Jewelry, mostly old
pieces I don’t wear anymore, and have nothing but sentimental value. They all
cramped into this small wooden box that has no real value either but I still carry
with me because it was given to me by my daughter years ago. She decorated it
and on the top she wrote, in nicely fashioned calligraphy letters – mom. So,
the box itself is more precious to me then its content.
Still as I sort through
its content I come across few objects that tug at my heart. A gold pendent,
shaped as Star of David that was given to me by my father, in my last visit to
Israel, before his death and I am pretty sure was his indirect way to deliver a
message. A green ribbon with a key attached to it, I check it for few minutes
but nothing surfaces. It must have been important to be put in my box of
treasured objects but I forgot why. One of these days I will have to follow
this mystery but not today because the last object I find is the one grabbing a
hold of me. It is a silver coin; it used to be one of my most treasured objects.
It is not just any coin; this one is a
replica of a Second Temple freedom coin, a silver
half-shekel dating more than 2000 years. Second Temple Jewish officials had
minted this ancient coin and others like it, in the first year of the revolt
against the Romans in 66-67 AD. A branch with three pomegranates and the
inscription, "Holy Jerusalem" adorns one side, the other decorated by
a chalice is inscribed "Half-Shekel."
Growing up in Israel I am familiar with the relevant history of
the time. The great revolt against the Romans brought in its wake enormous
destruction and suffering. The issues emerging, surrender versus revolt,
forever embedded in the fabric of Israeli culture and coming back to haunt the
collective memory when talking about the Holocaust. “Masada will never fall
again” was the motto I grew up with and referred to the last stronghold in the
Judean desert, where a fistful of desperate man and women chose suicide as
opposed to slavery. Rivaled by the survivalists who through the generations
bent their heads and whispered “this too shall pass.”
As I am holding the coin in my hand I remember that this is ‘that’
week in Israel. The one starts with a special day set aside to remember those
who were murdered during the Holocaust and those, like my father, who saved
many lives, and ends with the Memorial Day to all the soldiers that lost their
lives fighting. This day will merge into
the Independence Day celebrations in an impressive ceremony in Jerusalem.
I know the spot where the
ceremony will take place. It is a small hill in the middle of the national
military cemetery, in front of a big black gravestone with only six engraved
letters, HERZEL. Benjamin Zeev Hertzel
the man who dreamed the state of Israel and is now lying in the midst of
endless lines of graves of young men and women.
The formal ceremony that
ends the saddest day and starts the happiest one always starts here. Soon two
blue projected lights, signing the end of the ceremony, will shine in the sky.
Two blue rays, will slowly move from side to side illuminating the city sky and
then the fireworks will explode.
I look back at the coin, now warm in the palm of my hand, return
it to my wooden treasure box and close the cover. Until next year…
"Until next year"! Next year in Ellsworth or next year in Jerusalem?
ReplyDelete:)
I like very much the care that went into this prompt reaction: the careful description of the box, the opening and inventory, the meaningul star matched with the meaningless key, the detailing of the coin, the significance of the coin, the necessarily mingled sadness and triumph Israel represents.