t
o
-
s
Angel

A S

ANNE ROIPHE
SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH NEWS

he Angel of Death emerged from the night sky, the silver
mist of cloud and star floating behind, circles of darkness
following his step. A thin strip of moonlight rippled across
his trembling arms. His breath was frosted, bearing with it
the cold of eternity, his eyes were empty of reflection.
Seeing everything had become the same as seeing noth-
ing. His skin was blackened, singed by low small fires set by
the memories of minds that would not extinguish them-
selves but flamed off and on through the centuries, stub-
born lights of human persistence. He didn't sigh, speak, or
cry. Instead, a high-pitched whistle seemed to come from his
chest, a bird call, a remnant of the time when reptiles flew
and volcanos belched smoke into the prehistoric air, a mat-
ing sound, as if the Angel of Death was looking for another

ILLUSTRATIONS
BY WHITNEY SHERMAN

Anne Roiphe, a columnist for The New York Observer and a contributing editor for The Jerusalem
Report, is the author, most recently, of "If You Knew Me." She wrote this fable for the Jewish Times/ News
and its sister publications.