Meeting people.

Young people from Germany come to Israel for a year to work as volunteers with handy-caped children, old people or in various other social settings.
I am in touch with two of the bigger organizations, 25 –40 people each, “Hagoshrim”, (“Bridge Builders”), and “ASF” (“Action Reconciliation and Peace Work”) and am a member of their “Circle of Friends”.

These are young men and women, just having finished school, wanting to get a taste of the big world. Some of the boys among them do it as their Civil Service instead of military service in their country.
They are part of a greater contingent of some 600 volunteers from Germany belonging to many different organizations, working in places like Kfar Raphael, Sheckel, French Hospital, Ilan, Akim, the Leo Baeck Institue , Yad Vashem and other places of work in different parts of the country.

The 5th of December is the international day for Volunteers. That would be as good a time as any for them to make contact with the local school to introduce themselves and their organization. Volunteerism is what young people of both countries have in common. Communicating with each other on common ground is important aspect to foster good relations among the present young generation complementing the official diplomatic relations.

Many of them come here with preconceived ideas about Israel, based on what the media brings across. Some come to get close to the conflict. Being young and inexperienced they think that they know it all and can tell us what we should do to solve our problems.
It does not take long for them to find out that life in Israel has its own pace, different from what they were used to at home, life goes on, difficult times or not and can be interesting and meaningful for them in spite of the hard work that some of them have to perform. They soon learn to adjust to the local scene.
Some, in addition to their other tasks, pay regular visits to several old people and find that of great interest. One of them visits me once a week for a couple of hours. He takes me for a walk and we talk together about his work in Yad Vashem, and I use him as a sounding board for some of my writings.
Whenever a new group arrives, these organizations call on me to give a talk, to tell The Story of my Family or about our Jewish Holidays. Those that want to hear more, come to visit me.

Occasional I write an article for their paper, or speak for groups that visit them in Jerusalem.
That way I meet interesting people and keep in touch with the young generation.

Filling time

Well, nothing much has happened lately.
That is not really true. It is just that nothing magnificent has accrued.
I try hard to fill my day- to- day routine and to find something to do every day.
Sometimes it is like filling time, more often like killing time.
The more one gets involved in reading about aging, the more depressed one can get.

Body and Mind – are they two entities or do they belong together, or should they compensate the other according to need?
Philosophies seem to differ vastly on this aspect. A few citations from a book, ed. by Yitzhak Brink (2005) Poverty and Aging.
Ruthenberg points out in his essay: If the body fails does that mean that the mind fails?
Freud, Darwin and Marx put forward theories that the strong young have to get rid of the weak old.
The culture of the poor sees old as belonging to the poor.
Israel Doron sees poverty as a threat to Justice and decency.

One can see poverty among the old not only as materiel poverty, but also as poverty of the mind, that is, unless the old take matters into their own hands.
If you have a mind of your own use it, even in old age or better said especially in old age.
Don’t rely on society to do something for you when you grow old. The older you get the more important it is to become the master of your own destiny.

Filling time (using the mind) is always better than killing time (poverty of mind).

Within the last couple of weeks I have taken part at a number of events. Some 2000 people from all over the country came to Binyane Hauma in Jerusalem to participated and share “20 Years Amcha”.

Amcha is taking psycho-social care of over 10 000 Shoa Survivors and Second Generation, in the various branches all over the country.
Harav Israel Lau, one of the speakers told among other things about his arriving on the "Mataror", the first boat that sailed after the war in June 1945. After having spent years in the KZ Buchenwald, he was amazed to be greeted in Haifa by soldiers, pointing their rifles at people.
To him, a 7 year old at the time, a soldier was a soldier, no matter what color his uniform. He thought that that was behind him.

He and his comrades and everybody else that had arrived on the boat, were shoved into open railway cars, just like those that took people away towards the camps in East.

This time they were transported to the detention camp in Atlith. A camp with barbed wire around it and armed soldiers watching, just like the camp he left behind.
Not only that. After awhile when his aunt and uncle came from Kiryat Motzkin to take him to their home to look after him, they were advised not to talk Polish or Jiddish to him, only Hebrew. That would help him forget the past.
He said that he did forget the Polish language, but he never forgot the past. For you can’t forget the past. It will always be part of you.

I arrived on the same boat, although a bit older, I was also amazed at the reception we got on our arrival in the detention camp. Men and women separated, our clothes disinfected, DDT powder shaken all over us. Being locked up in a camp was the last thing that I had expected after waiting for years and longing to come to our Homeland.

A couple of days later, it was the annual Open House Day in Jerusalem. One could visit Private Homes and Institutions. Across from my home was a long line of people waiting to be let into the flat in one of the famous Bauhaus building from the 1930th, 6 or 7 rooms packed full with books and furniture, a couple of large balconies and a huge garden with lawn and flowerbeds, very spacious and gracious living indeed.
When we came out again, a friend of mine together with her daughter accompanied me back to my place.
Although my flat is much smaller, it is a friendly looking place full of sunshine. They admired my paintings that cover the walls in all the rooms, and in their words my place is everything as gracious and inviting as the big flat across the street.

Today my granddaughter called and asked if she can came by. We had a light lunch together before she was off again to meet some of her friends before going back to Tel Aviv. Most of her time is taken up with her dancing carrier.

She is a good listener. I showed her some of what I am busy with and talked with her about a paper that I am going to present next week at an international conference on Women and the Shoa, for which I have prepared a power point presentation.

To keep going, in spite of the aging body and the restriction that come with that, I have to be constantly on the outlook to keep my mind occupied. Mostly, but not always, I manage to fill my time.

Youth Aliya and Kinder Transport

I have just returned from Natanya from the annual meeting of former refugee children who came with Kinder Transport to England in 1938-39. For decades the word did not ring a bell.

Hardly anybody who did not come with a Kinder Transport knew what was meant by that word. Even many of the refugee children themselves could only remember their own personal experience, but little else about the wider aspect of it and how it all came about.

The great change came when in 1989 there was a reunion in London organized by Bertha Leverton. In 1990 a pictorial exhibition about Kinder Transport by Paula Hill was put up in Bergen Belsen, which I happened to see it on one of my visits to Germany and it was reported about in a newspaper article.

A number of personal narratives were published, the play by Samuel was preformed, a couple of films produced.

There started to be talk about Kinder Transport.

