My grandfather is a key figure in my life. From the age of 15, he practically raised me and experienced most of my adolescence with me. In the second year of my acting studies at Kibbutzim College, I discovered a medical document that certified that my grandfather has dementia. Until then, I thought my grandfather “forgets” or “doesn’t remember well enough”. Sometimes I was angry with him for forgetting that he had made an appointment with me or forgetting that he had already told me the story he was about to tell. When I realized it was a disease, I understood that the roles in our lives had changed.

From that moment on, I searched for a place for my grandfather that would take care of him. In parallel with my acting studies, I took care of my grandfather’s needs, almost, but only almost, like he did for me when I was a teenager.

My grandfather’s world of oblivion was a world rich in details. Full of extreme moments and a small handful of moments of memory that were hope for me. I knew that this is what I would write my next one-man show about. Why one-man? Because that’s the truth. There is a grandfather and a grandson, and the grandfather is getting lost, to the point that only the grandson’s memory of him remains.