The Woven Earring

When I arrived at the welcome dinner for the Placzek family with my sister Catherine and childhood friend Sylvia on our first night in Brno, more than twenty cousins were already seated around several of the restaurant's tables.

At two long tables sat Erich Placzek with his ten children, along with Mark, his niece Kendall and her partner Steve. At another was Karen's family: Max, Joss, their two children and Karen's partner Jeff. At a third table, next to Karen's sister Tracey, was the cousin I had so eagerly anticipated meeting: Michael.

This was our first time meeting in person, after five or six years of communicating by email. Michael, who had put together the family tree in 2006, had given me feedback and suggestions for my book, One Stitch at a Time.

Michael is rather reserved and hadn't mentioned that his girlfriend, Maria, would be attending Štetl Fest, but Karen had told me. As soon as I walked in, Michael and Maria got up from their chairs. Our first meeting was as warm as I had hoped it would be. Or rather, even warmer!

Maria, with whom I had never communicated before, gave me a huge hug and said with a bright smile, "You are exactly how I imagined you would be!" Those words went straight to my heart. Michael had obviously talked to her about our email exchanges and the connection we had built over the years.

Then she pulled a little golden jewelry bag from her pocket and handed it to me. Inside were two beautiful earrings, accompanied by a note that read, "For Marianne, One Stitch at a Time. Love, Maria." Remarkably, the earrings looked as though they had been woven, one bead at a time. Maria's gesture was so thoughtful, so personal… I was speechless—which is not a frequent occurrence!

I don't usually wear earrings, but I was excited to wear these for the presentation I was scheduled to give about my father's house two days later. I chose an outfit that would bring out the golden-brown tones of the earrings. It felt good to wear them during my talk, which Maria and Michael attended, along with other cousins and members of the Brno community.

After the presentation, a few of us went out to dinner. I have a photograph of Simi and me in which the earrings peek out from beneath my dark hair on either side. After dinner, we all headed to the site of the Great Synagogue, which the Nazis and local Czech Fascists had burned down in 1939, to celebrate Shabbat.

After the beautiful ceremony, Catherine, Sylvia and I said goodbye to the family members and friends we would not see again, giving each a hug and a kiss. And that's probably when it happened…

When we returned to our place in Brno, which had once been my father's home, I went into the bathroom to take off my earrings. That was when I realized, with horror, that one of them was missing. I was devastated. I wanted to return to the synagogue the next day to look for it, but a fierce storm had followed the Shabbat ceremony. Catherine and Sylvia convinced me that I would never find the earring in the mud the rain had left behind. I still regret not trying, but we had a full day planned for our last day in Brno with our friend Simi, who had offered to guide us around the city.

Simi contacted her colleagues, who were organizing another event at the synagogue site, but they couldn't find it.

I had to accept the fact that I would be returning to Oregon with just one earring. Or would I?

After leaving Brno and the dear friends who had invited us to stay in what has been their home since their family bought it from my grandmother in 1947, I received a message from Jana, the current owner. It included a picture of one of the earrings and a note saying, "I guess that means you will have to come back to Brno!" Jana had found it on the floor in the entrance to the house.

I was overjoyed, believing that she had found the earring I had lost. I started looking for the one I still had, only to realize that it, too, was missing. In the end, the earring Jana had found was the other one. Neither earring had made it home with me!

As much as I wanted to return to Brno and see Jana again, I had no immediate plans to go and I couldn't wait that long to get my earring back. Luckily, my cousin Karen and Jeff were still in town and happily agreed to retrieve it from Jana. They would be returning to the very house where Karen's own grandparents had been invited by my grandfather to stay during the war.

True to herself, Jana had placed the earring in a lovely little red and white box. When Karen returned to her home in California, she sent it on to me. I am so happy to have it back, but I so wish I had both earrings, not just the one.

I found comfort in the symbolism of having lost my earring at the very place where my great-great-grandfather, Rabbi Baruch Placzek, had officiated for many years. The synagogue had come back to life that night, as the first Shabbat service since its destruction was celebrated on the site where it once stood tall. There was symbolism, too, in the storm that followed the ceremony, which felt like a kind of purification.

I am writing this blog as a confession to Maria, to whom I have not had the courage to admit that I lost one of the earrings she so thoughtfully made for me—one of the most meaningful gifts of my adult life. And I write it in the hope that perhaps she will find it in her heart to weave another earring for me, one stitch at a time…