As a general background, by the turn of the century in Germany and Austria Jews had reached a relative high standard of living. Anti-Semitism was rampant in most of the European countries. In Germany it took on new forms especially after the First World War. Jews were blamed for the loss of the war, for the inflation in 1923 and the great economic crisis in 1929. Unemployment hit the Jews very hard. They were the first to loose their jobs, many small shops had to close down.

By 1932 in Berlin some young unemployed Jews in their great desperation turned to Recha Freier a Rabbis wife for help. She could not help them either, but she did have a vision, she did have a dream, if only these youngsters could go to Palestine, work half day and study half day, surely that would be a solution for them.

She ran up against strong opposition, people could not understand that she suggested for children to leave home. Who would take on responsibility for them and for the children’s education.

There were a few exceptions, like Winfried Israel, Enzo Serini from Hechalutz, and Lehmann from Beth Shemen, who took a dozen of the youngsters on Students Certificates to his school. These people supported her ideas from the beginning. Recha founded Youth Aliya right then and there and by January 1933 it was a registered Verein.

But it was only after Hitler rose to power that Herietta Szold, as a member of the Jewish Agency in Palestine, at long last saw the necessity to allow young people to build a new life for themselves. She was appointed to head the Jerusalem office. In 1934 the first group organized by Youth Aliya came to Ejn Charod with the Madrich Rinot.

By now there were more candidates than that there were certificates available. It became a very selective procedure.

Certificate for Palestine were given to people who had 1000 Lirot, (see the Havara arrangement) or to agricultural workers, or students.

For Youth Aliya one had to specially apply, go for a month on a preparation camp and pass a reception committee. 5- 6 000 children made it to Kibbutzim in Erez Israel before war started.

The situation in Germany for Jews became more and more difficult. The Nuernberg Laws restricted Jews in many ways and excluded them from the economic, cultural and social life. “Juden Raus” was the cry. The only question was where too. Immigration laws in all countries were restrictive and strictly observed everywhere.

To get to America one needed to have an Affidavit, have a special needed profession or a close relative who would give a Guaranty in order to get unto the waiting list to receive a visa.

In other words to emigrate was one thing and to find a country that would allow you in, was another. It was easier if you were single and young and nobody depended on you.

But for a family without financial means, or a family with infants or old people who dependent on them, the chances to get out were more than slim.

1938 brought more distress.

The annexation of Austria to Germany, with Eichmann in charge, who with great cruelty wanted to make sure that Jews should leave a bit quicker, than they had done from Germany. At the conference in Evian most of the countries explained that their gates were closed for Jewish immigrants. This was followed in October 1938 with the expulsion to Yaboshin of the Stateless Jews from Germany. Poland would not let them in and Germany did not allow them to return.

The 10th of November Pogrom when well over a thousand Synagogues were burned, the shops looted, the men taken to KZ, Jewish schools closed, people were desperate to leave, but nowhere to go too. Who ever could, emigrated or escaped by any means be they legal or illegal. People were desperate to get away, but not everybody managed to.

There was little help forthcoming. It was a handful of prominent Anglo Jewry who got together to try at least to save the children. They got in touch with Trudie Wiessmiller who went to confront Eichmann and asked him to let Jewish children go. (see some of the available literature)

The first organized Kinder Transport left from Austria and Germany in the last days of November 1938. As soon as the first Kinder Transport got under way, it was mainly the mothers who pleaded to have their children included in one of the next transports. Their husbands were in a KZ, they had no savings left, no chance what so ever to get out by themselves, but wanted to see their children spared what was ahead of them. They knew that it would only get worse. It certainly was not an easy decision to make.

In Vienna they turned to the Kultus Gemeinde, in Germany to the department for child emigration in Berlin, which was part of the Reichsvertretung der Juden in Deutschland, or to their local Jewish community, who passed it on to the appropriate authorities.

The women from the Frauen Bund were greatly involved in helping the families and shuttling the children to where ever they had to get too. Forms had to be filled out, emigration papers needed to be prepared for each child, guarantors had to be found, or alternative places of accommodation in England. Some Jewish schools managed en block to transfer to England.

As far as possible priority was given to hardship cases. There were many more applicants than that places could be found. Some families managed to find a private sponsor for their child by their own efforts, while other children were taken first to a reception center in Dovercourt, until a sponsor could be found. It was easier to find foster homes for the younger age group. Hostels were hastily put up such as Willesdan Lane in London or others in Glasgow and Birmingham and elsewhere.

Recha Freier got into the picture and made arrangements for the 12 – 15 year olds to go on Middle Hachshara in England as candidates for Youth Aliya, which involved a great lot of negotiations, before it came about. Many youngsters from the different Zionist Youth movements made it that way with a Kinder Transport to big houses, such as Grych Castle in Wales or Whittingehame the Estate of Lord Balfour in Scotland.

The children themselves fared very different one from the other. A small number of parents survived, while most perished in the camps. The majority of the refugee children were soon orphaned. While some of the children had pleasant experiences others did not. A few converted and were lost to the Jewish faith. When the war was over some remained in England, while others came to Israel, America or elsewhere.

Did the children know at the time that the parting was for good?
Did the parents hope to see their children again? Some did some did not. In any case their effort to save the children and their willingness to part from their children was a heroic act on their part.

Considering that 10 000 children found refuge in England, there are 10 000 different answers. All depended on the age of the child, on the individual circumstances, on the background of the family, where and with whom the child was placed in England or to a great extent it simply depended on fate.

Memory can be tricky, what some remember, others do not.

Literature on the subject is very sparse and scattered, but the whole story has so far been little researched academically .

Whose idea was it, how was it set up, who made all the arrangements, who paid the fares, who was influenced by whom. Question upon question are unanswered and the background story is still shrouded in mystery.

For sure a Tribute to Anglo-Jewry for the part they played in story is long overdue.

Reading in Parallel

Somebody lent me the book

The Children of Willeden Lane, Beyond the Kinder Transport:

A memoir of Music, Love, and survival.
It is about the prewar years 1938-1939 in Vienna and the War years 1939 -1945 in England. For the parents it was a difficult decision to make, just being able to send one of their daughters to safety.

