The school is now an institution for the blind. Return is the music for this scenario, though written some thirty years ago. At the old cemetery there is only one tombstone with our name. Most of the others have no tombstone, no cemetery. Clasping our hands we knew that we had not returned.
Return is only in the clasp of our hands.
No more, no less. This work is dedicated to the memory of Milton Feist, rabbi, kabbalist, music publisher and a dear friend. Milton, crippled at the age of four by polio lived his whole life in a wheel chair. This life, a never ceasing struggle against the overwhelming power and brutality of this disease became to all who knew him a metaphor for the triumph of the spirit over a decaying body. He was and through his faith I still believe, he is.