Adina Kopinsky

Adina Kopinsky lives in Efrat, mothers three young sons, and writes personal essays and poems when she should be sleeping.
Jerusalem Stone

Jerusalem Stone

God pulsed beneath my fingertips

I loved not His city, but His stones

Cool marble pressed against my forehead

The ancient past rose up to greet me

Silken stones against my cheek

My hands held the memory of a House

Remembered the stories, smelled the smoke,

Heard the baying horn, saw the teeming crowds

I stroked my child’s cheek tonight

He slept beneath my tears. In his skin

I felt the ancient stones once more

Posted by Adina Kopinsky in Poems
Good Luck Lychee

Good Luck Lychee

The heat was intense at the Shuk today, the noises and smells even more so. I pushed my way through the masses of sweaty, swarthy people yelling in indecipherable tones at indistinguishable decibels and was reminded of how much I dislike large crowds. Even so, good things happened. I was buying mangos and avocados while the Arab vendor complimented me on my son, “aize chamud — how cute — a boy or a girl?” He told me he had 14 children, including four sets of twins. How he had prayed and prayed for a daughter but waited until his 13th child to have a girl. He handed me my change, along with a single lychee. Enjoy it, he said, and have a beautiful day. A good luck lychee, I thought to myself, and put it into my purse so that it wouldn’t get mixed up with my other purchases.

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Posted by Adina Kopinsky in Snippets