Questioning faith in the parsha
Sant’ Angelo, by Arthur Miller
The driver, who had been sitting up ahead in perfect silence for nearly an hour as they crossed the monotonous green plain of Foggia, now said something. Appello quickly leaned forward in the back seat and asked him what he had said. “That is Monte Sant’ Angelo before you.” Appello lowered his head to see through the windshield of the rattling little Fiat. Then he nudged Bernstein, who awoke resentfully, as though his friend had intruded. “That’s the town up there,” Appello said. Bernstein’s annoyance vanished, and he bent forward. They both sat that way for several minutes, watching the approach of what seemed to them a comically situated town, even more comic than any they had see in the four weeks they had spent moving from place to place in the country. It was like a tiny old lady living on a high roof for fear of thieves
Welcome to Chevra
- An error has occurred; the feed is probably down. Try again later.