Babi’s time spent in prayer grew longer. After supper she would put on her angora shawl, take her prayer book, and sit in her armchair facing the front window, becoming so absorbed in her reading that she did not even notice the fading of the light. One evening, Rozsi and I came in from sitting on the porch to find Babi bent over her book with the bedroom in dark shadows. “Babi, you always tell me not to ruin my eyes and here you are reading in the dark,” said Rozsi, lighting the kerosene lamp. “I’m not really reading. After you have said these prayers for over fifty years, they become part of you. I just keep the book open in case I forget a word here and there.” “Babi,” I asked, “don’t you get bored reading the same book all the time?” “No, Piri, one can never grow bored with this book, because every time I read or recite I find more meaning in the words. It has all the traditions and laws of the Jewish household.” Babi closed her book and sat in silence for a while.
What do You think about Upon The Head Of The Goat?
