The official opening took place on October 23, 1977.
From the moment it opened, Lily was extremely busy. She began to blossom. Our encounters became more infrequent – we mostly saw each other at night when I wasn’t on call. We both felt that in Eilat, we were realizing our potential to the fullest.
We were always on the move: she on her way to the workshop or to the education department to request something else for her students, reporting to managers, seeking out artists willing to travel down to Eilat for a lecture or class, and taking care of the home – and of me. And I devoted myself to medicine, and of course to her.
At that time, our relationship reached new depths. True, we spent very little time together, but for us it was enough. We shared our combined energies, the experiences each of us lived in our work, met new people, and expanded and widened our social circle. Dr. Olivier had been right – we felt we had reached paradise.
There was no sign that her health was failing, apart from her difficulty climbing stairs. The ticking clock – the two years allotted to Lily, which I carried in my thoughts constantly – was nearly up, yet she appeared to be at the peak of her bloom.
Chapter 45
Dylan Rhodes
Once the workshop opened, Lily turned to the Department of Education to make good on their promise to bring in outside lecturers. She understood the importance of linking the workshop to well-known artists from the center of the country, and she knew the workshop’s stature would be measured not only by local recognition, but also by how it was regarded by artists, writers, playwrights, and the like from the center of the country. She wanted them not only to agree to the invitation to come down to the southern city, but to be able to list their appearance at the workshop on their résumés.
But as happens in every public institution, promises can’t always be kept. Suddenly it turned out there was no budget for hosting. Lily didn’t give up. She launched a campaign against the decision-makers at city hall. She believed that if the first lecturer swept the audience away, the door would open for the next ones to follow.
“I gave Ali a list of potential lecturers,” Lily told me one evening.
“So they finally opened their wallet?” I was skeptical.
“Look, I’m stubborn and I don’t give up. They promised the workshop would be active – including outside lecturers.”
“So they promised – you know bureaucracy…”
“But I have to keep the promise. They promised, so let them stand by it,” she fired at me, as if I were responsible.
“Fine, so you gave Ali a list?”
“Focus – I just told you. Of course! I trust him. He knows it’s really not expensive.”
“Do they pay the lecturers?”
“No. The lecturer is supposed to get a round-trip flight and a two-star hotel for one or two nights.”
“Well, that’s something. But look – the education department’s direct expense is only a few hundred liras, so why won’t they approve it?”
“I have no idea. I’m dying to get the green light.”
“Just don’t die on me… Who’ll be the first?”
“Dylan Rhodes,” she tossed out, as if we weren’t talking about the head of the College of Art and Design– the State Teachers’ College for Art – located at the time in Ramat-Hasharon. His reputation as a superb lecturer preceded him.
“Dylan Rhodes?” I asked. “He was my art teacher in high school.”
“Yours?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, he taught for a year or two at Tichon Hadash – art history.”
“And how was he?”
“His classes were fascinating.”
“Do you remember anything?”
“Look, it’s been more than ten years, but I think he opened with a lecture onTotem and Taboo. That I still remember.”
“Really?”
