Places

We’ve gone and left our home. Our house of wooden boards and thatched roof and empty rooms.

We’ve gone and left our home and my sisters have left us, each to their own path. But they went away long before today. Today, though, is goodbye. A farewell that may last forever.

We are away to America, for we are not permitted to stay. Jews are not welcome here, not anymore. Though the land is ours, and the house is ours, and the yard is ours, and the barn is ours, and the animals ours, and the wildflowers that sprout up in the field ours too.

America, is the land of the free, so they say. I wonder if they will demand us to leave and take our house, and our land, our cow, and our flowers too.

The others in town are away to the Holy Land, and I wonder if we belong there more than anywhere.

Only Anna and I are left of our sisters. Mama and Papa are here too. But Papa is sad. His sadness slips out when he yells at Mama or raves at the buzzing of a fly. Mama is silent, stoic, expressionless. Her heart is broken too.

We are all displaced.

Do we have a place?

//I sketched this vignette after watching Fiddler on the Roof. I was curious to know what they younger sisters thought of the story’s conclusion. Thoughts?//

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