Lisa, a musically gifted young girl of 14 from Vienna, was on one the many Kinder Transports and found refuge in the hostel in Willesden Lane. Her mothers parting words were: “Music will give you strength”, she reassured her “It will be your best friend in life”.
It is a heart-rendering story of the courage of a young refugee girl who turned her love of music to help her overcome many hardships in life.
Willesden Lane was a hostel in London for refugee children from Austria and Germany. The matron, a refugee woman herself, whose son became blind as the result of being injured by the Nazis, did all within her power to encourage the refugee children to get on with life. In spite of war-time conditions and rationing, the Blitz in London with regular air raids, Lisa was working hard in a factory to earn her living while practicing and practicing to play the piano, until she finally managed to get a scholarship to the Academy of Music in London. She made it to her Musical Début and became a Concert Pianist.
In parallel I read a blogspot.com of my son Danny.
It is an unusual and fascinating rendering about the history of a region in the hills of Jerusalem. Among many other stories there is an interview with an elderly Arab man from Amman in Jordan, who fled during the fighting of the Israeli War of Independence 1947 –1949 from one of the villages in that region.
He describes the village life prior to that war. Chirbet-El-Lus was a small village of some 400 inhabitants, belonging to different clans, in a hilly region near Jerusalem. There were no paved roads, one walked from one village to another or used a donkey to transport wares. Several villages together shared a one-room school for the first four grades for boys. Girls did not go to school in those regions in those days. Some of the boys continued on for a couple of years in a village school in nearby Ein Kerem. Being a hilly region, agriculture was greatly reduced to growing fruit trees, mainly olive trees, grapes and Almond trees. It is the Almond trees that gave the village its name.
Part of his story is of how after November 1947 when the Partition-Plan for Palestine was announced by the UN, heavy fighting took place in that region.
During the battles taking place between Arabs and Jews, stories of atrocities in another village spread from mouth to mouth and his whole village decided to flee. Packing up their belongings they walked over the hills from village to village, reaching Bethlehem, moving on to Jericho and finally putting up a tent and later building a mud-hut. In 1950 most of his family moved over to Amman in Jordan. His father remained in the refugee camp near Jericho till the year 1967 when he joined his family in Amman.

Refugees are refugees. Both stories are about refugees.

Most refugees try to preserve their old culture while moving from place to place. Time wise, there is only a few years difference between them, but the stories are worlds apart.

Being a refugee is something that is difficult to reconstruct in words.

One story differs from the next until there is no resemblance left between them.

Kinder Transport

Yad Vashem is one of the places young girls aged 18, who for religious reasons do not join the Army, can do their National Service.

They get intensive training preparing them to be guides. As part of the course the girls are given assignments to give a workshop on various subjects.
One day I get a phone call from my friend in Tel Aviv, whom I am working with on preparing a paper about Jews who helped Jews before and during the Holocaust, telling me that she gave my phone number to a young girl who is in need of help to prepare a workshop about Kinder Transport, that I am considered an expert on.

Many days past before the girl called me. Very hesitatingly she enquired if I knew something about Kinder Transport. In turn I asked her what she wanted to know and what she already knew about the subject. Actually nothing she said, she was just given the assignment. She needed it for the next week. The long New Year holiday ahead of us we fixed a date for the following day in afternoon after her lectures.

That same day in the morning I had an appointment in Yad Vashem, introducing Digne Marcowicz, the author of “Massel” a new picture book about the Shoa. She had interviewed and photographed 12 survivors (one of them being myself) and told their stories laced with pictures from than and now. We also showed the book in the pedagogic center.
Just as we were through the young girls workshop came out on a break. I asked for the girl who had phoned me and introduced myself to her. She was pretty astounded but pleased to know whom she will go to in the afternoon. I told her that she could bring a friend along, knowing that it would ease the situation.

About 5 o’clock two girls turned up at my house, one just under 18, the other just turned 18 years of age. We immediately set to work.
Together we checked what they did know about the Jewish situation in Germany and Austria in the prewar period 1938-1939 and putting that into perspective within the boundary of their knowledge. I had prepared a few pictures showing refugee children on their way to England.
The Kinder Transport being the biggest prewar saving action of Jewish children, some 10 000 children, most of them Jewish, having found refuge in England
We went to my computer and together looked at my Power Point Presentation, The Connecting Path, The Story of my Family, that I use when giving testimony to pupils, students or soldiers.

She asked for the printout of it, which has not only the pictures but also the text to each picture and she promised to return it to me. I also gave to her the Hebrew translations of my mother’s letters, which she send to me after I left home with a Kinder Transport at the age of 15.
There is little academic literature available on the subject. To her the whole subject was new.

I wonder how she is geting on with the preparation of her assignment.

To Be or Not To Be Senior Citizen

A recent article in Haarez by Arye Dayan talks about a new book by Dr. Israel Doron. He mentions how Israel Law discriminates against the old.
It made me curious to find out more about the author and going to Google I found another interesting article by Israel Doron about the Failure of the Senior Citizen Law. In spite of many attempts to get it going, it main problem seems to have to do with finding the necessary budget.

To Be or Not to Be a Senior Citizen, that is my question.

There are other aspects that are no less essential and are less budget bound.

To show respect towards old people, to acknowledge their mere existence, to have open intergenerational communication and joint activities does not require huge budgets, but would make us feel a lot better.

To get to know the old people, a large and ever growing sector of the general society in Israel, is essential.
There is no role model in the Israeli society to go by, on how to keep the old as an integral part of the whole.

At the beginning of Statehood we were essentially a young society with few old people. Meanwhile those that were young then, have grown old and in addition, advancement in medicine allows us to grow older and older.

We have a long period of our life, from 60 plus to 90 plus, a period of over 30 years of being considered old and older. The later part becomes increasingly more and more difficult. The feeling of no longer being needed allows the feeling of loneliness to get hold of us.

Unfortunately we are often judged by the exceptions.
Those that are supposed to deal with us old people are used to look for what is the problem and then try and solve it. That seems to be the way social workers are taught during their studies.
They talk about us old people, but do not talk with us.
The same at the decision making level.
Who ever talked with us, but rather they decide for us.
What about our autonomy? Do we have to forego that just because we grow old?

There are other alternative ways at looking at aging, rather than only trouble- shooting. For example, what are the needs of old people and how can they be met.

Our emotional and psychological needs remain the same as in other age groups. Our need for respect remains and we need recognition of our special needs.
We may need help in keeping up with new modern methods, such as “Caspomat” or other new devices unfamiliar to us.
Keeping up with time is an art, which needs to be mastered. Some of the older people may need more help than others.

