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Several years after her passing, the Eilat Art Workshop was renamed “in memory of Lily.” At the ceremony, the mayor remarked that Eilat had no other institutions named after individuals, but that in Lily’s case, the dedication was more than justified.
Further, the paintings of the disabled and the handicapped patients that were hanged at the Rehovot Museum, were so unique that after Lily’s death, this piece, out of all her works, was chosen by the heads of the College of Art and Design to commemorate her there.
A few years later, the work disappeared.
Together, Eliot Crane, the head of the College of Art and Design, Saul her brother, and I tried to find it, but we failed.
All that remained were the photographs she had taken before we dismantled it in our apartment on the way to Rehovot.
***
On January 17, 2025, my partner and I visited Lily’s brother.
We have remained in contact over the years, trying, each in our own way, to commemorate her.
Once a year, we gather by her grave. Both Lily’s brother and I own many of her works.
I can hardly describe the depth of emotion we all felt, especially my partner and I, standing before the abstract piece that changed Lily’s life: a single olive-green diagonal line, about 15 cm long and 1.
5 cm wide, standing before us. The talent Lily carried within her defies description.
If it had been up to us, she would have received a diploma without ever setting foot in the Avni Art Institute or the College of Art and Design.
Finally: Lily’s illness was kept from my parents until her very last day, just as it was concealed throughout her time in Eilat, later in Tel-Aviv, and then at the seminary.
In this way, we managed to live a life that was almost normal.
Keeping them unaware spared me many questions I didn’t always have good answers for.
I never lied to them – there was no need.
It was enough simply not to tell them the whole story.
My sister, my brother, and my closest friends knew and supported this choice, and I am grateful to them for that.
Lily’s life and death opened my eyes to many different worlds.
Most of them were extraordinary, bound up with our way of life, in which Lily – despite her illness – refused to give in, and managed to live as fully as possible.
I had the great privilege of accompanying her as her husband, and of witnessing the strength she showed before so many institutions, never yielding in the smallest detail.
I am certain that my decision not to continue practicing medicine was deeply tied to my sense that the medical system had failed in its treatment of Lily – a feeling that stayed with me for many years.
May her memory be blessed.