This piece is part of an ongoing series that we are sharing from Israeli authors and authors in Israel.
It is critical to understand history not just through the books that will be written later, but also through the first-hand testimonies and real-time accounting of events as they occur. At Jewish Book Council, we understand the value of these written testimonials and of sharing these individual experiences. It’s more important now than ever to give space to these voices and narratives.
In collaboration with the Jewish Book Council, JBI is recording writers’ first-hand accounts, as shared with and published by JBC, to increase the accessibility of these accounts for individuals who are blind, have low vision or are print disabled.
Sewing Machine
When my brother was killed
All the threads frayed on Hanassi Street in Ashkelon
Dad wanted to appease Mom
So he bought her a sewing machine
Brand new from HaAliyah Street
In Tel Aviv
We all went, Mom, me and Dad
Every week to learn
How to reattach the threads
Dad was happy
That Mom found some interest in life
So he bought her
Threads in all colors
We moved everything
To Netania
Which didn’t do much good for Dad
Mom didn’t use the new sewing machine
The threads frayed
A Sweater
My mother knitted a sweater for my brother
Knitting notebook
in samples of brown woolen threads
My mother knitted for my beloved brother
Wonderful sweater
criss Cross
to attach his body
To a warm cloth
My mother knitted a sweater for my brother
Beautiful like my brother
The sweater was left at home
And my brother was left in the hills
In the heat of the desert
without a home
wandering in his longing for us
Washing
I’ve cleaned the house
with the tears of the kidnappees
I’ve cleaned my house
After a month of mourning
And they are still there
In addition to a thousand dead martyrs
And the list is still going
And the hand is still writing
Who is for mercy and who is for grace
Who to die and who to burn
Who will die and who will live in suffering
I still have a home
In a beautiful street
and they…
I don’t know where they are
For the First time in my life
I am crying
and the tears are not running
it’s invisible
I can say that my soul was kidnapped
The views and opinions expressed above are those of the author, based on their observations and experiences.
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Shoshana Vegh is an Israeli poet, novelist, translator, publisher and editor.
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