It is difficult to maintain self-respect when society downgrades us as being useless, as a burden unto them, as extra mouths to be fed.

The study of ageism has to take on a new look, no longer just based on old-fashioned Gerontology. It is not enough to know that we old people do not see so well any more, do not hear so well, do not walk so well. That is old and well- known stuff.

It is more important to know how to help us cope better with what we still can do for ourselves, how to balance between dependency and autonomy.
To respect us the way we are, in order for us to preserve our self-respect and self-esteem, which are essential ingredient for coping.

Liora Bar-Tur, Phd. in her book Metal Health and Aging, The Challenge, evaluation and Treatment, mentions the lack of interest on the part of student in any subject dealing with the old.
On the other hand, if they take the offered class in Psychology of the Old, sometimes for no other reason then that it happens to fit into their time schedule, the more they get into the subject the more interesting they find it.

In the book edited by Prof. Arnold Rosin, Aging and Old Age - Eshel 2003, as against the well-researched medical aspects, the psychological, sociological and Anthropology aspect of Aging and Old Age are less developed and often are pretty well neglected.

According to many of those that contributed to the book, more research is needed in these fields, in order to better cope with the ever- growing sector of society.

To Be (old) or Not to Be (old) is not a question.
In spite of it all, we all hope to grow old gracefully.

The big question is how to keep up, and if possible, improve the quality of life of old people, an ever-growing part of our society.


Signed:
An eighty-four year old great-grandmother

The young and the old

What is it that differentiates the old from the young?

The young are merry and happy and live in the here and now and are looking forward to the future.

The old live in the past. The future is not something old people like to consider or look forward too. Future for them is increased weakness, death of friends and end of life for themselves.

The young generation of today is on the whole much better of, then the present old generation ever was, when they were young themselves.

Take a wedding for example.
At my own wedding 1941 during the war the cleaning ladies were the sole witnesses at the Magistrate who married us.

At my granddaughters wedding there were 700 invited guests.
I got married one afternoon after work and the next day was an ordinary working day. My granddaughter is leaving for a month trip abroad.

I sat among the 700 invited guests and came home to my four empty walls.

I enjoyed the fact that my granddaughter got married, I enjoyed watching the young crowd sing and dance and make merry, but I felt out of it, as not belonging. I sat at the side and just watched.
If I try to tell somebody how I feel, they tell me not to be foolish. They say how wonderful that your granddaughter is getting married and how wonderful to be at the wedding.

Let me be honest and not pretend and to acknowledge truthfully my own feelings. It is not that I am not happy for my granddaughter to dance all night at her wedding and be merry.

But my own feelings include the fact that I am no longer independent, I need to be picked up, to be helped to get in and out of the car. Somebody has to hold my hand when walking on un-chartered territory, up some steps and down a path. I cannot walk while balancing a plate full of food in my hand. I am constantly depending on somebody to give me a hand.
I know I should be grateful, for there are others who are a lot worse of than myself. But that is hardly a compensation for my own feelings of aloneness and of loneliness that simply hits me in the face.

There is no point in telling me go and do some volunteer work and help others and that will make you feel better. I volunteer in many different ways and help others. I enjoy doing that and get a lot of satisfaction from my volunteer work.

But my feelings are my feelings and should be accepted and I should be allowed to express them as they are. Even if they might sound to others as being unrealistic, to me they are real.

May be therein lies the difference between young and old. Being at the same time at the same event, we feel different about what is going on.

Old peoples thoughts are more likely to turn inwards, to olden times and provoke a different set of feelings.

The young enjoy the here and now, they see the future ahead of them. And it is good that they do so.

A lot of water will flow down the river before they will be old.

Listening - Trusting - Listening

My interests are widespread.

Oh good for you, some might say. But sometimes that can be very exhausting. The turn side of it is that I always have to be careful what to mention to somebody belonging to a diverse group. Not everybody is skilled in listening.
To give you an example: I belong to a group called Trust, which last Monday visited the home of the Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Israel/Palestine Center for Research and Information in Beth Hanina/ East Jerusalem. We were about 30 people, half of them Jewish Israelis and the others residents of East Jerusalem. For many it was the first encounter with the “Other”. To help us get acquainted we paired of with somebody we did not know from before, each given for 3-5 minutes to tell the other about a person he does trust and why he trusts him. As it happens I paired of with the host. While I talked about trusting my son, mainly because he is a good listener and I can trust him to be there for me when ever I need him. My partner has a similar relationship with his brother. He considers him more as a friend then just a brother. They often travel together, share their thoughts and have total trust in each other.

We both of us also had a very trustworthy relationship with our mother. He said that his mother was an outstanding person, the same as I often talk about my own mother. On exploring further, we talked about similar relationships within families and among siblings that we find in the Bible as well in the Koran.

Trust is something one has to work on and build up over time. Being able to listen to the “Other” is an essential ingredient for building mutual trust, which is one of the basic needs of mankind.
The evening turned out to be a fascinating one and although it got late, it was difficult to part as there was so much we wanted to talk about.
Out side of this particular group, there is nobody among the rest of my acquaintances that I can talk about my experience of that evening, with the exception of my son.
The only solution is to put it on my “blog”.

The next day I gave a talk about the Shoa to a small group of young people from Germany and America who have come to Jerusalem for a short Ulpan to learn basic Hebrew, before they go on with their study or start work in Israel, including with Holocaust survivors. I told them the story of my family, my parents having perished during the Holocaust. On of the young men asked me, if I have suffered so much at the hands of the Germans if I did not hate all of them even today.
My reply was:” Did it sounded like that?” He said: “No, but he certainly would expect me to react like that”. I asked him if he had done me any wrong so that I should hate him. He said, no not himself, but perhaps his grandfather.
I tried to explain to these young people, that what was done to us Jews in those days is unforgivable, but that I could not hold them responsible for the behavior of their grandparents.
These young people have to take upon themselves the responsibility for what is happening today in the here and now.

I have just come back from a Rosh Hodesh, (New Moon) meeting with a few American women from the Synagogue. They are all so rooted in their Americanism, where they had lived, what they had done, whom they knew and which Rabbi, that I feel totally out of it. They simply have not yet put their roots down in the here and now. I tried to tell them something about the meeting in East Jerusalem. They looked at me in utter disbelief, what they don’t know about, does not seem to exist for them.

