Friday, eight o'clock in the morning, Dina, my mother, tries to snatch a few more minutes of pampering in bed, melting from the serenity of Friday. At the last possible moment she jumps out of bed agilely, gets organized, takes the bag of notes and runs to the conservatory.
Friday morning is the orchestra's weekly rehearsal time. She speeds up her steps and enjoys the sun that suddenly rises at the end of winter. Eli, my father, returns home from prayer in slow steps, breathing clean air. Last week's snow has already melted, and the first sun of late winter has risen in full isolation.
When he entered, he had time to see Dina come out suddenly through the glass door in the kitchen. He prepares a light breakfast for himself, and a light buzz rises to his lips, a good day stands in the doorway he feels, takes the car keys and leaves the house. Parked near the conservatory, waiting for Dina to leave. The radio hums old-fashioned songs with me, opens windows and waits.
He sees her long before she notices him, goes out in jubilation while having a lively conversation with her bandmates, on the right Esther the Canary and on the left Mali with the viola. He looks at her and feels the same wave of pure love for his tall and noble girl.
Suddenly she notices the green car and shouts, "Eli," "Come on," he replies, "Passengers." She gets in the car and immediately notices the mischievous spark in his eyes, and the camera lying on the back seat. It is forbidden to let such a day pass without dipping in the first flowers that take advantage of the beginning of March and allow themselves to paint the ground purple. The Valley of the Gods, the place where the solid Judean mountains meet with the tenderness of the lowlands, layers of history are stacked on top of each other under huge satellite dishes. Eli silences the engine and silences the cell phone at the foot of Lupine Hill.
Thirty years have passed since that blossoming trip on Passover in Jerusalem, thirty years of wonderful connection, of growth together, thirty years of love that builds certainty, certainty that allows love, now you can listen to this silence together, listen to the sounds of purity and hear the harmonious music that has refined over the years, now You can fill it, inhale it into the lungs and feel that you are approaching the final chord.
In this silence, in the eyes of Dina looking into an invisible horizon, in the laughing daughter of Eli tickling Dina, in the lone lupine standing upright and his head in the sky, in a cloud approaching from the north and threatening to darken the clear sky, a silence seen from seven - ten images The week after.
In this silence the screams of horror were buried for them. A few hours after these photos were taken, on Saturday night terrorists entered their home and murdered my father and my mother. When I initiated Embroidery of Light, I knew I would embroider on the handkerchief my mother wore that wonderful day that began with a tune and continued with a walk on Lupine Hill and ended in a horrific murder. A handkerchief in shades of blue - green - purple that she loved, which she chose for the curtains and blankets of a childhood room,
Batsheva (Horowitz) Sadan
Slideshow of their last moments in this world - can be flipped to the sides
