Menorah Tears from a Teenage Mother
סְבִיבוֹן סוֹב סוֹב סוֹב Sevivon Sov Sov Sov… This is what my Safta used to sing to me, safe on a kibbutz somewhere in Israel, breathing in the desert air, the palm trees and the smell of olive oil illuminated my hair. It was my Mecca when I met a very handsome IDF soldier then…