Sometimes I long to share with somebody and convey my feelings about a certain meeting or a subject to somebody who can be a passionate listener, who can listen without judging, just listen.

To build up mutual trust, it is essential to be able to listen to the other, you just have to listen and wait till your turn come to talk. Hopefully the other will be able to listen just as compassionately to you and what you have to say.

Listening is a skill. It has to be practiced again and again. But it is a useful tool in getting on with each other, in being able to trust each other.

Finding a friend

Daily I receive different e.mails. Recently I received the following:

I am writing on behalf of Henni Pollack, who now lives in Portland, Maine. She is a friend of Esther Dubester (from Israel) and she was trying to get in touch with her. Do you know if she is still living and if so, how Henni can get in touch with her. I appreciate your time and your attention.
Thank you very much,
Susan Berkman


Esther Dubester aged 87 is an old friend of mine. I phoned her and asked her permission to pass on her phone number. She was very pleased to hear that Henni is still around. They are friends from early childhood but had lost touch with each other.
I was curious to find out how Susan had got unto me of all people. So I asked her and that is her reply:

Thank you so much for writing to me. I spoke to Henni last night and she too was so excited to that her friend was 'found'. She was going to try to call her today. It's amazing how this came to be. Henni lives in an Independent Living Residence in Maine. A friend of mine and I volunteer and do Shabbat services there Friday evenings. She saw I was looking up some information for another resident there so she asked if I could try to find her friend. I was not having any luck trying to look on the computer under Israel White pages. So I 'googled' the name Ester Dubester and got a match. That's because you mentioned her in the story you wrote. Computers are not always good but they are fascinating how they work. I then saw she was a friend of yours. So next I 'googled' you. Some stuff came up and said how you were involved with the Interfaith Encounter Organization. Next, I e-mailed them to see if they knew how to get in touch with you. They e-mailed me back with your e-mail, so then I e-mailed you and now here we are! All because you mentioned Esther in your writing, my friend Henni can now make contact with her friend Esther. It's a wonderful thing. Thanks again for your time and responding to me.
I think we both did a Mitzva (spelling?).
Susan


The story I mentioned Esther Dubester in, is my unpublished manuscript “Please to meet you”, which really is the story of my life. Esther Dubester lives in Tel Aviv. While I still lived in Haifa, I participated at a two day a week University course. Esther kindly put me up over night week after week until I finished the course. That was the beginning of my academic studies. Thanks to that I later got my B.A. in Sociology and educational counseling at the Haifa University. By then I was already a grandmother. Soon after I started to use the computer.
By now I am a great-grandmother live in Jerusalem and enjoy keeping in touch with people the world over and also prepare power point projections for my talks about the Holocaust and other subjects.
As Susan said, computers are not always good but what would we do without them. At least Esther Dubester and Henni , who is almost 90, could once more talk to each other.

To be old in a young society

That was the name of a three-day seminar, a sort of in service training.
I registered just for the first day.
Arnold Rosin, the expert in Gerontology gave a good rendering of mobility in old age, demonstrating how when starting to loose the feeling of balance, walking gets restricted with age. In the end we are inclined to stay put and not go out any more.
It was followed by a talk on feeding difficulties in old age and another talk about becoming grandparents. Neither of them brought new light to the subject for me, nor were they very informative
During a pretty long lunch break participants got a chance to get to know each other. That was the best part of the day.
The majority of women were from Kibbutzim. Most of them being caretakers of old people with Parkingson, Alzheimer and other severe handicaps, their general opinion of old people, being colored by that.
They were amazed to meet somebody my age, having an opinion of my own, using the computer and inter-net, participating actively in the seminar.

Repeatedly I mentioned the fact that they always talk about us old people, but not with us.

In the evening we had a workshop on Psychodrama.
A young girl who has studied the subject, gave first an introduction, telling us that it is based on the theory by Moreno, and after that she did a few exercises with us.
A young woman from Kibbutz Ruchama chose me as her partner. We were asked, each to talk for two minutes, telling an episode from our childhood. We then had to chance places and retell the other person’s story in her own words to the group.

It was at that exercise that I realized once more how important positive early childhood memories are. They stay with one for a lifetime.
Even in old age I can build on it when reconstructing my narrative.
The seminar day was long and at the end I was dead tired.

Next morning, I opened Google and looked up under Moreno to make sure that I had correctly understood what psychodrama is all about.

Moreno demonstrates basic techniques such as self-realization, doubling, and role-reversal, using actual students from his Beacon training school. We see Moreno’s powerful and unique style as his concepts come to life.

I had gained greater insight into what I had learned many years ago.

On Tuesday I shall give a talk about how to grow old and keep the balance between what I would like to do and what I am able to do.
I shall stress the importance of formulating our special needs as old people and have prepared a couple of folk tales to demonstrate my point.
I wonder how it will come across.

Narrative or Interview ?

Yesterday I received a phone call from the director of “Trust” who asked me if I was willing to be interviewed by the director of Peace X Peace.

A short while ago I have come back from the American Colony Hotel where it took place.

Two women from the States, they are friends and both also have a home in France, both having frequently visited Israel and Palestine Authority, said that they are interviewing women from across the board, different religions, different cultures, different in all sorts of ways.
Although I had agreed to be interviewed I felt pretty uncomfortable having let myself in for something I did not know what it is all about, or what this interview would be used for.
The atmosphere in the American Colony in East Jerusalem is a strange one. It is the hangout for foreign correspondents, all of who come to Israel, to report on the conflict.
Dozens of waiters were moving around, bringing drinks, clearing tables, people coming and going, talking, there was a constant bubble.
My interviewer came in late having got stuck in the traffic, in the end she asked permission to retreat to a conference room, a cold sterile and to me an unfriendly looking room.
I still could not make out what the purpose of the interview would be.
I made it quite clear that I was not going to talk about politics, who is right or wrong, who should be doing what or not do what to the other.

While the one set up the microphone and video camera, the other tried to explain to me that they hope to interview as many women, Palestinian and Israeli as possible and put their story on the inter-net. I asked what they wanted to know from me. She simply said:"Tell us who you are".
Well, I presented them with my narrative. My mother having sent me and my brother and my sister away from home, in order to spare us from the worst of what was happening to us Jews in Germany. My parents perished in Theresienstadt and Auschwitz.
I spend the war years as a refugee child in England and shortly after the end of WW II in June 1945 came to Palestine as Israel was then called .

