More material not included in Israela

 I am Orit’s guiding spirit. I’ve visited her nightly in her dreams, thrusting myself between her mothers and her fears. Slowly I’ve persuaded her to forgive. I hear the man in the hat and the prayer shawl say I can rest now, that my job is done. I don’t want to rest. I want to whirl around the bridal canopy my wind transforming its fabric into birds. I want my palm trees to wave in giddy celebration, my tide to run along the beach in lapping tongues and wash the feet of the guests just as Abraham washed the feet of his angels, so that they blessed him with children and children’s children at the beginning of this, our story.