The end of the day,
Far far away,
In a new place,
A child lays his head on a pillow.
What is in his heart?
Till he falls asleep,
At the hour between reality and dreams,
I will play to him from afar, a soothing story.
When he grows up,
I will tell him about himself, somewhere else, long ago.
I will tell him how much he is in my heart.
Sweet dreams.
3.6.20
Dear Shon,
Every once in a while I write about moments in my life, I write for myself and for my loved ones. I wanted to write this story a long time ago…you are in it. (A friend helped me translate it)
I look at the tiny fingers plucking the strings and smile with every sound. Shon has a small guitar. He is about ten years old, quiet, introvert, sweet and sharp. Every week he wins my heart anew. I muse, nine months have passed since the very first lesson. He is progressing really well. It’s so good that we still have a long way ahead, together.
Suddenly he stops playing ,turns towards me and says almost whispering,”You know Dalit, we have only two months left to study”.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Shon answers, “The family is moving to the States”.
He explains in a few words and I refuse to believe it. We return to the piece. The sounds are soft. The lesson ends and his father arrives to pick him up.
I say, “Shon, let’s meet on the Saturday before the flight. I must film you playing, it will be a souvenir for both of us”. Shon and his father agree.
Meanwhile the lessons continue and it only seems like everything is as usual. With each meeting the air is filled with an impending sense of departure. I don’t dare tell Shon how much I worry about him, he is too young.
Saturday – outside everything is still and it’s a special day in the studio.
My son Gal and my husband Marcelo are setting up the camera and microphone {cellphones with cameras didn’t exist then}. I prepare some refreshments on a small table, we have a long day ahead of us.
Everything is ready. Shon and his father enter. Marcelo tunes the small guitar and gives it to Shon who takes his place in front of the four of us. Gal gives the cue to begin. Young Shon starts to play pieces after piece after piece.
I can hear his tenderness, his kindness, his alertness and determination. I can hear the words not spoken between us.
I can’t believe this is our final meeting. I can already feel my longing begin.
At the end of the filming you are very quiet Shon, I am silent. The door opens, your mother comes in and says, “Shon, give the flowers to Dalit”.
You put the flowers on the table.
I approach you saying, “Shon, come here”.
You come closer, lean your head on me and I wrap my arms around you for a long minute.
A week passes and you are already far away.
In the beginning we talk on the phone. In one of these conversations you say, “Dalit, I am forgetting my Hebrew”, and I reply, “And my English is so poor”.
Later, we correspond with each other with the help of ‘Google Translate’ and whenever you add a video of a concert or competition, I am amazed at your progress and happy that you have such excellent teachers.
From time to time your father calls while you are with him, and talks about you proudly, each conversation or mail makes my heart rejoice, until the call when neither you nor your father could imagine my situation. The words still echo in my memory as if they were spoken just now.
It was in July 2010, a few days after the tragedy in my family.
It is 10pm.I get into the car but don’t drive, just sit in absolute darkness with wet eyes.
Suddenly the phone rings. On the screen I see a number from abroad.
I answer, “Hello, who is it?”
Your father replies in Hebrew.” Shalom Dalit, It’s Mark Shon’s father, how are you? We are so happy to tell you that Shon is going to participate in …”
I can’t hold it in any longer, I burst into tears,” Mark, Mark, a terrible thing has happened…my Dana has been killed in a car accident”.
I hear your father break down …
In the background I can hear you Shon, “Daddy, what’s happened? Tell me what happened”.
Your father cries, “Oh Shon, Dalit’s youngest daughter died in a car accident”.
He can’t speak any more and you little Shon, you take the phone and say in English, “Dalit, what can I do? I’ll do anything for you, tell me what to do and I’ll do it, anything, anything…”
Dear Shon, I will never forget your sincere words that came from the depths of your heart from far across the sea.
My life has changed. Each day I learn to live and choose to live, and Dana lives in my soul every moment.
I continue to write music, and the guitar, my best friend, is always at my side.
The years come and go, and you ‘little Shon’, are already 24.
You know Shon, for me, life is ties of the heart. These ties are not measured by time or distance, nor by the number of emails or conversations. Ties of the heart beat in a cosmic path. In the very first lesson my heart smiled at you. You have left that smile with me forever.
One of the pieces I wrote then was “A Bedtime Story”. Whenever I play it I see your tiny palms …
I want to give you this piece as a gift. I hope you like it. I hope it will leave a smile in you.
Yours,
Dalit
