(continued)
My mother had to fight against my father's will to obtain social security for my brother, and she involved me to the point of writing me a letter ordering me to take care of it. I replied that I didn't know what she meant by that, since no one ever listened to me; anyway the father of my daughter was fighting cancer and between this, my family and work, I wasn't able to help. What I I always did, as much as I could, was to support her emotionally; I often went with my mother and brother to his health centre, getting in touch with the doctor, the operators and the recreational activity he did there. When I was at my mother's house, from a young age until two years ago, I was always happy to help with manual renovation work, for example, stripping, woodworm-proofing and polishing the ceiling beams in the acetaia of balsamico; painting the ceiling and walls in the kitchen, the walls in the service room, painting the stairwell after the bricklayer had done with the stability work, paying for the materials myself. I did the work of reducing the weight in the attic's rooms because of the stability problem after the earthquake, emptying and disposing of containers of old, heavy stuff. When I could and an opportunity arose, I made contributions in money.
All this, while my mother was very active and always difficult to please, and knew what she wanted for her home! I trusted her with my daughter, being careful even from a distance and with great anxiety always because of my brother.
P. died when our daughter was a teenager. My mother and sister thought it would be good for us to go back to Modena, but our life was in Milan and I refused.
In 2011 I emigrated to London, where I found joy: my daughter was living and studying in the same city but independently; I found my spiritual fulfilment and in an inherent way I had moved into a very promising job; and I had found love.
My mother's phone calls continued, those harrowing alternations between "how nice what you are doing" and "so you are not coming back here to me any more", her outbursts for the difficulty of relationships with other family members. Then there were phone calls from my sister, who described everything as usual as a "hell" of which she bore the burden. I remember one time, I was about to enter the synagogue, and her reason, to which I listened while standing on the pavement for half an hour, was an angry outburst about our father's request to establish how much money he had given us for our houses in the past. Above all, she was furious, implying that he made differences in my favour in that respect.
Even living in London, I contributed by spending at least the whole month of August with my mother every year, so that my sister could go on holiday without any worries. Indeed, my mother's health was severely deteriorating and in August 2012 she had a very bad fall. I managed the hospitalisation without disturbing my sister. So my mother went from having tenants in her house to needing physical help instead. Years of struggle began to get her to accept the idea. So my mother went from having tenants in her house to needing physical help instead. Years of struggle began to get her to accept the idea.
Nel 2013 vendetti la casa di Milano, restituendo a mia madre i soldi che mi aveva prestato. Continuavano le telefonate di mia sorella, a cui dicevo che il mio lavoro e la mia vita erano li. Ricordo che giorno mi disse “dai, se vieni apriamo un B&B!” (nella casa della mamma).
I was surprised, and again naively, enthusiastically confident, I did not elaborate further, I did not make sure she really meant it - I should have, given the immense distance between her interests and priorities and a self owned commercial business. The strength of my confidence came from the fact that this idea would be the natural evolution of a villa handed down for generations where only two, and so vulnerable persons live; of an estate that is beautiful but requires love and work in every corner of its inside and outside; that requires to generate the resources for its maintenance itself. Although my mother, typically, would have found it difficult to accept an idea that did not come from her, I thought that my sister and I - and all those around us - could finally join forces, weaknesses, experiences, give the best of our respective qualities to a common project. But I did not put conditions on my sister about my job security.
In the summer of 2015 I was there as usual in August, and I took the opportunity to test the ground (literally!): my mother had always been scrupulous about maintenance and inspections of the house, and one of her trusted surveyors came to assess the effects of the past earthquake. I mentioned to them the idea of creating a nice rest home: since my mother and brother needed assistance, but were recalcitrant to the idea of having a 'carer', why not make a virtue of necessity, creating a small place of care and rest? A place that could also be a commitment for my brother, a niche for the after-my-mother, a hundred years from now.
The Surveyor said that the house was fine, and applauded the idea, informing us that just at that time a law of the Municipality was being examined to regulate and encourage the opening of these private facilities; according to him, my mother would have amply repaid the expenses of an assistant by organising a couple of workers for them and the paying guests, especially if her daughter (i.e. me) had worked actively in the facility.
I reported everything to my sister and suggested that we talk to our mother to start shaping the idea: my sister, as always, was in a hurry, I could already see the interest in listening to me fading in her eyes. She told me to do the talking, and while I was presenting the idea to my mother, my sister was practically only being present. My mother said a clear, firm, "no, I don't want strangers in my house". Everything ended there.
My sister treated me like a lady-in-waiting, inviting me out to dinner or to her house, where her partner pretended to 'explain' my parents, my father, etc., to me. While my sister would make tragic and desperate comments in the background, I couldn't converse because he held court. I remember one evening coming out of their house and falling down. I felt non-existent, or even worse, because I only was expected to take out the rubbish.
LiOr (continued)
This is the fifth week of the Omer: Hod, Glory, Acceptance, Receptivity, Prophecy. On the 35th day we meet Malkhut she’be Hod, Majesty within glory. "Achsah is the daughter of Caleb, one of the men who lead the conquest of the land of Canaan, who gave Achsah in marriage to Otniel who conquered the city of Kiriat-Sefer (Joshua 15:13-19). As Achsah is leaving her father's home, she asks her father for a dowry of land with springs of water. Her father gives her the area of Upper and Lower Gulot (springs) as a wedding gift. n midrash, Caleb is the husband of Miriam, the prophetess associated with a miraculous well. It appears that Achsah is asking, not for territory, but for access to her mother's spiritual gift of abundant water. Achsah, although she is given away like an object, finds a way to reclaim her sense of malkhut, of personhood and individual sovereignty, by asking for a gift—invoking the quality of hod or receptivity. We are most like Achsah when we claim our own personhood by asking for our own physical, intellectual, and spiritual inheritance."(https://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/omer-35)