy boots — and sometimes, dirty feet — and there’s the smell of frying onions, which should be a good smell, a Shabbos smell, but somehow it makes something acidic rise at the back of her throat.
She hesitates. This is it. The address Sarah has given her.
The wooden carton of food is heavy in her hand, and she hesitates, unsure of whether to put it down on the slushy cobblestones or to prop it against her leg in a most unladylike fashion to free a hand so she can knock on the door.
She is still deliberating when the door flies open. Hannah startles, gripping the carton.
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