Jewish.
Jewish. Only a word? …Still odd ...
In most cases I had heard it only whispered, occasionally yelled. It was natural only when we were among ourselves. The time in which and the place at where I grew up it always sounded strange from people, it was not allowed to be used. At the dawn of my adolescence it was stirring to find it out that I was Jewish. At that time I wasn't sure whether this was a cursing or what. I was filled with fatefullness, I tried to understand what it really meant to be Jewish. From books, music, tastes, dance, people I've found in myself what connects me with this mystic word. The taste of Solet, my grandparents' eyes, the candlelight of the holidays dance within me like the Hasids do on Klezmer in the movies, dance and play music. Where sorrow and joy meet, where sanctity and ironic humour tolerate, even spice one another, there were my drawings born. I'd like to break walls with them. …The walls of whispering and yelling.
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