The Beauty of it all

Sede Boqer, view of the Wadi

On the way to Eilat, the Aravá desert

Eilat, view of Jordan

Trieste 1943

It was in the late years of WW2 when two SS knocked on my grandmothers door in Trieste, looking for jews. One had an appealing kind behavior, one was rude and shouting to the women in her thirties and my oncle -then a 7yr old child- shaking at her side. The "ugly" perlustrated the house, the "gentle" remained with my grandmother lifting the child with his strong soldier hands. The "ugly" opened a door of the house where, inside, an old man in his 80s sat in the shade on a wheelchair. Sick, a long beard split in the middle, the physionomy of the staettle. Meanwhile the "gentle" approached the window of the house, the child on his arms, the view of Trieste , the gulf and the Carso was spectacular. The soldier pointing to the chapel of the synagogue in the mid of the city asked the child with a soft voice:"son, what is that church with the round roof?". The child refrained to answer and shook his head nodding, saving the family. The oldman looked at the "ugly" in the eyes, then the soldier closed gently the door. In a rare moment of pity, my grandmother was told to leave the house the next day. She left, with her son and the oldman.

Ci sono crimini peggiori che bruciare libri, uno é non leggerli [Joseph Brodsky]