You are a girl in my graduating class. You have been for twelve years. I know you on a courteous greeting-chat-goodbye basis. We are not remotely close; I have never been to your house.
You intimidate me to no end of expression.
I saw you one week ago Sunday, at a hot, dusty sleepaway-camp in the Pocono's. We were both visiting our brothers. Your hair was blown and fixed back beautifully, and you wore a light blue cotton skirt, a neat black top and beaded flats. Your cheeks were faintly rosy, and your skin glowed with a pale sheen of delicate sweat.
I was wearing a jean skirt that had seen better days, and my hands were filthy from scrounging for pebbles to lob into the lake.
You saw me first, and called to me. If I had seen you, I might not have spoken. Nodded, perhaps, maybe waved. But I wouldn't have approached you- I wouldn't have wanted to, and I wouldn't have thought you wanted me to. We spoke for a few minutes, about absolutely nothing, and you ran to catch up to your mother. I went back to not skipping stones.
Yesterday, Nava, your father died.
I had no idea he was ill. I had never thought about your parents, or your life, or your siblings. You were only Nava, slim and suave and pretty, and excellent in all of my most loathed subjects. You were just Nava, another girl I put in a bell jar.
I don't know if you are still going to Israel; I know you were planning to. What will you do if you don't? Go to college? I know your mother will need you, you are the oldest daughter of many younger siblings and your mother does not drive. And what will you do if you do go? Sit in your classes and avoid celebrations, and think of your mother and your brothers and sisters who are mourning at home, trying to mend a life that has split wide open?
Yesterday, I was counting the minutes until the fast day was over.
Yesterday, Nava, you were calling around the neighborhood, telling people that your father had died.
And I do not know what to do.
10 comments:
When I first read this post in the wee hours of the morning, I didn't know what to say -- it is THAT powerful.
You've rightfully captured how we sometimes regard or even disregard people -- often they display qualities we don't like or appreciate because these qualities can remind us of what we are lacking in our personal makeup.
But it turns out Nava is human, and I can't help but think of Shylock's famous "Jew" speech -- yes, Nava is indeed human, with senses and affections...
M, it's okay now to tell her "I care" because you in fact do!
(I had a much more eloquent comment for you, but I previewed it and then hit the wrong button and lost it.)
It's weird how we picture people as perfect, as problem-free, when in fact everyone has problems. It's something I do often. It's unfortunate that it often takes tragedy to remind us that no one is problem-free.
"HaMakom yenachem otah betoch sha'ar avlei tzion v'Yerushalayim."
This is definitely one of the most extraordinary postings in your (superbly written) blog. At first when I started reading it I figured, OK, this is another commentary about cliques in HS. But as I read on, I realized that this is the same Nava as the girl whose father's funeral I attended on Monday. This post sent a chill through my body and more tears to add to those I cried on Monday, and continue to cry for Gush Katif. We just never do know what a Tishah B'av has in store for us, do we?
SOmetimes life throws at us things that make us really think, often from the most unexpected places. I don't know if you have, but I'd suggest you speak to her and befriend her. YOu obviously have a way with words and even if you dont become her best buddy, a friendly face and listening ear (or an offer of assistance) has profound affects on anyone, especially in a time of need.
A very powerful post. Everyone contains worlds we are not even aware of - or don't choose to think of, so preoccupied we are with our own prisms of life.
You are already doing something - by posting, asking the questions you are asking, you are showing that you are a thoughtful, compassionate person.
I'm sure Nava would appreciate your presence and kind words.
Beautiful writing, by the way...
This brought tears for me. Reminded me of this:
There once was a Japanese gardener who was working at a fancy house in LA. One day the guy didn't show up. He missed work for a while after that. When he reappeared, before he the gardener could speak, the home owner let him have it and fired him. The man replied quietly that his father had died and he rushed to Japan and couldn't give anything else in life much thought. The owner wrote about this that it was the momment when he realized the gardener was human. He had never before thought about him as a person birthed by parents...
Everyone, thank you so much for your comments and thoughts. I paid Nava a shiva call today, and the sentiments you conveyed helped me enormously- they gave me the confidence to speak to her as myself, and not as a self-labled "near acquaintance." You helped me see her as a friend, and I am incredibly grateful.
Oh- and Nava is planning on going to Israel as scheduled. (I don't want to violate her privacy, but learning this gave me tremendous relief, and I wanted to let you all know.)
Amazing! I am so taken and so touched by this post. You speak to the heart of each of us who has experienced loss, or tried to comfort a loved one dealing with loss. May your magnificent talents continue to touch and inspire those who surround you.
A Fan
effective writing is as dependent on a sensitive heart as a mesmerizing command of the language, i think.
not to miss the forest for the trees - i find your perception of, and reaction to, this trying situation admirable and inspiring.
What a beautiful and moving post- so well expressed and thoughtful.
As an aside, take a moment to think of how human you are to yourself, and how superhuman you apear to so many others... (myself included :)
Fondly,
MN
Post a Comment