Four Seasons

Four Seasons

A few years after I immigrated to Israel, I went through a very difficult period in my life.
During that time, I began seeing a wonderful psychologist. Our meetings lasted five years — years that were filled with honesty, healing, and slow rediscovery.

One day, he said gently, “You don’t need me anymore.”
It was hard to hear. I told him how difficult it was for me to stop seeing him.

He smiled and suggested something unusual:
“Perhaps you could weave me a small tapestry,” he said. “When you finish it, that will be our farewell.”

So I began to weave.
But it wasn’t small. And I couldn’t finish it — or maybe I didn’t want to. The weaving became a kind of continuation of our conversations, each thread a thought I wasn’t ready to let go of.

Eventually, I did finish it.
Yet, the top part remained intentionally “unfinished,” the warp threads open and free — like a silent promise that our dialogue would continue, even without words, even without meetings.

This tapestry is a symbol of transition — from dependence to independence, from guidance to self-trust — and of how art can hold what words cannot say.