In every picture, she had draped one arm over someone’s shoulder. The sleeve had slipped, exposing her elbow — and her tattoo,
As told to Leah Gebber
Zeidy never said much apart from when he would surprise you and eject a stream of words and explanations.
It happened every few months maybe just twice a year. It happened to me when I was 14 sitting at his dining room table and peering at some camp photos. I hated how I looked in one photo — my hair was a mess my skin had broken out my eyes slits from lack of sleep. The picture I soon decided belonged in the garbage.
As I tossed it Zeidy walked into the kitchen. He looked at me in horror and wagged his head. He reached into the garbage can and snatched out the picture laying it on the counter and wiping it clean with a tissue. “You don’t throw away a picture understand?” he said. Shocked I just nodded.
And then it came the stream. Things about not disrespecting the human form about tzelem Elokim about how if you’re already insisting on taking photos then don’t ever ever throw them into the garbage can. I didn’t understand really what he was saying but I was left with the impression that a picture is akin to my Chumash notebook never thrown away left on the shelf until it falls apart and only then placed carefully in sheimos.
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