Yesterday, I got out to Jerusalem for a walk for the first time since the war erupted.
Wandered around the Jerusalem hills for a long time with a friend, inspected the new suspension bridge over Gehenna (it was closed). Popped into a "Wartime poems" Russian poetry reading at the Skizza Gallery on Koresh, where my friend was supposed to participate, and was asked to read a couple of texts, too.
Meanwhile, stumbled upon a friendly reminder of what a clever schoolboy I once was.
Indeed, that's exactly how I pondered and marvelled at the tenacity of the questions on this matter. And now, I no longer ponder nor marvel, for, as the poet wrote once, what was gained — all burned: it's coals.