How good to wake up on Saturday to a brisk winter morning–or rather shielded from the reach of it–through the marvels of home insulation and the welcome warming sun coming through the windows. The luxury of being able to start slow– breakfast, percolated coffee and a book.
Finally making my way through the end of Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union which was my travel-to-Southeast-Asia book from nearly six months ago. The protagonist Yiddish shammes Landsman on his way towards professional redemption in his unorthodox crime solving as well as a redemption of the personal type, with his former wife Bina. At this point, recently brought together to follow the leads. Solve the crime.
“All right,” Bina says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get started. What do we do now?”
Landsman taps the wheel, considering his promises and their worth. He was never unfaithful to Bina. But there is no doubt that what broke the marriage was Landsman’s lack of faith. A faith not in God, nor in Bina and her character, but in the fundamental precept that everything befalling them from the moment they met, good and bad, was meant to be. The foolish coyote faith that could keep you flying as long as you kept kidding yourself that you could fly.
“All day I’ve been craving stuffed cabbage,” he says.
Well, at least there’s the appetite and the possibility of return, right?
Stuffed cabbage for you?
Faith and Stuffed Cabbage
How good to wake up on Saturday to a brisk winter morning–or rather shielded from the reach of it–through the marvels of home insulation and the welcome warming sun coming through the windows. The luxury of being able to start slow– breakfast, percolated coffee and a book.
Finally making my way through the end of Michael Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union which was my travel-to-Southeast-Asia book from nearly six months ago. The protagonist Yiddish shammes Landsman on his way towards professional redemption in his unorthodox crime solving as well as a redemption of the personal type, with his former wife Bina. At this point, recently brought together to follow the leads. Solve the crime.
“All right,” Bina says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get started. What do we do now?”
Landsman taps the wheel, considering his promises and their worth. He was never unfaithful to Bina. But there is no doubt that what broke the marriage was Landsman’s lack of faith. A faith not in God, nor in Bina and her character, but in the fundamental precept that everything befalling them from the moment they met, good and bad, was meant to be. The foolish coyote faith that could keep you flying as long as you kept kidding yourself that you could fly.
“All day I’ve been craving stuffed cabbage,” he says.
Well, at least there’s the appetite and the possibility of return, right?
Stuffed cabbage for you?