“They need words. Persuasion. Reassurance, that they are doing the Will of the Almighty, and that He is orchestrating this crescendo of history”
IT is still hours before daybreak when Leonora gives up on sleep. She pulls herself to a sitting position and reaches over to her bedside table. She picks up a bottle of olive oil infused with lavender and rose, and rubs a few drops on her wrist, bringing it to her face.
The fragrance calms, but she will not sleep. Not with the seudat preidah tonight, or, as she calls it in her mind, the seudat hageulah.
A peek into the looking glass confirms what she feels: old, haggard. What was it that Ines said to her last night? Is it not heavy for you to carry the great boulder of our exile on your own shoulders?
She whips off the covers and dresses quickly, then pads down the stairs to the working area of the house. She sits down at her desk and reaches for the first letter that has been waiting for her attention. She lifts the parchment close, but the light is too dim.
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