even when we think we’ve left home, we never really go anywhere” —
Ehud Pessach (my father)
When I asked him to share with me an early childhood memory, at first he thought I meant my childhood, but as I explained what I was looking for his eyes lit and vivid memories started to flow.
Imagine a flock of kids, of all ages, wander the streets of Jerusalem in the 1940s. The older ones lead as the younger follow and obey, or else they get smacked. Under one of the buildings, they dug a hole-cave for their headquarters, where they planned adventures, played games and just hid from grownups.
They had active neighborhood life: families shared what little they had generously. They shared meals, they took care of each other’s children. They had shared laundry days, hanging lines were stretched across the street from one house to the other blocking the road; quarrels and punishments were not a secret – when someone got beaten by his father’s belt everybody heard. Everybody’s laundry (clean and dirty) was out there. People were people, human, imperfect and colorful.
If I seek for the linking thread to his adult life it’s clearly People. He loves people, he needs people to blossom. Even when he worked as a banker, human relations rather than numbers, were his strength. Nowadays he rhymes, paints, sculpts and creates constantly, and what gives him the greatest joy is sharing his creations with his family and many friends.
In my drawing I caught him off guard, I wanted to portray him the way he is, as I see him, authentic and sensitive.