I opened the door to my apartment, touched the "mezuzah" and understood deeply, however fleetingly, the sacred obligation for affixing a container with a tiny "torah" scroll inside on the entrance ways of our homes.
A wave of gratefulness weaved its way into my consciousness. I stood for a brief moment, contemplating the warm, embracing welcome of concrete walls adorned with colorful paintings drawn with skill and love by a devoted wife, the table and chairs from which to enjoy plentiful meals, the marvel of modern appliances to add comfort and ease to everyday chores, the expanse of blue sky stretching before me as I dreamily gazed out the window into a distance going nowhere and everywhere.
I was home.I put down the bag of groceries, stepped into the bedroom, sat on the bouncy bed and caught sight of photographs resting on the dresser.One, brownish images of a handsome young couple, he dapper-looking in a European style sports cap, she in a simple dress that brought forth plain beauty.The other, in sharp tones of black and white , captured the luxurious moment of marriage, the man in tux and top hat, the bride, stunning in flowing satin, gazing downwards toward a future of uncertainty girded in dreams.
One day I thought, my children's bedroom dressers would have on exhibition a photograph of my wife and me and elicit , on occasion, a memory of love.
I sit at my desk, putting the cloth of grateful fabric into words, encircled by books, an embrace of wisdom and knowlede, a refuge and shelter, a home within a home.
"Baruch ata b' voecha, baruch ata betzaytecha"-May you be blessed when you arrive and blessed when you depart. I am blessed when I arrive, I am blessed when I depart, knowing that a home awaits me.
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