I tried to convey to them that since early childhood, my being a Zionist, being Jewish, being an Israeli and the Shoa / Holocaust, are the main components of my identity.
Although both of them have been on repeated visits to Israel neither of them have ever been to Yad Vashem.
Because their time ran out, the interview came to an end. There was no time for questions, or verification. What they got out of it or to what extend it fits into what they intent to portray, I do not know.
As the next woman was expected to turn up, they called a Taxi for me.
I was glad to be home again.
The next day I had a full schedule, giving a talk to Jewish students from USA in Yad Vashem and to attend a meeting on growing old in a young society.

Under the weather

The summer is slow in staying with us. After hot Chamsin days we have unusual cold days. I now understand what the British mean when they answer to the question: “How are you” with: “I feel under the weather”. So do I feel under the weather, when my bones are creaking and I can hardly straighten my back when I get up in the morning.

The struggle of how to fill my days is on. With the approaching summer many of the regular Inter-Faith activities come to a halt and will only restart in the autumn.

For the moment the Birthright groups (student) from America are still coming to Yad Vashem. This last Friday morning there were about 200 of them in the hall and you could have heard a pin drop during my presentation. I got a standing ovation after my talk.
Quiet a few of them came up to me to say a personal thank you. That keeps me going.
Among them Jossi from Shorashim, one of the organizations that are is involved in bringing the groups to Israel, who came up to me to me and asked if I am the mother of Manja Yoel from “Chavat Eyal”, the Petting Animal Farm in Ramat Rachel, a memorial in the name of my grandson Eyal, who fell 5 years ago in action in Je’nin. Jossi told me that he often takes groups there.

The world is really small, just a global village. There often is somebody in the crowd who has heard about me, or verifies my story because he knows somebody who arrived on the same boat as I did, or was in the same unit with my grandson, or whose father was part of the delegation that visited Auschwitz a couple of years ago. Some have heard me before and were pleased to get a chance to hear me again.

Over the years I have spoken to thousands of people, but it is these personal encounters that mean a lot to me.

They give me strength and help me get away from feeling under the weather.

How will I manage if it gets worse

Days pass and I have a lot of time to think.
Actually I day dream a lot, or better said, I am half awake and half asleep. Some of it might simply be wishful thinking. In that state I can write an article or even a whole book. I can visualize each character in the story, where it is taking place, what is being said, where it all ends and can already see it published.
Once I am fully awake, it is all gone. I don’t remember a thing. This has been going on for several months.
Probably this is just part of growing old. I would still like to accomplish something, but what ever it is, it is out of reach for me. I do not have the strength that I had before.
Through out the day I often have to take a rest or lay down. The pain that is all over my body gets the better of me. The pain is mainly in the joints of my legs and feet, in my shoulders and fingers, and of late also down my spine. There are times when it is hard for me to straighten up. Once I stand up it is difficult to take the first step or two. Getting dressed becomes daily more and more problematic. I can neither bend down nor can I reach up. It is hard putting things unto the lower or upper shelves. I am so handy caped that it often worries me.

How will I manage if it gets worse?

For the moment my computer is my best friend. I feel that I have to tell somebody. It is always Danny who has to listen to my aches and pains. Sometimes it scares me to burden him with that.
Loneliness in old age is not only subjective it is also objective. Many people around me have died within the last few years. In the house that I live in three people died, all within a short time. Another one can hardly walk. Most of the others old people I know are in a bad shape. One has gangrene and kidney troubles, one has been in a wheelchair after a stroke an can no longer recognize anybody, the other is 96 and has pneumonia, the next one is in a depressive mood and no longer goes out of the house.

I visit and listen to them, but cannot tell them about my own calamities, which to me are real and often burdensome. They may be mild in comparison, but to me they are real. I do all in my power to cope, have adjusted my diet, go regular for medical check up, try to go for a walk as often as possible. A short walk only, as when walking any distance, I tire quickly and need somebody to hold my hand to help me along.

It is 9.10 o’clock in the morning. I just got out of bed. I have been up since 6.15 , slowly sitting up, straightening my back, rushing to the toilet, sometimes I make it and sometimes it drips and I have to change my pants. Opening the shutters to let the sunlight stream in, putting on the kettle for my morning drink, opening my computer to see if there is a new message and then back to bed to read. Before long I get tired and drop of to sleep or daydream for a while.
It is easier to get up, shower and get dressed on days when there is something I have to do. I do try hard to make arrangements on a day- to- day base.

Sundays afternoon a young German volunteer comes in for just an hour or a bit longer to talk to me, asking me a lot of questions about Israel and Judaism, sometimes going for a short walk around the block with me.

Tuesday mornings a friend comes to pick me up to go to the club where I am part of the organizing team.

Wednesday at 2.30 a volunteer comes in for an hour to massage my feet and vacuum my carpets.

Thursday morning at 9.15 till lunchtime I go painting, together with a group of old people like myself. Usually I come home with a finished painting.
Friday evening I walk over to my son for dinner, that is, if his boys are at home. My son walks me home. There is always something that needs to be seen to by him. To put things up on the upper shelves in the cupboard, to help me change the sheet on the bed, to pick up something that fell down in a corner, or just to listen to my tales of vow.
If he can he drops in on me during the week to check something on the computer, to correct a bit of a Hebrew text for me, to teach me new tricks on the computer like power point or opening a new file so that I can find easier what I am looking for what I have written long ago and want to retrieve again.

For Shabbat lunch I used to go to a religious family around the corner. But of late they are seldom home. So often I am all- alone all day long on Shabbat.

Whenever I get a call from Yad Vashem I am glad to give a talk to soldiers or pupils or students from abroad. That gives me the feeling that I am still useful to somebody.
There are periods when they call on me a couple of times a week and there are periods when I wait in vain for a phone call from them.

That may sound a full schedule, but it leaves many hours when I get depressed and the feeling of loneliness gets the better of me. I get aware of my aches and pains and watch television for hours on end.
Going out on my own to a lecture or a concert is no fun for me. Most people come in twos or a group. I go alone and come back alone. There is nobody to share a thought with. I have tried it again and again and gave it up.
Evenings seem especially long and lonely. But if I go to bed before 11.00 o’clock, I wake up in the middle of the night and cannot fall asleep again. That makes me very irritable for the rest of the day.

