Memories

When we were younger

Memories are the personal history of a person. They are so unique and subjective, that there is no place for an argument. Not even for self.

For years I remembered that I was told that my mother studied Hebrew under Ben-Yehuda. Only a continual mentioned of the fact by a friend here in Israel, made me aware that it was simply impossible - she was born the same year that he died.

I remember many things about Tel-Aviv, the city I was born in. I grew up in Tel-Aviv, and I recall many a times that we visited various cafés along Dizenghoff Street in all hours of the day. I saw these places a few months ago and could not find the old spots, everything changed, including the water fountain. But my memories are alive and well, even if they are not as accurate as I once thought they were. They are tucked in my grey cells, forever making an impression that is personal and close to my heart as only private history can be.

Memories are but a part of the whole. They might not always be accurate, but they are mine.

The 68th day of Praise -

Thank you God for the memories…

Mushy,

Orith