I live in a lovely valley, but the heights are gone forever. There are no more frightful deserts, and I no longer leap into the fire, I am afraid I will get burned. Sanity is pleasant and calm, but there is no greatness, no true joy, nor the awful sorrow that slashes the heart.
Your daughter, the older one, Ruthie. Did you ever try to locate her?
Such a cheerful presence. Rabbi, truly, you light up the room. She's dead. We both are. What's the point? If you have to know, ya? I did, for 4 years. I looked. I put von Handle's money to good use, believe me. Then it dawned on me, Rabbi, if she was alive then it was she that was not looking for me. She'd be 25 this year. She would have heard about the antics of her famous father, who was once a dog, who is now not much of anything. And who in the world could blame her if she chose to be - silent.
You survived. It's not a crime. A crime is to blame yourself instead of them.