I run to the women's section, I push open the door. A whiff of heat comes from in there, as from an oven. The heavy air stifles my breath. The shul is packed full. The high lecterns are piled with books.
Old women sit bent, sunk in their chairs.
Girls stand almost on the heads of the grandmothers. Children tumble underfoot. I want to elbow my way to mother. But she is sitting so far off, all the way up at the front, next to the window that opens into the men's section. As soon as I try to move, a woman turns around to me, a weeping face gives me an angry look.