may your soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life

We are here again. For the 14th time. Since that Nissan 3rd during which it was decided from Above, your life was at its end. How could I imagine the kiss I received from you was forever the last one? How could I know I would not feel your strong arms around me before leaving my home? How could I foresee that one day I would have found myself  thinking of you as a light ray, a soul staying under the Heavenly throne, a person who comes to visit his dears only during night and dreams? For every tear I am sheding for you today, I have a special memory to think inside me. As those hot days spent in the Jewish Cemetery of Venice, washing and cleaning tombal stones of Jews dead five hundred years ago. Because you were scared that, one day, nothing will last of those precious engraved words. Discovering the symbols of ancient Jewish Italian families, as the two hands for the kohanim, the lion for the famous Leon da Modena, the eagle for the nobles. Or those endless journeys to Stasbourg to buy  kosher food and meat when you decided it was worthy to travel one and a half hour more in order to go and see the beth hamidrash of Rashi, where he used to study and bring down to this earth heavenly words and explanations. And that Menorah Lego shape. Which you proudly showed me after having worked on it for nigths and days. It should have been the realizzation of your dreams. The Menorah was a miniature plant of the Italian Jewish Museum you were dreaming to build. But in Heaven there was a different plan. And it was decided you were desired there, directly under the Celestial Throne. During this day in which it seems to me I can still hear your voice and not  the kadish said in your memory, I wish you look from above and you smile. Because you are proud of your children. Whom, in every moment of their life, try to go on with your interrupted job spreading and showing the only thing will last after we are not here anymore, is our good deeds and beliefs. Your love for Judaism, for its roots, for its ancient messages perfectly fitting future generations, is always with us. As you are. My dad, my dear papi. May your soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life (as you taught me to say for those who were not with us anymore)

Gheula, Aviva, Ronnie, Gady and Naty

 

Advertisements

A dream shared by Pharaoh and many others

My name is Anna. I am twelve years old. I have brown eyes and hair. My youth has just started. But my life is going to end. My name is Rebecca. I am five years old. I have blue eyes and blond hair. I will never have a 6 years birthday party. My name is Isaac.  I don’t know exactly how old I am. Maybe one. Maybe two. The only thing I am sure about is that I have been separated by mother. And that I will never see her again. My name is Ruben. I would have been born in two months. My soul will never arrive in this world. Somebody decided we don’t deserve life. We are guilty of an unbearable fault. Language spoken by our parents is too differnt than the one spoken by native people of our place. Our Way of dressing does not always follow fashion style. Our names, when called in class by our teachers, echo as stanger sounds between school walls. Our identity is too deep. You cannot avoid noticing it. Our proudness as nation is too powerful for being silent. Those who denied us our future had one and unique plan in their minds. A dream transmitted by Pharaoh until 1938. A dream consisting in the total disappearance of the people to whom we belong. A dream based on the denial of our present in order to avoid your future. A dream that, thanks to G-d was never realized. You, who are there today, reading relaxed in a synagogue or among the warm walls of your home, you can choose. If to cry, remember and feel pity and sorrow for us. Or bring us to life again. When a girl named Anne will turn twelve and will decide to respect all mizvoth of G-d. When a girl named Rebecca will light a candle on Friday night. When a boy named Isaac will pronounce ‘torah’ between is his first words. When a boy named Ruben will come to this world and will have his circumcision on the eighth day of his life. Then the dream of our enemies will not have a chance to get realized anymore.  And you will be able to give us back our stolen life.

A wish list

Here’s a short list of what I would still like to do with you.
I would like to breast feed you some more
I would like to teach you to walk again
I would like to repeat with you ‘mummy’ slowly as once
I would like to push you on the swing for the hundredth time without complaining
I would like to take you again to first grade hand in hand
I would like to reassure you before the vaccination
I would like to hug you after a bad dream
I would like to tell you that I love you though you have scattered all your toys
I would like to teach you my preferred song
I would like to dance with you while you are dressed in that fluffy and shiny pink dress
I would like to embrace you at the age of 10
I would like to eat with you those chocolates in which you invested all your money at the age of 12 and for which I shouted you for two days
I would like to lie down in the bed with you counting the florescent stars we attached on the ceiling
I would like to understand some more what you were thinking at the age of 14

I would like to kiss you goodnight at the age of 16 even though you were not hanging the phone

I would like to go around for shopping once again without looking at the watch

I would like to fill the air with all my love for you and let you smell only this smell for the past 19 years.

I would like…read it again and again, my sweet love and try not to forget any of these wish list points with your future, with G-d’s help, kids…

back to the past…

Mum, if you could go back in time, would you get married so young again?
I pour the coffee on my skirt while the bride, after having thrown as a stone in the sea her philosophical question, is sitting in front of me writing on her bbm to a destination that is across the Ocean.
Well…I start thinking. This is a trap. Pay attention, I say to myself. Be calm, don’t answer too quickly. I breath deeply. I relax. And memories come back to me as birds going back to their nests. My first child as a baby, with her giant brown eyes, while pronouncing her first word, learning to read, hugging me on her way back from camp. My second neverstopping hunger, his haircut at the age of three, fighting with the sister. My third child opening her blue eyes for the first time, being defined ‘the sun of the class’ at the age of 5. My fourth child preferred video, his allergy to the detergent. My fifth child ceasarian, his being so small compared to my prevoius babies. My sixth child being the copy of the third one, her way of jumping while singing the Chanuka song about the doughnuts. My seventh child sleepless nights, his unique way of saying ‘amen!’ to every good thing we wish.
The coffee has dried on my skirt. The bride is still writing bbms maybe having forgotten the quetion she made some minutes ago. I wake up from my journey in the past. I take her hand and I tell her: You know what? I would never change one thing of my life. If I had the opportunity to start everything again, I would do all exactly the same. I would get married at 19, have you at the age of 20, go on studying in university, having your brothers and sisters, working, writing, sitting with you here in our kitchen trying to come out from this mad plan of getting married in five weeks…I would never change anything, believe me. Though it was hard, sometimes very tough. Becuase the amount of love I received every day in my life is the most precious thing I will ever own. And I would never give up to it for all the freedom in the world….

When an address smells of love….

I have a file from the last event I organized. There, some scattered, you can find all the names of those invited five years ago to our party. Name, address, confirmation. There are some people whom are not living in Milan anymore, becuase of their job or their studies. There are some people who moved. And their address is not the same anymore. I was reading the list hoping to find as much useful information as I could. And then suddenly, her name was there. So bright, so sweet, so full of taste of home. So smiling, so embracing, so smelling of tagliatelle with ragù and italian style artichoques. So linked to a past I’ve loved with all my heart. To those rainy milanese Sundays in which we were all forced to go there. Despite your friends, homework, studies and fun. To those difficult days in which the temperature outside was speaking of snow and I used to put all my little children, included the new baby of that period, in my car. Her name is flashing now on my screen. Reminding me that when we have the opportunity to give somebody our love, we don’t have to miss that chance. Nonna Alba, my grandmother is still with us, thanks to G-d. She is living in Israel now and I feel a hole in my heart when I pass in front of her house, here in Milan. Or when I bake the chocolate cake filling the air with the same smell she used to communicate us her love. I don’t need to send her any invitation. Becuase she is on a chair, waiting only for someone to come and kiss her when you happen beside her. I miss her so much. I think I will write her name on an envelope anyway. Just to feel her close to me now, in this precious time, during which I am living one of the most amazing adventures of my life. And just to remember, in any case, how it is important to learn and apreciate every single little detail, as an address written on an invitation envelope, containing the name of those whom you really love.

20111114-154241.jpg