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Home Away From Home

Bracha Goykadosh

Last week, in the crevice between the roof and the window in my sister’s room, we found a small, tidy pile of twigs, tissues, and glittery gift grass. “A bird’s nest!” I heard Rocheli say. I ran into her room and stood close to the window. Startled, the bird flew away to a nearby telephone pole. At first my father was excited. “This is an excellent opportunity to perform shiluach hakein!” he said.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I thought of us dismantling the home the bird had worked so hard to build and neatly disposing of it. I thought of us closing the door as the bird flew back to the little crevice, only to discover its home was not there.

“It’s not clean,” Rocheli sniffed the air. “Don’t you remember when squirrels got into our roof?”

“Yes, but this is different. This bird can be our pet!”

“No, it can’t,” Rocheli said. “Don’t you know it’s a wild bird? It’s not domesticated.”

I didn’t know what domesticated meant but it didn’t sound like a very nice world. “It is too!” I said.

Rocheli stared at me. “It’s not even good for the bird, Mimi. A cat can just slink onto our roof and snatch it up.”

“I’m calling Mr. Weinberg,” my father said.

Mr. Weinberg is our handyman and neighbor. From leaky faucets to overheating cars, somehow, he knows how to fix it. His daughter Toby is one of my best friends and sometimes she comes along.

“But what about the bird?” I said, as my father and sister walked out of the room. “This is his home!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic!” Rocheli called back. “It’ll build a new one.”

 

 

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