She was very beautiful, wasn’t she?
This woman of Egypt who left her scar upon your heart.
Her skin was white as curd.
Her eyes, green as the cedars of Lebanon.
Her lips, tamarisk honey.
Like the breast of a dove, her arms were soft.
And the wine of desire was in her veins.
Yes. She was beautiful… as a jewel.
A jewel has brilliant fire, but gives no warmth.
Our hands are not so soft, but they can serve.
Our bodies not so white, but they are strong.
Our lips are not perfumed… but they speak the truth.
Love is not an art to us.
It’s life to us.
We are not dressed in gold and fine linen.
Strength and honor are our clothing.
Our tents are not the columned halls of Egypt, but our children play happily before them.
We can offer you little… but we offer all we have.
I have not little, Sephora. I have nothing.
Nothing from some is more than gold from others.
You would fill the emptiness of my heart?
I could never fill all of it, Moses. But I shall not be jealous of a memory.