2005
10.02

At an archaeological site I saw fragments of precious vessels, well cleaned and groomed and oiled and spoiled. And beside it I saw a heap of discarded dust which wasn’t even good for thorns and thistles to grow on.
I asked: What is this gray dust which has been pushed around and sifted and tortured and then thrown away?
I answered in my heart: This dust is people like us, who during their lifetime lived separated from copper and gold and marble stones and all other precious things – and they remained so in death. We are this heap of dust, our bodies, our souls, all the words in our mouths, all hopes.
— Yehuda Amichai, At an archaeological site

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