[Erik nods silently. He doesn't duck into synagogues anymore, or try to catch the last moments of a service. He hasn't said Kiddish in years. It's been longer since he recited the Kaddish. But there was a time, after the camps and before leaving Magda, that he would desperately sit through a service, prayer book clutched in his hands, lips pressed tight together.]
Maybe you want to believe.
[He had, once. He had wanted to believe again so badly.]
no subject
Maybe you want to believe.
[He had, once. He had wanted to believe again so badly.]