Shoah Series (Holocaust)

A driverless train rushes towards me out of the night. Its engine is ablaze in its own light. Its horn blows loudly like the blast of a shofar. Standing behind the iron railing at the front of the engine on one side is my father holding a red Torah scroll, and on the other side stood my grandfather holding a blue Torah scroll. They were wearing their tefillin on their heads and on their hands. Their talits (prayer shawls) were blowing in the wake of the train and they looked like angel wings.

           This waking dream came to me about a year after my father (of blessed memory) died. I had not been able to work in color on a major painting until this apparition appeared to me in broad daylight.  I was disturbed by it. I thought it an omen that my life, too, might soon end, and my father and grandfather were coming to tell me, and to take me. I thought about it a long time. “Where was my mother (of blessed memory)? Why wasn’t she there? Surely she would have come.” At that, my mood began to change. This dream was not about death. It was about release from death, about deliverance from the paralysis of grief. My father and grandfather had come to tell me that it was time now to release myself from the grayness, the colorlessness of grief and re-enter my life in full. And so I did and painted this soon after because it was so strong in my mind. It was my father’s gift to me.