First buds of--is it peach or plumb--blossoms breaking out of the dead looking tree. The fig is budding too--tight green bumps that unfurl to hand shaped leaves
Walked through a metal gate and construction site to find the majestic old Eitz Haim Yeshiva. It feels haunted, or like stepping back in time. A small curcle of light falls on the uneven stone steps. Old inscriptions dot every wall. The paint spackles and dirt glow in the light breaking through the door
The playground is both a mixed, uniting space, and so separate. Each social group sticks to themselves, as though surrounded by a glass bowl. The four Haredi boys climb to the top of the rope pyramid. Their mother is catching the afternoon prayer behind them. The three young hijab-clad Arab mothers congregate by the swings. The two Modern-Orthodox French families are by the sea-saw. The kids run between each other, but don't really interact. The little Arab boy gives Y. A smile.
The red swiss-cheese style climbing toy picks up on the shape and pattern of the red sheet hanging from the distant balcony behind it
The elegiac light breaking through the playground at the end of this winterspring day
made meatballs for the first time in my life, and shocked by the fleshy, fatty texture of the ground turkey in my hands
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