buttons

push the right buttons

these are the right buttons to get me going:
south side Tel Aviv, narrow streets, the market, fabric shops, rolls and rolls of linen for me to feel.

I buy some cloth from an old man and he smiles at me and say: “you made my Siftach”, which means in slang ‘an opening, the first transaction to promise a good day of sales’. In an alley, behind a closed door, there’s another man sewing buttons, fixing people’s torn life.

There I am swept away by a mat full of so many magical buttons. Shiny little objects in all shapes.

I day dream, like this little girl in Warsaw, from Kadia Molodowska Yiddish poem, Ayelet, who had to do all these chores for two very harsh parents, when all she wanted was to dream and play, like a six year old should.

I saw her riding her buttons through the streets of Tel Aviv, down the roads, pass the shops and all the busy people, away from duties towards the unknown promising possibilities of life…. and I could hear the roar of her parents (just like in the poem) calling her name  A-y-e-l-e-t-t-t-t!!!

Ayelet