When I was a kid growing up in Israel, collections, as a hobby, were all the rage.
There was the napkin collection I had in stacks. The flags around the world collection of long flat rectangular shaped gum wrappers, which we played with for hours hitting the floor with our palms arched into a tunnel of sorts allowing for air to move through, aiming to turn the gum wrapper-flag to its other side.
Probably there were other collections of sorts that I can’t recall.
Sometime in the 1980s, my postage stamp collection got misplaced. Between the various moves my family made, that album of stamps fell through the cracks.
Like for many others, something about postage stamps beckoned.
Even before I understood why or could articulate it, something inside me made me take notice of stamps and want them.
I remember Rosh Hashanah themed stamps with doves holding a Shana Tova greeting by their beak, stamps of Kings of Israel and other Biblical themes, heroes of Israel, agricultural motifs of the land, and many others. These stamps were all characterized by a distinctive Israeli aesthetic of the 1970s and 1980s.When you look at them these days, they seem vintage.
I had no idea of the monetary side of things. I didn’t look for prized commemorative stamps that would one day fetch a high price. I knew nothing of that element of postage stamp collecting. I was no philatelist.
Yet, in my own little way, that’s exactly what I was. Within those little perforated stamp squares lie little windows into journeys taken.
Stamps are a tangible symbol of epistolary words exchanged between two people, or two parties, that may have crossed oceans,closed a business deal, made a diplomatic breakthrough, or represented a relationship that coalesced into a commitment — maybe a marriage proposal. Who knows?
Most likely, most stamped letters were simply newsy and schmoozy correspondence, updating friends or family. But that’s just the thing. These letters were agents of connection. And where was it symbolized and represented? Within that little fragment of the journey, within the unassuming stamp on the corner of an envelope.
Those stamps took on an artistic life of their own, becoming reflecting mirrors of the country and culture they were mailed from and of their voyages.
Recently I decided I wanted to recapture some of those stamps I had once collected. In a shop, walking past antique typewriters (be still my heart!), I reached a box filled with random cut out postage stamps. My goal to start with was to find the commemorative series of 12 stamps depicting the famous stained-glass windows created by Marc Chagall, built into the synagogue at Hadassah Hospital in Ein Kerem.
I remember the wonder of it like it was yesterday, when my father took me on a trip there, showing me the exquisite colorful arched windows of the `1 tribes of Israel, explaining who Marc Chagall was and why these stained glass windows were special.
While I didn’t find the Chagall stamps, I did snap up some familiar and distinctive stamps of the Israeli 1970s and 1980s era I was looking for.
Just before leaving I noticed a carton near the stamp box I had been busy looking through.
The shop was closing, and in a friendly way the proprietor politely signaled he’d like for me to wrap things up.
Oh, why hadn’t I noticed this box of mailed stamped envelopes?
Without even glancing, I pulled three envelopes from the ordered stack, paid, and left.
Initially, when I took a quick look at the vintage letters in my hand, I was confused. My eyes immediately fell on Israel’s iconic postal service logo, that of the running or leaping deer.
The inspiration of the gazelle is drawn from the book of Genesis, when on his deathbed Jacob bestowed blessings upon his children, the tribes of Israel. To Naphtali, Jacob said: “Naphtali is a gazelle-like messenger, he delivers beautiful goodly words.”
There you have it. Israel’s postal symbol. Biblically grounded, encompassing swiftness and grace.
So back to the envelope in my hand. I found myself confused because yes, it was stamped by Israel’s postal service. The vertical purple stamp that said “Yisrael” at the bottom center and “Moadim l’Simcha” along the length of the left side, including a sketch of a woman in that distinct vintage Israeli stamp aesthetic. It said 50 — standing for for 50 prutot, Israel’s currency at the time.
Yet in clear black ink and large capital letters the envelope also said: GAZA.
It was stamped 10.12.56!
Not only did it say Gaza in both English and Hebrew, but I was holding an envelope with a lovely silhouette design of buildings, a minaret and a Star of David, side by side.
Along the design, again in capital letters, were the words: “Israel’s re-opening of the Gaza post office”.
Wait, what?
Israel didn’t capture Gaza until the Six Day War in June, 1967.
How could this stamp say “1956?”
Intrigued, I looked it up.
Indeed, it seems that Israel’s postal service officially opened a satellite office in Gaza — it turned out to be a temporary one. For all of 79 days (in another source, it said 84 days).
During Israel’s “Sinai Campaign” 70 years ago in 1956, the IDF captured the Gaza Strip and the Sinai Peninsula from Egypt, aiming to halt the terrorist attacks from those areas.
Before Israel withdrew from Gaza and Sinai due to international pressure and before they were returned to Egyptian administration, Israel set up a post office box there.
The artistic rendition Israel chose for the envelope is a tangible depiction of goodwill, of two societies living together, side by side.
Again, this was in 1956, not that long after modern Israel became a state in 1948, yearning to live with their surrounding neighbors who were bent on their destruction.
It hit me.
In addition to all those other qualities a little stamp can symbolize, sometimes that humble stamp — and its envelope — can be a slice of history showing what might have been and what could have been.
“A deer swiftly and gracefully bringing good news.”
© IJN 2026
