Far From Home
Published in Issue #11 Translated from Spanish by Andrea G. Labinger subscribe to unlock the full storyHe isn’t anyone you’d invite to your home for a pleasant chat or to enjoy time spent in his company. Or anyone, God forbid, you’d like to have in the family. Nobody you know would feel proud to call him a friend. Of that you can be sure. He’s simply someone you have to rely on because the moment has come when you need him.
You see, if you, like me, have three daughters – may God grant them long life – one of them already of marriageable age and two others who will be ready in a few years, he’s the one you need; there’s no way around it. Because here is not like there.
Here there’s no small Jewish community like the one where you and your ancestors and their ancestors were born and lived in and watched the river flow since days lost in time. There you could be sure that your oldest daughter could marry young Isaac, the butcher’s son, let’s say, or to give another example, little Elías, the boy from the yard goods store, or even, if you were very lucky, some musician’s son, as joyful as a tambourine.
Although it also could happen that your family was among the humblest. Then, to your misfortune, there would be no other option than to be satisfied with a shoemaker’s apprentice. But even then you could be confident it was a matter of good boys, good future husbands, respectful of our Law and lovers of tradition.
But here that’s not...
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