Often I go to the computer for not having anything better to do. I look up in the inter-net about Loneliness in Old Age. And what do I find?
That objectively seen, it is something that many old people suffer from.
Objectively the social network gets smaller with age, while the need for social network increases with age.
The big question arises who should be held responsible for creating a better social network for the old people. The old people themselves are not really in a position to do so.
Society at large is no longer aware of the need of this marginal group. Old people are considered to be marginal although they increase in numbers as never before in history, while society is more and more oriented towards furthering the young. What they are inclined to forget is that before long they will be old as well.

Society is not going to solve my problems. It is up to me to deal with them. On the whole I seem to manage, but not all the time. There seems to be little more I can do, except to accept things the way they are. That is not always easy.

Presenting my mother

In Yad Vashem, over the last couple of years I have spoken to a great number of smaller and larger groups of pupils, students and soldiers, to thousands of them.
Using a power point projection, I tell the story of a Jewish family, before during and after the Shoa, some who perished and some who survived, the story of my family, showing pictures, reading a letter and a poem.

More often than not they are awe stricken after I finish with the reading of one of my poems about the Connecting Path that connects Mt. Herzl with Yad Vashem, the past with the present, my world with the world of my mother who perished in Auschwitz.

It happens frequently that somebody comes up to me and asked for my address. Recently one of these soldiers came to visit me at my home together with his girlfriend. We had a long conversation and I gave the girlfriend a little booklet with the translation of my mother’s letters to me, which she promised to return after she had read it.

Yesterday there was a very gentle knock on the door.
The girlfriend, a student of history and theater, who lives in Ofrah came in, to return the booklet.
At first she was a bit shy , but then I asked her what she thought of the letters, what impression had she got of the person who wrote letters.

After a long moment of contemplating she said:

“Your mother’s ardent wish to succeed to come to Palestine shows that she was a very strong personality, determent to go ahead. She never gave in, tried and tried again.
She must have been a strong person.
When she found out that they could not get away from Germany as a whole family, she managed to send her children away, one after the other, so that they should be spared from what was to come.
Also her mother, who had always lived with her, left at the age of 75 to join her son in Portugal. That must have been very hard for her.

It is remarkable that in her letters to you she did not complain at all. She took an interest in what her children did, how they got on with life. She talks about living between hope and despair, coping with their daily working life, visiting friends, celebrating birthdays under these special circumstances far away from those they loved and about the very special loving and caring relationship with her husband.
Their love for each other comes through very strongly in the letter she wrote to you, when you were only seventeen and a half and about to get married.
That is a lovely letter.”

To hear these words spoken to me about my mother is very soothing.

For years I have tried to portray as to who my parents really were, to take them out of the anonymity, to give them a face of real people, with values and feelings, who cared for us children and for each other.

May be in a small way I succeeded to bring this across.

”Transportation of the Jews by the Reichsbahn 1941-1945”

As often as possible I go to listen to lectures on many different subjects and considered but could not quiet make up my mind to go to the Goethe Institute in Jerusalem to hear a lecture about the ”Transportation of the Jews by the Reichsbahn 1941-1945” by Alfred Gottwaldt, Abteilungsleiter Landverkehr auf Schienen, Oberkustos, Deutsches Technikmuseum Berlin,
Would he have something new to talk about? Or have I heard enough on the subject? In the end I went.
It was a well prepared lecture, presenting a difficult subject in an orderly manner, using power point presentation, showing various documents hitherto not talked about, and little known. He published his research in a book of many pages, which he passed around so that we could look at it.
In his talk he gave a few examples, showing photos, mentioning names and the fate of the person. I recognized one of the women who survived, having been in the women orchestra playing the cello and was liberated in Bergen Belsen.
Each transport of Jews is recorded, how many persons, when and from where it left to what destination, what wagons where used.
I tried to talk to him after the lecture, wanting to let him know how much I appreciated listening to his well- prepared lecture.
Unfortunately and elderly man was talking to him none stop and another man standing in line.
I gave up and went home. Instead I wrote an e.mail to him, telling him how much I appreciated his lecture and mentioned the fact that my parents were on a transport from Berlin to Theresienstadt, on the 5.of November 1942 asking him what was known about that.
He promptly answered giving me the following detail:
This transport being a small one, people were sent in two old third class carriages, hooked up onto the regular train from Berlin to Prague via Dresden stopping in Theresienstadt. The train left Berlin early in the morning and arrived at the Ghetto in the afternoon of the same day.
For years I have been wondering about my parents fate, imagining all sorts of scenes like those that I read about in books and reports.
Until their deportation I had received many long handwritten letters from Berlin via Portugal to England, telling me how they fared, my father doing forced labor, my mother in an old age home. My mother described whom they met and who had been sent away address unknown. She wrote that they had celebrated Purim or Chanuka, prepared birthday tables for each other, received guests and visited people.
All the time worrying about us children dispersed all over the world, hoping one day to be united with us. And then there were only a few more Red Cross letters of 25 words and that too stopped one day.
Now, after 60 years I received this firsthand information.
In my sleep and in my waking hours I try to visualize two prematurely old looking people huddled together in this train, worried as to where they were going, loving and caring for each other, helping others in need, as was their custom.
Did they know the truth how it all would end? Could I have helped, had I been with them? I will never know the answer.
Grateful for the relevant information, I thanked Alfred Gottwaldt for his speedy reply.

However many years may have passed, for me there might always be some more detail gleaned form listening to a lecture or reading an article or book.

