On my twenty-eighth birthday, while returning from a birthday party in south Tel Aviv at dawn, making my way to the car, I was shocked to discover the window broken and my bag stolen, in it - the drawing book. For a few days of futile anguish, walking around like a zombie, as if my life was cut off its track, feeling like Job, being put to a ruthless trial with no purpose. I didn't know what to do, dug out dumpsters, inquired people, wandered through the alleyways, I even posted LOST ads in the neighborhood.
Four difficult days later, my father asked me what would I prefer, had I found out the book got burned: to know it was utterly destroyed, or find that a third survived. "it's like asking me what would I prefer: an empty glass, or glass with just a bit of water... naturally, I'd rather have some water", I firmly replied. His eyes opened up, and as in a dream he told me that the book was home, and so it was. In the bedroom, on the bed, laid a pink basket, with the damp book remains inside, emitting a powerful scent of fire. We hasted to the burnt garbage pail, where i found the remains of the lost bag. I salvaged all I could from the stiff scorched plastic. I met Yossi, a humble and righteous man, who refused to receive a reward for the lost he had found. I remembered Kafka who commanded his writings destroyed, but to no avail. I was pondering the words of Ecclesiastes: Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, thinking about the Berlin book burning, and of Janusz Korczak who guarded the children to the death, a copy of his book Kajtuś the Wizard saved my drawings from annihilation. The fact that the book was lost, burnt, found and saved, made me feel like this was an approval of my creation, a divine confirmation, if you will. As if the forces of nature intervened and assisted me in completing my work."
rotem of qiryat gat
Sprache: Englisch, Hebräisch