On the morning of the sixth day of the shivah, Menachem Gesek awoke out of a dream to find, to his surprise, that everything was still just the same. Outside, the gray light, a hue somewhere between silver and ash, washed over the flat hills, the brambles that stubbornly and angrily clung to the ground, and the fleshy fig trees. He got up and went from room to room. His sons were still sleeping, each one in his...