- A moment in time put into words about a precious family. In Tel Aviv, there lives a family of mother, father, four sons, two dogs, one cat and a flock of bird sculptures. Family members and visitors are greeted by the two dogs, one being smaller with kindness in his eyes and a need to protect. One is bigger, actually, huge with a head like a giant mask of a Protecting Dog God with the body of a puppy, only really big.
I know the second born son of the family. He has hair like the halo of a Seraph and a smile like sugared coffee. He smokes too much and worries too much. But only, because he is filled with youth’s drive to live too much. He’s beautiful. He’s the one son most similar to the father. They walk and talk in the same manner, although of course, they are very different too. The father loves Stella beer, chocolate and Tel Aviv, where he was born. Another great love of his is Ivrit, being a writer, he lives in the language, as he puts it.
With four sons in the family, the house is never lonely. Mid-day discussions on literature, dinners or family members dropping by before visiting friends. The kitchen stove always provides.
The mother of the house wears click-clacking high-heeled sandals and exudes Israeli femininity. Every grain of rice she cooks contains love and blessings for her family. Every peel of potato skin in the sink has been peeled with her protecting hands. To eat food in her house is to be loved.
The youngest son makes no sound when he walks. He only seems to move the surrounding air like a sliding door and tiny little bells tingle in his voice when he speaks. In his eyes a thousand stories are born.
The second youngest son, who’s about to be married, is a blessed soul, blessed with kindness. It shows in his eyes, his voice and his manners. His presence is like a strong pillar.
The firstborn, being a lawyer, has the sharp observation skills needed - with a twist of tangy uplifting sense of humour. A strong willed face, which melts into soft happiness as he greets his brothers.
This house with friendly walls belonged to the grandparents and the street around the corner is named after the grandfather, who was a poet.
This house is a house, which I am happy to have visited. There is only so few times in a lifetime, where you are witnessing something so complete, so wholesome. Truly living. I can’t remember when or if I have been with such a family before. Been with a source of something larger than life. Righteous living. Presence of an ancient lineage.
Being within these friendly walls, I could see deeper into my Self. A human being, part of humanity.
