On This Foundation Read Online Free PDF Page A

rain.
    They reached the steep steps leading down to the city, and Chana released her sister to grip the handholds as she descended. Halfway down, Abba paused to catch his breath. “You girls feed me too well,” he said, patting his bulging middle. “Let me catch my breath.” It puffed like smoke in the cold air as he spoke.
    They rested for a moment, then continued downhill toward their house, built near the ruins of the city’s western wall. Chana hoped the coals on the hearth had kept their house warm while they’d been gone. She longed to run ahead to escape the biting wind, but her gregarious father couldn’t help stopping to greet people along the way. As ruler of the half-district of Jerusalem, he always took time to listen to people’s concerns and to share their joys. He knew who was ill, which families didn’t have quite enough to eat, and who the latest robbery victimswere. The bad news always grieved him. But Abba also loved sharing people’s joy. He savored every morsel of happy news in Jerusalem from betrothals to births to bar mitzvahs. Yitzhak’s father, Rephaiah, who was ruler over the other half-district of Jerusalem, worked closely with Abba.
    â€œOnce we’re married, we’ll reign over Jerusalem as king and queen,” Yitzhak used to tease. “Our sons will be little princes.”
    And now he was gone.
    â€œI’m going to run ahead,” Chana told Yudit, “and make sure the soup is still warm.” Abba had stopped to talk to Uzziel, one of the goldsmiths, and Chana didn’t want to get into a conversation with Uzziel’s wife, who always gripped Chana’s arm with viselike fingers, holding her captive as she recited a list of eligible men, including her youngest son. On any other day, Chana was happy to perform her social duties for her father, but not today. She hurried down the Street of the Bakers to her home near the Tower of the Ovens, named before the destruction of Jerusalem and the exile. No bakers lived on the street anymore, and the ovens and tower lay in ruins.
    Thankfully, the main room of their house was still warm and so was the soup. Chana lit two lamps, spread a cloth on the table, and placed cushions and pillows on the stools and chairs so they could sit down to eat as soon as Abba and her sisters arrived. All three of them were laughing about something as they blew in through the door, as if pushed inside by the wind. “Close the door!” Chana chided. “You’re letting all the warm air out.”
    â€œYou don’t have to shout,” Sarah said.
    She hadn’t meant to. Chana helped her father remove his cloak and hung it on a peg for him. But instead of sitting down, Abba remained standing. He turned to Chana, cupping her face in his icy hands, and kissed her forehead.
    â€œListen, my angel. It will soon be a year since Yitzhak was taken from us. Even if you had been married to him, a year isenough time to mourn. He wouldn’t want you to grieve any longer. How he would hate to see you so sad!” He caressed her cheek with his thumb.
    â€œAnd when Mama died, didn’t you grieve?” she asked, her throat tight. “Don’t you still miss her?”
    â€œSuch foolish questions you ask,” he said, lowering his hands. “Of course I do. Of course I understand your grief. A thousand times a day I am reminded of your mother. You have her soft, brown eyes, Chana. And her generous heart. But you’re only twenty-three years old, my angel. Your whole life waits for you. Didn’t the Almighty One say it wasn’t good for man to live alone?”
    â€œThen why haven’t you remarried, Abba?”
    â€œThat’s different. I enjoyed the gift of marriage for more than twenty years. And besides, who says I won’t marry again?”
    â€œHave you met someone, Abba?” Sarah asked. She had been making such a racket, clattering the dishes and