Chavi knew too much about fiery destruction, probably had nightmares about sparks and embers
I didn’t know the Sterns, but I knew their story. Everyone knew their story. The merciless flames that had consumed their home had also consumed their precious five-year-old daughter, Shani.
It was the type of story that pulls on the heartstrings of young and old alike, the type of story that brought with its retelling a somber atmosphere and hushed voices. It was the sort of story beyond human ability to comprehend. Painful, so painful.
We were members of the same community and the same shul, but I didn’t know the family personally. That is, until a couple of years ago, when I was hired as a counselor for the nine-year-olds at a local camp, and the Sterns’ daughter Chavi was to be in my bunk.
She’s fine, I was told at the handover meeting, but she won’t come to any camp bonfires, so you’ll have to keep that in mind. Of course. Chavi knew too much about fiery destruction, probably had nightmares about sparks and embers and the sounds of the fire department coming a few heart-stopping minutes too late.
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