I started experimenting with my diet again, mixing nuts and fruits in certain combinations and eating them at carefully scheduled times. It's like I wanted just more cleansing. The entire world was changing. The Berlin wall had fallen. I sat riveted to my television set. I mean it was really the best show in town. I was video-taping all the news on CNN.
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With the Commies on the run in Berlin, I knew Prague would fall next. I cried when Dubcek came out on the balcony and embraced the thousands thronged below. I felt freedom was finally coming. Not just for the long-suffering Czechs, but also for me. Svobodu was not just a Czech word, it was my word too now. I danced in the living-room. I didn't care about the future. I was just being in the moment. And it felt good. Very good. Not kind of, but VERY.
Soon revolution broke out in Romania. The weather was cold as 1989 melted away....
It was on the 26th of January that things finally started coming to a head. It was the last kiddish with Dad. A kiddish is a service Jews like to hold every Friday to celebrate the coming Sabbath. In normal times, my step-mother cooked a decent meal and my dad would recite the prayer from the kiddish book. Wine is drunk and bread is eaten. But this time it was really different. Dad was so weak he had to be brought down in a wheel-chair. As the eldest I had to say the kiddish.
Dad's head was slumped against the table. He was that weak. I had a hard time starting the prayer. It seemed like years. I almost started to cry. Everybody was silent. Somehow my lips started to move. I was walking across a chasm. Dad was so weak he was taken back upstairs. Everyone pushed and lifted the wheel-chair up the stairs. It was the symbol of our struggle. It was our life. I couldn't add much to this.
Dad died on February 3rd 1990
Saturday, the Jewish day of rest.