red or white – the child within #2

Still searching for the right name for this project. “The way we were”, “The child within”, “The child underneath”, “The core”… (I am open for ideas if you have any). I put on my interviewer suit as I go on this quest for the children we hide so well under our adult facade, or do we?

My first volunteer: Eti Pyritz

where did we meet: Eti is the living proof that my grandma was right, in every bad thing there is a greater good. We met at the hospital, we both came to have an operation. I left with three small scars and one new friend.

Her business is providing laundry services (cleaning and ironing)  for a very interesting bunch of TLV clients, but if you ask me what she really does is – skillful, intelligent, masterful networking. She collects people, and with lots of curiosity and love makes them very comfortable around her, pour them lots of good wine and makes them laugh a lot. When I’ve asked her to participate in my project she agreed immediately and only wanted to know: red or white?

We come from similar family backgrounds and we always have great conversations about life in general and usually I think we find ourselves talk of living in light of death. We talk of people who are gone, and those that are still around. We talk about compassion and about living fully the moments we share since we are aware our time is limited. I will not share the whole conversation, I’ll get down to the point were my main interest lays.

I have NoI asked Eti to share with me a childhood memory, one that pops to mind, and this is the memory she contributed to my collection: “it was yomkippur war (amazing how many of my generation memories revolve around wars, vic), I was five years old. I remember me and my mom standing in front of our house, watching the airplanes take off from an air force base nearby, she was explaining in very simple words there was a war going on.
In other image, my grandma and I are walking into the dairy barn where my mom was milking the cows. My dad, (who usually was in charge of this task) along most men of the village, was drafted to war. I remember  stress in the air, I remember tears of strong women ‘holding the fortress’. I remember how worried I felt when my mom came towards us with a red face. I understood later she had an allergic reaction that gave her a rash, but back then It was a very scary site for a five year old”.

I feel these few lines by Mary Oliver fantastic to conclude our talk:

Tell me, what else should I have done?
 / doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
 / Tell me, what is it you plan to do
 / with your one wild and precious life?”