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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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

 

A new page in lifebook…

Today I changed the sheets of the beds. I looked for the most comfortable pillows. I opened the new bed covers I was keeping for a special occasion. I cleaned the floor, I finally moved from its unnatural place the picture of the children. In the old frame. It was standing in the corner of the room for more than three months. Waiting for a special guest to come. I removed all the papers from the desk, I cleaned the dust of two weeks on the printer. I moved the curtain, making it appear as a hotel piece. I sprayed roses parfum in the room. I switched off the light. I locked the door. And I breathed deeply. I am ready, spiritually and materially, to be a real mother in law. In my home. Suddenly I feel as I am my mother. The way she uses to welcome us in her home is always so unique, making you feel as somebody was really waiting for you. And as this somebody is really, really happy to see you. So, with G-d’s help, in a few hours I will open a new page in my life book. A page that speaks about grown up children and their new way of being part of the family, a page relating a story of history. And how it repeats itself. From generation to generation, from mother to daughter, from daughter to grandaughter. To son in law. Welcome to my life new old members of my family. I hope that though immersed in a new life, here, in your old room and with the new sheets, you will always feel home.

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Dear H, our hearts are there with you…

Dear H.,
I am sitting here and thinking of you. I was planning to do something else, to use my time for the endless things I have to do before my children come home from school. But, as happened already in most of the times I tried to do things during the last days, my thoughts went to you.
To your changed life. To your morning, when you open your eyes on a new day and just pray in your heart “Please G-d tell me all this was only a nightmare”. Waking up, washing your face, looking in the mirror at your image and remembering those relaxed days in which you still had the will of being busy with green and grey, red and pink, the colors with which you should make up that day. Going to wake up your kids for school, asking G-d to give you enough strenght to smile as nothing changed. Receiving a tired hug from your sweet girls and trying to swallow those precious moments. That maybe, before all this happened, were as normal routine. And not as you can see them now. Small miracles. Dear H, what you are passing through is not only for you. it’s for everybody of us. it’s a lesson. Of life. Of apreciation. And love. It’s an opportunity for us, your friends, to close our eyes in front of all the mess our children are doing, To be less nervous if a file gets lost in our computer. Or the fridge breaks. Or the new oven, bought only a few months ago, decides it does not want to work anymore. These things have no power on us, are not able to change our mood. There are in life things that are much more important. and worthy to worry. And be happy for. May H’ listen to all our prayers, all the whispers of our lips while we pronounce the name of your baby uncountable times a day. May your life get back immediately as it was before the bad news of that day. May your biggest worry be about the skirt you will wear on the coming day. May we dance in your baby’s wedding remembering and laughing on those worrying days. We love you H. We are there with you, with all our hearts, souls, minds and prayers.

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.

Don’t steal my life…

I want back my life, I want back my breaths,I want back my cries, I want back my smiles. I want back my days, i want back my nights. I want to be there, back in time, with the knowledge of today. Able to apreciate a baby’s cry, a diaper change, a loving little hand looking for yours during the night. Able to love children talks in the hours preceeding an university exam day. Able to tell between those important things G-d offers you everyday. And the very insignificant one He puts you during life in order to confise you a little bit. Able to live every single minute as the best present you could be ever offered. Able to to attach the ‘negative’ etiquette to things that really deserve it. And attach the’positive’ one to things that deserve it too. Maybe this is the reason why G-d made children grow up with parents: In order for their ears to be always full of words that remind them life ‘is like a flash’. At 12 p.m of a Tuesday morning 1992 you look at your baby in a hospital crib. And at 12 p.m of a Tuesday morning 2011 you look at your baby in a white wedding gown…