Teacher Dina is my teacher and I am all her student. Our acquaintance is through the relationship of a student-teacher and it means that I was constantly in a state of acceptance from her, through which I knew myself in the deepest and most wonderful sense.
An attempt to write about Teacher Dina detached from what she has personally given me would be futile and untrue. I'll try to tell about what she had for me.
Teacher Dina, I'm trying to write to you and actually writing to myself. My teacher Dina that after graduating from the studio we talked about continuing to call you 'the teacher', because you were my teacher in every wonderful sense of the word.
My teacher that you were to me a clear spring, a revolution, a wait. All the journeys could be gone because of the clear knowledge that the spring exists and waits and in case of fatigue and thirst one can access it and it will always be close, always on time, always for me. A spring of cool, clear water.
Sometimes I would come to you very tormented, not knowing my soul, and sometimes I would be radiant with a new discovery of happiness and each time I would come out of you like a rising bath in groundwater, the pain lifted her spirits and in my palms I kept light.
I had a gateway to the clear, distinct worlds, the worlds that are above from any place and time and I knew that under the auspices of your warm, steady hand, I would walk slowly and reach little to the heart of all things. Even when the world was broken and twins would open up on the long journey, your hand would hold gently and warmth and a happy and bright look and all the narrow bridges curling across twins I could.
My teacher toils on the road and she is tall and noble and her gaze sees what is before and what was and what is deep. I know a few words are enough for her to understand everything and the picture will unfold before her eyes completely and then she will take a thin brush and in vivid colors draw me my picture, what was and what is now and what it means and also discover a little of what is to come, but only a little, just the right amount on So I can go the next part of the way myself.
My teacher lets the questions lust within me, crystallize into words, and when the question is finally ready, or the new understanding, or the more sophisticated form of vision, she receives me with a smile and nods with shining eyes, as if she has waited for me how long he has come to a place he already knows. Patiently and knew with complete confidence that I would arrive.
Teacher Dina is in no hurry to give answers, she is full to the brim and there are many treasures in her, but mostly she asks questions, she pulls in her questions like a thin silk thread the answers out of me. It shows me the bright colors and the great spaces that belong to me.
Sometimes I allow myself to experiment in all sorts of new and unfamiliar ways, to invest in a certain part and neglect another part for a while, because I know that Teacher Dina keeps everything for me and when I want to remember, she will tell me what I forgot exists in me or in the world.
The plan was that this would be life under your guidance, little by little, little by little, to change and move forward with you and the thought of it was so promising and joyful.
On that unbelievable Saturday when you stormed away from us, it seems to me that two things happened, the first thing is that we lost a unique quality, a rare quality of life and of a look, a rare quality of love. The second thing that happened is that the same quality itself is deeply ingrained in our souls and the same quality that we lived through, we will now seek within ourselves all our lives, because it is impossible for the world to be left without.
At the end of the eighth grade, teacher Dina handed us a section of Pnina Amit that is very suitable for her, for her concepts. She always talked about life as a journey and about new experiences and discoveries as adventures. In this passage I also find myself, the way I have been trying to walk since she is not here, the kind of spring that was and is gone, to the same spring that still exists and is only hidden from us and all our lives we find it.
'I'm not a tourist, I'm a woman on a journey, a tourist goes to a place he has not been, a man on a journey goes to a place he has not yet been, but feels he has already been, must be because the place is waiting. A tourist goes to a place where the water overturns, rages, breaks, shatters, darkens and shines to shards and colors. A man on a journey goes to a place where the water sings. '
Oshrit (Isaacs) Dan