Would we spend the rest of our lives wondering why we’d hadn’t contacted the myriad of magical figures living in our midst?
There is nothing I can say or do
to make things change
Time has a way of passing by so fast
Like a fleeting shadow no one will recall
The faces of the past
—“Memories,” composed by Abie Rotenberg
I
t was during the height of the coronavirus that despondent messages began to cross the Atlantic, between our respective locations of New York and Beit Shemesh. Had we missed our last opportunity?
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