My Hands
Moshe sat in the cafe contemplating his hands. The morning sun lit his fingers against the backdrop of a white linen tablecloth. Moshe thought of all the places his hands had been and smiled—a lifetime of memories. “If these hands could talk, the tales they could spin.”
But before he sipped his latte, those hands ripped open a packet of sweetener. Moshe watched the white granules fall into his coffee. Then his hands dropped the empty yellow packet into a Campari red and white porcelain ashtray. He glanced at his watch, and wondered, “Why is Mordechai so late?”
And as he thought about his friend, Mordechai appeared with his hands held high in the air forming a priestly blessing sign. A sign Moshe had seen on many Jewish gravestones. His thumbs touched, and his index fingers touched and they formed a triangle or the Hebrew letter shin..
“Moshe, Live long and prosper my dear friend. What a glorious day to sit in a cafe, warm our hands on a hot cup of coffee, and discuss our thoughts.”
“Well, my good buddy, why the Vulcan salute? Did you dream about Mr. Spock last night?”
“No, but I did read an article in the Times of Israel that asked, ‘Are We Jews A Hand-Oriented People?’ And I thought if I’m hand-oriented, what better way to greet you than with a proper priestly blessing and a Vulcan hand salute.”
“Thanks, Buddy, I needed that greeting. It’s one that I won’t soon forget. And while I was waiting for you, I, too, had a thought about my hands. I wondered what would they say if they could talk.”
Mordechai laughed out loud. “Your hands wouldn’t or couldn’t stop talking. They’ve seen too much, touched too much and they’re too damn proud of it. But I got an idea for you. You should learn sign language. Then your hands could tell your tale.”
Moshe laughed. “Great idea. I’ll start classes tomorrow. I bet people would pay big bucks to see my digits tell their story.”
Now Moshe paused and looked down at the white linen tablecloth. Unconsciously, he had placed his fingers on the tablecloth and formed a triangle. He locked his eyes on them and whispered, “My sweet hands, you have served me well. May you live long and prosper.”
