17 Tammuz 4th Month Out from Egypt
Wild drumbeats rumbled through the ground like distant thunder, pulsing in defiant rhythms and vibrating the hollows of my chest. My fingertips echoed the beat against my knee until a glare from my mother across the tent stilled their dance. “Shira, finish your work.” Her bone needle resumed its skillful motion as she bent her head to peer at her embroidery. The dim oil lamp highlighted the silvery strands that seemed to thread her dark hair more each day—a trend that had begun a few years ago, when my father died against an Egyptian whipping post.