“Are you hungry, Reuven?” my father asked me. “I’m starved,” I said. “There is lunch on the table. We will eat together. Then you can lie on the porch and rest while I finish typing my article.” Lunch turned out to be a massive affair, with a thick soup, fresh rye bread, onion rolls, bagels, cream cheese, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, and chocolate pudding. My father and I ate without talking while Manya hovered over us like a protective bear, and afterwards my father went into his study and I walked slowly through the apartment. I had lived in it all my life, but I never really saw it until
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