“Everyone, take a cane off the wall. And then come this way.”
That was my initiation into Dialogue in the Dark, often colloquially (and perhaps crudely) referred to as “The Blind Museum” in Holon, Israel.
Our group was greeted with a heavy, thick blackness as we felt our way into the exhibit’s entrance. I was reminded of the 9th plague. We were greeted inside by a voice of reassurance, a voice of comfort.
“Shalom. I’ll be your guide.”
As we stumbled and tripped, and as we felt helpless and lost, the voice led us through. We soon learned that the voice belonged to someone who lived in darkness every day. For the next hour, that voice was our light.
At the end, he led us out of the blackness, back into our regular world.
I cringed at the collective sigh of relief from the group. It was jarring in front of a man who never leaves the dark. He probably hears it often.
When I say the blessing of pokeach ivrim, I remember that hour. And I treasure the gift of eyesight: it’s not to be taken lightly.
