Monday, December 15, 2008

This last Shabbat was a big one for me. I guess everything sort of came together and I was able to have a meaningful transcontinental experience.

Standing in the snow among the evergreens of my farm I was able to place a stone I took from Auchwitz on my Naugpapa’s grave a year to the day that I stood beneath the Western Wall in Jerusalem. My Naugpapa had been in a concentration camp twice and had escape both times. As I did this, far away in that same city, friends of mine stood before the Wall as I once did. I had just gotten a pin to that affect confirming that I was being thought of.

I recalled its peculiar yellow glow and imagined how it would reflect off their fair skin or blonde hair. I wondered if they searched its crevices filled with the hopes of the devout and faithful, as I had twice before but neither time being able to seal the deal and have my prayers answered.

As I placed the stone on top of the Kopjafák, the traditional Transylvania funeral marker, I hoped that it could retain its superior position at least through the winter. Hoping is hard, sometimes things don’t work out the way you would want. As I walked away my girlfriend asked if I wanted to pray, I said I had friends at the wall thinking of me right now, and that’s more than I could ever ask for.


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