Two years ago, I’m helping someone move and I meet a woman named Julia. I’m immediately fascinated by her - she’s beautiful, and I can tell from her features that she’s Jewish. As a girl of seven extremely different ethnicities, ranging from Irish to Spanish, I’m so jealous that her heritage is portrayed through her looks. I then notice a small tattoo in Hebrew on her arm. I suddenly realize tattoos aren’t so bad, that they could actually be beautiful. I don’t even know what the tattoo means. I am unable stop staring at her arm. I am truly fascinated, but I don’t know why.A year later, I wind up working with Julia at a photography studio. We’re eating lunch, and I finally tell her of my fascination with her tattoo. She tells me what it means, and I forget. I tell many people the story of how I met Julia and how much I love her tattoo, but because I don’t remember the meaning, I don’t tell them it.Six months after our lunch, Julia and I are at work, discussing her next tattoo. I remind her of that time that feels so long ago, of when I first met her and my fascination with the Hebrew tattoo. I finally remember to ask her what it means again.Hope.She asks me if I know the full story about why she got the tattoo. I say I don’t, but I would like to hear it. She smiles and says that I will love the tattoo even more after I hear the story.When Julia was in college, she did an internship in DC. She had plans with a friend one day, but they fell through or were postponed, something of the sort. She wound up at the Holocaust museum, somewhere she’d never been before, despite her past few weeks in DC. She was not a devout Jew; her ties with her religion weren’t strong. But she wanted to see. She saw the whole museum. Six hours she walked in that place, with each exhibit getting her more and more upset with the world. She wanted to know why this tragedy could have ever happened. She completely lost her faith in humanity that day. Until she reached the end of the museum.The end of the museum was a movie of some sort, which was comprised of various interviews with Holocaust survivors. Each one said the same thing, that even in the horrific moments they experienced, they knew that someone was going to save them.They had hope. Last month, I got the word hope in the handwriting of Leah, the woman we were helping move two years ago: someone who became my sister in every sense of the word. This tattoo is to remind myself of two people I love, to remind myself of an incredible time in my life, to remind myself there is always hope. More background on my relationship with Julia can be found here: http://50extraordinarywome​n.com/2011/06/7-julia-gold​berg/ More background on my relationship with Leah can be found here: http://50extraordinarywome​n.com/2011/05/6-leah-marti​n/

Two years ago, I’m helping someone move and I meet a woman named Julia. I’m immediately fascinated by her - she’s beautiful, and I can tell from her features that she’s Jewish. As a girl of seven extremely different ethnicities, ranging from Irish to Spanish, I’m so jealous that her heritage is portrayed through her looks. I then notice a small tattoo in Hebrew on her arm. I suddenly realize tattoos aren’t so bad, that they could actually be beautiful. I don’t even know what the tattoo means. I am unable stop staring at her arm. I am truly fascinated, but I don’t know why.

A year later, I wind up working with Julia at a photography studio. We’re eating lunch, and I finally tell her of my fascination with her tattoo. She tells me what it means, and I forget. I tell many people the story of how I met Julia and how much I love her tattoo, but because I don’t remember the meaning, I don’t tell them it.

Six months after our lunch, Julia and I are at work, discussing her next tattoo. I remind her of that time that feels so long ago, of when I first met her and my fascination with the Hebrew tattoo. I finally remember to ask her what it means again.

Hope.

She asks me if I know the full story about why she got the tattoo. I say I don’t, but I would like to hear it. She smiles and says that I will love the tattoo even more after I hear the story.

When Julia was in college, she did an internship in DC. She had plans with a friend one day, but they fell through or were postponed, something of the sort. She wound up at the Holocaust museum, somewhere she’d never been before, despite her past few weeks in DC. She was not a devout Jew; her ties with her religion weren’t strong. But she wanted to see. She saw the whole museum. Six hours she walked in that place, with each exhibit getting her more and more upset with the world. She wanted to know why this tragedy could have ever happened. She completely lost her faith in humanity that day. Until she reached the end of the museum.

The end of the museum was a movie of some sort, which was comprised of various interviews with Holocaust survivors. Each one said the same thing, that even in the horrific moments they experienced, they knew that someone was going to save them.

They had hope.

Last month, I got the word hope in the handwriting of Leah, the woman we were helping move two years ago: someone who became my sister in every sense of the word. This tattoo is to remind myself of two people I love, to remind myself of an incredible time in my life, to remind myself there is always hope.

More background on my relationship with Julia can be found here: http://50extraordinarywome​n.com/2011/06/7-julia-gold​berg/

More background on my relationship with Leah can be found here: http://50extraordinarywome​n.com/2011/05/6-leah-marti​n/