I, Abel, once called Abraham, observe my grandchildren, the four children of my son Felix and his wife Julia. I, like the patriarch Jacob, bless my grandchildren, and wish to see that at least one of them can carry on the birthright.These offspring have formed their own tapestries with common family strands, though laid across are the threads of each individual — the colors and the patterns of their own traits, endowments, and the varied influences upon their lives. I see in all of the family tapestries many threads: purple strands of pride in their accomplishments and their prestige; metallic bands of dominance; white threads of morality and thrift braided together; brown velvet strands of acquisitiveness — the pleasure of owning objects of beauty. There are also woven into the warp, cords of searing red anger — the condemnation of others. And there are continuing orange strands of competitiveness. Strung next to the orange strands, I see the chartreuse threads of envy, rough and jagged. Also in the family tapestries, I see bright pink threads pulling tight: “Love me, love me,” they demand. Sometimes clouding other hues, gossamer gray strands form muted patterns of depression and of silence. Furthermore, my grandchildren, the shuttle has woven many of the threads and designs of your tapestries into repeated spirals, pointing inward, pointing inward.