At dawn the next day, Hanan stood by the east window, facing the Temple. His tallit was draped over his head. The leather strap of his tefillin was wrapped around his upper arm, hand, and fingers, and the two small leather boxes were on his arm and forehead. He rocked back and forth as he chanted the Shema and other prayers.
Esther wished she could burn his image into her memory. What if she forgot his face? For once, she envied the Romans who were allowed to make graven images and draw pictures of people. Maybe that Roman Tiberius had drawn her father too. Even though she couldn’t look at it, she would like to know it was there. In her mind, her father’s face would fade, but it would stay on the papyrus forever. Could that truly be a sin?
She was sure her father hadn’t noticed her. When he was in his daily conversation with God, a jar could crash down next to him, and he wouldn’t flinch. Today, though, in the middle of his prayers, he motioned her over. She walked tentatively toward him, and he lifted his arm to bring her under the tent of his tallit. She could feel his warmth as she stood next to him. She inhaled, wanting to imprint on her memory his scent of old wax, from the tablets he worked on all day, and the minty cardamom that he chewed to calm his gut.
When Hanan finished chanting his prayers, he looked at her with a question in his eyes. She knew what he was asking. Would she give her consent? Would she marry Lazar? Esther wanted to do as he asked, and she knew she should be grateful that he was seeking her opinion at all. But she would never love Lazar. Never.
The sun streamed through the small window near the ceiling and illuminated the specks of dust floating in a narrow beam of light. Hanan followed her gaze.
“All are from dust, and to dust all return,” he said. “Did you ever notice that you can see the motes of dust suspended in the air only when the room is dark and there’s just a sliver of light?”
She looked up toward the shaft of light.
“I have just a sliver of light left,” he said. “That’s why I can see things you can’t. My mother, my father, and the sons I’ve buried are waiting for me, just like I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I don’t want you to wait for me there,” Esther said. “I want you to stay with me here.” Tears blurred her vision; her father seemed to be disappearing already.