An old man sits amid the destruction on what’s left of a wall and lets the tears stream from his eyes. He seems not to have the strength to dry them. Maybe he means never to dry them. A woman clutches her head, not knowing which way to turn. She has lost her children. There is no one near to help her find them. She won’t find them. I don’t know that for sure but my fears for her authorise me to say it. We are in a world emptied of good fortune, never mind God, where children aren’t found and husbands and wives don’t come back.
I turn off the television. My wife is out with friends. Alone, at my weakest, I let my own tears flow. They are a Jew’s tears but they are all I have.
