A driving rain has turned the waves and the sky into one darkness. The coastal road is empty, traffic lights signal to each other in a secret code. Tel Aviv rehearses the Yom Kippur that is to be performed again this year.On the CD I listen again to the gypsies who sang for me once in Moscow. Imagining myself to be Uncle Vanya that night I had thrown my glass of wine against the wall. The singer, dark, with downcast eyes turns fiercely beautiful when the music possesses her. The male guitarist looks like a bank clerk on the take. Their voices combine rising to a scream of pain, fall to a whisper and retain their passion even when the silence is almost total. The others, guitar and violin for background music wear professional smiles and gold teeth. It is written in my will that when I die they are to walk behind me and play. Their plaintive voices will be my defense for all that I have done and for all that I should have done. God too will arrive with an orchestra, large and loud, it will play Mahler to drown out the questions I will ask Him and the answers He will not give.
Frank Meisler is a world-renowned Israeli sculptor. www.frankmeislersculpture.com
