My dad has written more than twenty books and I am unable to write even a few lines in a post. I used to be a member of a writing group that some of the members of it have become well-known writers here. That was more than thirty years ago. The writer David Grossman told me then that of all the members of the group I write the best and I should continue. From that time I stopped writing for some reason. Blogging is supposed to be something fun and I can not bring myself to do so. And here are some chapter headings for the posts I could write - the old letters in Yiddish that my grandmother's missing sisters wrote before their villages disappeared in Poland. The preparations for Seder night at my daughter's, the ancient coins she finds near the house. All this in the meantime in pictures.