Little words about a big woman. When we heard that Shoshana was hospitalized in critical condition, my daughter and I got up, and began reading Psalms. We poured a bush before the death and resurrection, and the hymns of David flowed from our mouths, from our hearts, and at that moment a tremendous stream of reflections, paintings, pictures, flowed through my mind. Large and small events from the years I was privileged to live in the hospital in the company of Shoshana and Nahum.
Days of excitement and mourning, trivial days of the small room, of laughter and music, and stories and experiences, and one picture repeated - Shoshana, with an angelic smile full of innocence spread across her face, a girl's smile, sometimes accompanied by rolling laughter, complete enjoyment of some joke or wisdom, and that picture Again and again, she pushed aside everything else, until she herself was in a continuous stream, until she was left alone constant, engraved in my heart.
And when we finished a psalm and I called to hear what her condition was, I was informed that Shoshana was not there. And I burst into tears and shouted: But it can not be.
And I was immediately shocked, and scolded myself: how would you think such a private, selfish thought at a time like this. And again I sat in my mind, and knew, and said: Not because of you, Shoshana, this thought came to me, and it is pure, from you I have learned what family ties, other flesh, what is a family meeting at a wedding or birthday - and yes, today's family meeting.
From you I learned what is the same stream of life that connects family members, a stream of love, of connection, a touch of life, that bridges all the gaps of distance, of opinions, of character.
And I remembered the day I came to Israel, 27 years ago, a wandering and confused soul in a foreign land, a fearful heart wondering, eyes blinking in the hot glow of the Land of Israel, the cordial meeting at the airport. The trip, strange views, strange language, and finally towards evening - the farm, and the room. And there in that room, in your room, Shoshana, and Nahum's bubble of light and heat.
There I met an enveloping, simple and unpretentious love. A love that does not walk in greatness and wonders, without any pretensions, without a hint of artificiality. No, you were not "Polyana", Rose. Your stinging tongue is, at times, razor-sharp and sharp. And your opinions! It seemed, at times, that you were born with your opinions.
And in all this joy together, without account and without limits. From you, Shoshana, I have learned to know and cherish my family.
Without words, you educated me to a supreme value, to a supreme being, of father and mother, of brother and sister, and ultimately, of son and daughter, and thence to the subtle subtle capillaries that connect us all into one family. And for this I know you good, and I will always know you, because love has no end.
This, and another. An animal full of life, full. Not just in the total amount, in terms of a "resume", but a full and full life at every moment. From the character of the little boy "rewarding his mother", he meets life an immediate encounter.Every object, every person, every event - an initial experience, everything is sharp and fresh.
The older person, on the other hand, is "supervised." Everything goes through a lab of considerations and considerations. An intricate weave of thoughts, of utilitarianism blunts the power of every encounter with life. And you, Shoshana, have a rare character, even in a very supervised adulthood - you were a girl.
Every encounter with someone in the family was a complete extraction of life, simply, to relish the endless happiness of a child wisely, to experience without buffering some disappointment or insult to him, and every event, every experience, was a story, a small, humorous story, sometimes bitter and sometimes angry, and you told The stories happily, with emotion. And every story was a gem, which she edited not only for the time being, but stored in a treasure trove in your heart, and occasionally pulled out at the right time, to relish it again.
And listen. Your unforgettable attention, Shoshana, the attention of your whole personality - to everyone. For every child in your family, and for the adopted children and just about any volunteer who needs it. And I stand and marvel, how the impression is maintained generation after generation, how my children feel the exact same feelings.
Every year we come to the north to enjoy the charms of the valley, the Galilee and the Golan Heights. Tread the familiar wadis, or even look for new adventures, but always the schedule of freedom, the impression kept, is those hours in the little room or on the grass, where the children sit captivated, listening to your stories, about Aliyah B, the grandchildren, politics, and What not?
And how much you relished, you, to hear them in the shy story of everything they go through. And always when we make our way south, to Nahalat Yehuda, and review and summarize the freedom, these hours of staying together, take place in the head.
And one more, and I'll finish with that. Life has not always been bright. Not always satisfied with everything that happens in your near and far environment. You have had no easy attempts. And you, by your nature, have experienced them with great intensity, and especially in everything related to the family. Your expectations and hopes.
A superficial ear, would pick up expressions of pessimism, in which you dipped your conversation. But deep in the heart, in the place visible to your acquaintances, really, for perpetual longing, not a gliding hope, but a deep belief in those points of life that lovingly connect us all, bridging the abyss of distances, continents, opinions, and character, bridging the abyss of death itself.
My daughter and I finished the Psalm KL from a number of psalms. Now near the fresh grave, I will continue, one more psalm, short. "A song of praise to David, God did not lift up my heart or lift up my eyes, and I did not walk in greatness and wonder from me.
Eli Horowitz
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