To be a Woman in the Holocaust 2007

Life is intensive. Sometimes I am worried how to fill the days. But somehow something always crops up. I got an invitation to the opening ceremony of the exhibition in Yad Vashem Spots of Light, To Be a Woman in the Holocaust.
I casually mentioned it to my son and asked if he could give me a lift to get there. He did not only take me there, but showed an interest to see the exhibition. As we got as far as Mt. Herzl, a long line of cars was ahead of us. Slowly, slowly it moved forward. Once having passed the security check Danny let me of and looked for a parking place, finding the last one available. Hundreds of people came streaming in.
There was still some time left before the opening ceremony, so Danny and I slipped away and entered the big new museum from the exit end.
Walking against the stream of people, single and in groups, we managed to work our way through each of the stations, commenting here and there on what we saw, or how it was presented. The museum is enormous, arranged in such a way, that one can’t skip anything. Half way through is some reconstruction carpentry work, done by my other son.
The fascination for me was to start with the look over the skyline of the Hills of Judea, move back in time to the impressive Hall of Names, looking up towards the sky into a sea of faces of people long gone.
The rescuers, partisans and back into camp after camp, Auschwitz at the center. Moving towards the beginning, how it all started, burning Synagogues, burning of the books the marching Nazis and then seeing the ordinary background and what it was like before, I could not help wandering how and why and for what reason it all come about.
The more often I contemplated on it, the further away I move from understanding it all. There is no rime and reason to it. But happen it did.
Coming back into daylight, we walked along the Avenue of the Righteous Gentiles looking for the tree of Trudie Wiessmiller, initiator of Kinder Transport I left Germany with, but did not find it.
Back we went to the opening ceremony, were there were still speeches in progress and finally the doors opened to let us into the Exhibition Hall. It is all neatly categorized, is all about women, who they were, how they acted, a will that was left behind, a painting, a story.
My mother’s story is in my heart. She was 41 years old when the Nazi regime came to power and eleven years later 1944 perished in Auschwitz, aged 52, unbend and still at the prime of her life.
Having premonitions as to what was in store for her family, she sent all of her three children and her own mother away, even before the war started, so that we should live. She left no stone unturned trying to find a place for her beloved husband and herself in any country of the world, but to no avail.
While still in Berlin my father had to do forced labor, working in road construction in soaring summer heat and in freezing cold winter days, my mother working in a Jewish old age home. She used to get up in the very early hours of the morning to pack a bit of lunch for her beloved husband until in October 1942 they were sent to Theresienstadt where my father died in 1943 and my mother was left all on her own until she was sent in May 1944 to Auschwitz.
How did my mother manage to stand up to all that for eleven long years? I will never know. I miss her and admire her. I can’t stop thinking of her. There certainly is a story to tell. Will I have the strength to put it all together? Only time will tell.

Jerusalem Pesach 2007

Time flies

There is so much happening that I forget what I did yesterday or the week before. And that is not all that is happening to me. I forget and remember at one and the same time.
What I mainly remember is things that happened a long time ago. My childhood memories are crystal clear. I remember many details from the different flats we lived in as a happy family. I remember games I played with my brother, conversations between my mother and myself. We often worked together in the kitchen or doing the laundry, going to market or laying the table for a festive occasion.
I remember faces from that time of those that were my age as well as faces and names of our family doctor or leaders in the community. There are concrete and clear pictures in my minds eye. I could direct anybody walking through the town, which streets led to where, who lived where, my half hour walk to school and what we did on weekends. All that is 70–80 years ago.
Once I left home 1939 at the age of 15, memory is starting to get blurred. I forgot the names of most of the people that I encountered in my wanderings from place to place.
As against what happened 70-80 years ago, the many things that happened 40–50 years ago as well as what happened 10-20 years ago are all in a blur. Not to talk of what I did last week.
But that is what is said about the long-term memory as against the short-term memory. That is what age does to the brain.

With having said that there is still something that often amazes me. Because of circumstances of emigration from Germany at a young age, living on my own and immigration after the war to Palestine, my formal education was put on hold for decades. I attended various courses for further education and already a grandmother I went to university and got my B.A. in sociology, educational counseling and gerontology. I tried to use every opportunity to further myself and still do so today mainly in Holocaust studies, and of late research into aging.
Information that I could internalize seems to have stuck. I have a better grasp on subject that interested me, than many a much younger person. I can recall historical facts and see the overall structure, see how they fit together and often can explain that even to doctorial students.
Whenever there is a call for papers and I have a feeling that I can contribute something to the subject, I send in my proposal and mostly get accepted. At international conferences I do my presentation and hold my own next to people who have had a much better and more extensive formal education.
At the same time I need to use all sorts of rouse and tricks to get through the day and the week, to remember to take my medicine, to keep appointment, to find what I am looking for. Sometimes I walk into the kitchen and stand there, not knowing why. When I think of something and do not do it immediately I just forget to do it. When people phone me to make an appointment and I do not write it down while talking to them I have difficulty to recall what they wanted from me. Sometimes I just jot down a phone number they pass on to me, and a couple of hours later stare at it not knowing whose number it is. I have developed a routine to do things the minute the crop up and double check, using the diary as well as putting note on the door to remind me what it is that I wanted to do.
That is the trickery of the brain while growing old. The trick is to learn to live with it, and beat it as long as I can.

Interfaith meeting

I am new at this game but willing to give it a try.
There are many things that are of interest to me and I am involved in various groups.
One of these groups met last night.

For the last 5 years I belong to the “I EW” - Interfaith Encounter Women group, which part of the general Israel Interfaith Encounter, that has many different group all over the country.
The Jerusalem IEW that I belong too, about 15 –20 Christian, Armenian, Muslim and Jewish women, meet once a month and learn from each other about subjects from the different religions point of view, such as dietary laws, marriage customs, mourning ceremony, Feast and Fast days and similar points of common interest.
We have a coordinator from each of the different religions. Usually we meet at the Swedish Theological Seminar in The Prophet Street, which is where East and West meet.
For Succoth, Christmas or the breaking of the Fast after Ramadan we meet at the respective home of one of our members. In between we phone each other on occasions and sometimes, time allowing, visit each other in East or West Jerusalem.

Last nights we meet to say Thank You to Elana Rozenmann, the founder of this group, who is stepping down from being the President of all the Interfaith Encounter women groups, that meanwhile have been founded in many parts of the country. She also represented the group at various Inter-religious Regional and International gatherings.
Elana had guided our group for 5 years through thick and thin, even while the Intifada and terror attacks raged, we never skipped a meeting. We got to know each other, became friends and are a closely- knit group.

One of the women offered her home for the occasion, the address and especially the entrance, which was around the corner of the street, up some steps and through a garden, being difficult to find.

It was stormy night and the rain came down in buckets. I called on my son to take me there. I remained sitting in the car, while he got soaking wet scouting around the house from all sides till he found the entrance to her apartment. Only then did he accompany me to the right place. On the return to his car he encountered three Arab- speaking women asking several people for advice how to find the place, who could not help them.
He realized what they were looking for, and in their words it was a very nice man, who guided them to the right entrance. They laughed when I told them that it was my son who had helped them.
After we had spent a lovely heart warming evening, including refreshments we had brought along, each of us addressing the retiring founder, late at night it were these same Arab women who brought me back home. For me, the eldest of the bunch, it was an evening well spent.