A picture in time

Sometimes we just stop seeing things that are right in front of us. Such is the story that a random snapshot on my dresser tells. It sits in a very gilded frame, definitely not of my own taste or style, a gift from my husband’s sister that we felt obligated to use. So we found the picture, this picture, that fit perfectly, a 5 x 7, stuck it in, and put it in its new home where it sits unnoticed, unnoted, and disturbed only when someone swipes the dust off it.

Today I look at that picture and see it anew.

It’s a treasure, and although I cannot tell you the exact date when it was taken I can narrow it down to the month and year with total accuracy. There was a lot going on, good — no, great — and bad — no, terrible. Somewhere on the back of the photo there may be an exact date, but that is now buried in the frame, and there it shall remain.

It was taken in the days when photos were already in color but were still dropped off at the local pharmacy for developing. That meant a wait between the taking and the seeing, unlike today when instant gratification, and perhaps even too many photos, fill our lives. Who can forget those moments when we picked up the envelope with the recent pictures, apprehensive and eager? This photo was from such a batch. Our apprehension dissipated. This was truly a keeper!

It caught all the principal players in our family, after lunch, in one of our favorite places, my parents’ home in Herzliya. There we all stood, smiling; some of us had dark hair that has now become white. My husband sprouted a thick black moustache and matching beard. Some are sadly gone.

I will share with you what was running through my own mind at the moment the camera shutter closed. It was my diagnosis — breast cancer, stage two. Chances of survival 50%. Chemotherapeutic drugs coursed through my body. Would this be the last family gathering that I would be part of? I was diagnosed in February 1990. The picture was taken in June, four months later.

Yet so many wonderful things were happening.

Our first grandson is in his mother’s arms. His father towers over everyone and is standing behind his young family. The baby was born in October 1989. In the photo he was eight months old and this was his very first trip to Israel. Since then Israel has continued to be a huge part of his life, and that of his wife and their own four children. He has studied and lived there and fulfilled my wish for him at his brit, that he should know the streets of Jerusalem as well as he knows the streets of his hometown in America. He does!

On the left side of the photo stands our second daughter and her brand-new husband. She had left Columbia, where she had been a part of the first coed class, at the completion of her freshman year. She transferred to the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, where she met her life’s partner. Their wedding was a magnificent and spirited event at Jerusalem’s Beit Shmuel, which, years later, became the venue for the b’nai mitzvah of each of their three children. Her husband, our son-in-law, served three years in Tzahal, and numerous members of his IDF chevra shared the splendid event, some of them dressed in army fatigues, others in jeans, none in a suit and tie. Our family photo was taken during those glorious days after a wedding, and the beginning of new lives together.

Our two younger children stand between my husband and the newlyweds. They are both wearing their Columbia t-shirts. They became big fans of the university even though one broke a toe and one a finger within a day of each other. Each stayed on for masters degrees and our daughter met and then married, a young Brit who was getting a doctorate in mathematics from the school.

Their wedding also was in Jerusalem, an elegant and joyous affair at the King David Hotel. All those included in the photo were at that wedding, the last event that united our family at a simcha. Life was to intrude, as it always does. How grateful I am for those wedding photos that show my mother glowing as she walks down the aisle with my father. And my brother-in-law Ze’ev looking healthy and so very alive. Those pictures are also treasures!

Our son, minus the salt and pepper hair that now adorns him, was the last of our children to be married. He circled the globe for years before finding his bashert. The picture shows him when he was still under 20. I shall always thank him for his response to my breast cancer announcement. Unlike his three sisters, who shed tears and showed their angst, he piped back at me, could I make a deposit into his bank account before starting all the treatments? I could and did and thank him still for believing that I would survive, at least for a while.

My parents sit in the front row of the photo, no doubt tired from preparing an elaborate and delicious meal. I cannot recall what was served but it was undoubtedly presented professionally since Mom, Ida, grew up in her own mother’s commercial kitchen at the Bauman House and knew that an elegant garnish went a long way to making food look festive. Dad had become her sous chef in his retirement years and was a partner in every endeavor. The two of them were delighted to host their family and rejoice at another simcha.

My sister and her two young children, both teenagers, and their father, Ze’ev, complete the cast of characters in this cherished moment in our history. Their family is now enhanced with four sabra children. Ze’ev survived long enough to meet the first.

One picture is worth a thousand words, but a thousand words can go far to amplify one picture.

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of nine. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com

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