
Synagogue Doors
My first glimpse of these doors came as I as I was walking with a small group in search of a Jewish cemetery in Kishnev, Moldova. As the doors flashed upon my peripheral vision I soon found myself away from the group, set upon the photographer’s quest to find and capture the mystery I had just seen. Peering over fences, enduring verbal chastisement from an elderly Russian woman (until I paid her) entering small hidden doors that led to alleyways and shrouded paths, I discovered in full form what I had only previously glimpsed. There I stood alone, enwrapped in a moment of mystery and wonder. Before me was a scene ethereal and beyond time: not the mere doors but an entire synagogue, standing in the ruins left by a long-ago bomb. It seemed to be waiting too, for me, holding its breath, waiting to be found. Waiting for someone to tell its story.
Hidden and forgotten, only waiting to be found
Burned by hatred past, yet adorned in fresh vines;
Scarred, yet strong as steel; the broken windows
Yielding only a clear view;
Tightly closed, only to be opened.
Lift up your heads, O gates, and be lifted up, O everlasting doors,
That the King of Glory may come in!
By Dave Fitzpatrick