Since I saw you the first time

Since I saw you the first time, during those short but long instants when you were learning to tell between water and air I knew I would have changed my belief system. I stopped complaining with G-d about the clear and understandable miracles He used to create for His nation while crossing the Red Sea. While in our times you should be able to remember His hand looking at the perfect syncronization of moon and sun. It’s unfair, I used to complain. How can we go on and proclaim all the world You are there, without having concrete proofs at our hands. Some secret cards to throw on that table game that is life, when everything seems to go against your convictions. Then you arrived.With that reddish color and slow voice. With pain mixed to joy, tears to hope, a new world compared to the existing one. A new creation born from prayers and love. You were there. With a white wrapping which reminded an envelope. On which there could be a stamp. Miracle on its way. And you, my little baby, arrived in my arms. Now, after two months, when you are embraced from your mummy far away from me, your grandma, and I can still smell the trace of your presence in my kitchen. After you left and the signs of the wheels of your carriage are still on the floor of my dining room. Now I find the brightness of ideas to declare to myself and the world that yes, you are the proof that open miracles are still happening every single instant and day. From the height of your infancy, like you were sitting on a throne made of breaths and voice which did not exist a few minutes earlier, you were a great teacher. Thank you my little Baby. I love you with all my heart. Oma

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A sanctuary, though hard, even there…

Vigil For Victims Of Sandy Hook School Shooting - WashingtonIt arrives. Punctual as a Swiss watch, as the sunset in the morning and hunger after a long fast, with the first discovery of evil. That sentence. “The world is not nice as you wanted me to believe”. It’s my child who is growing up. And I shut up. Hit by the deepness of his thought, by his fear of evil, by his dropping down of trust in tomorrow, I stop and think. I think about how we sorrounded him only with kosher animals in the crib. I think how his lullaby was composed only by Jewish words and chassidic notes. I think about the strictly kosher food which we allow to enter in his mouth. About the pictures with Jewish images hanging on his bed. I think how we tried our best, since the first day of life, to surround every child with Torah words. How we do our best to make them chew only good, positive, light and love. How we shut up our mouths preventing bad news to reach their ears, hoping they do not loose their faith in this world. How we hide newspapers with cruel images in the first page, hoping that they will go to sleep thinking this life is nothing but a marvellous trip. How we whisper and share through codes, sad events, justifying our unhappy eyes with a terrible headache due to a heavy day. But then, during time, the unavoidable happens and the magic gets broken. News about another tragedy run faster than our trials to hide them once again. Those tiny faces of children unaware of the shortness of their lives, bring to the arousal of the deep sentence. “The world is not nice as you wanted me to believe.” My dear love, that sanctuary I tried to build around you during all these years, is not always there outside. Sometimes there are events we cannot change or influence at all. When these happen we just have to look for enough strenght to go on and pray. Other times even a tiny gesture can change all the scenario bringing back hope. That tiny gesture is able to remind us we have the braveness after all. My dear love, that sanctuary can be found even there outside. In the midst of horror, of a tragedy without any reason, in the screams due to pain. That sanctuary is there, in that teacher, Victoria Soto, who gave up to her own life trying to save her little students. That sanctuary is there, in those Sandy Hook school teachers, who lost their lives in the trial to make their students go on and believe in them. My dear love, that sanctuary will be even there. If you and me and everyone else, will not give up and will go on and believe. That with responsibility and commitment of all of us, even from the deepest dark, a perfect sanctuary can arise.

Gheula Canarutto Nemni

A little little drop…

candle flameI’m here. Alone. Almost everything was destroyed by the war. I have nothing to do but wait. Hope. And, though opposite to my nature, pray. Silence is all round me. And seems to bear not so good news. Then suddenly I hear them. Steps on the ground. Songs. Happy and joyful exclamations to G-d. I would like so much to be part of this special moment. But I cannot move.
They could do it. The Maccabees won. That small and brave group of fighters could overcome the enemy. Those non Jews who wanted to destroy the Jewish nation physically annihilating it spiritually. They won against those people, part of their own nation, who saw in the Hellenization of their tradition, in assimilation and furthering from religion, a way for modernity and emancipation.
They could do it. And now they are celebrating. In their typical Jewish way of doing it. No heavy drinks or revenge shouting. Only run to the Sanctuary with one sole intention. To relight and give again life to that candelabra called Menorah which light is stronger than walls and barriers and arrives to make brighter the exterior world.
I can see them. Looking for a small bottle oil still sealed and pure. They could use the open one, they are in war after all. And there are special laws for these tough periods. But they don’t want. To compromise with Law. After all these fights against those who wished to erase their tradition, their Torah, their soul, they are not ready to loosen the rules. They fought until now for showing they do not want to bend G-d’s will to human comforts.
“Finally!” shouts a man while taking me in his hands and making me see the light after a long period during which I was hidden here. “A pure oil bottle!” And everyone runs towards us. They touch me, they turn me in their hands, they check me. And then they all agree. “It’s pure” they announce. They pour me drop by drop, paying attention not to waste anything of me, in the Menorah.
“It will last for only one day” they sadly say.
But G-d, who sits there above just waiting for a sign of love from one of His sons, is giving me life hour after hour.
“You are the flame of hope” whispers one of the Maccabees when he sees me still shining. “You are the symbol of the eternity of Judaism” says his brother drying the tears from his eyes.
After eight days my task in this world is coming to its end. I am going to extinguish and leaving the place to the new pure oil just produced.
While my flame is consuming its last dose of oxygen and air I want to thank G-d for this luck of mine. I was part of this story of a battle against evil won by good. I had the honor of bringing in the future centuries and years the Jewish hymn.
That reminds every day the power of a little little light. Able to fight the most mean and deep dark.

Happy Chanukà!
Gheula Canarutto Nemni