The clay from this jar
is from an even more ancient place,
given to me by my father,
your great-grandfather.
It’s been in our family for generations.
It’s clay, Etan, from the Holy Land,
from generations ago
before our family even came to Prague.
This is the last of it,
and this, too. He points to the other jar.
This is all that remains.
It came with us in this box,
one of the few things we could carry when we had to flee.
I’ve heard the stories before, but now they are coming to life.