A busy Chanukah week

Chanukah is one of the many feasts that fill the Jewish calendar. It is in remembrance of the revolt of the Hashmonaim, a priestly family that fought against the Greeks who had defiled the Temple 2000 years ago. When rededicating the Temple a small cruse of oil burned miraculous for eight days until fresh and purified oil could be got ready for the eternal light that was always kept alight in the temple. Until today on Chanukah we light up candles, on the first day one candle until on the eights day we light up eight candles.
Sunday for the lighting of the first candle I had an invitation to the Harman School for religious girls. There was a grand possession bringing in a Torah Scroll to the newly opened study center. I took my friend, a young woman from Germany along, who is in Israel for a year of volunteer service with the organization “Reconciliation and Peace work”. She works in Yad Vashem and visits me once a week. I wanted to give a chance to witness something very special and typically Jewish and Israeli. It was a real pleasure to see all the pupils dancing and singing carrying the Torah Scroll under the Baldachin of a stretched out Praying Shawl, taking pride in doing so and a very moving ceremony.
The Border Police plays a very important role in our live in Israel. Apart from their daily duties for our security they are also concerned about our social well-being. As a result of often being on duty in Yad Vashem, the central base of the Border Police in Jerusalem decided last year to adopt a group of Shoa Survivors and invite them on occasions to their festivities. For the second night of Chanukah I was picked up by a police car and taken to the base to share dinner with the soldiers, take part in the lighting of the second candle and watch a special funny Standup show.
For the third candle I participated at the opening ceremony of Café Europe, just down the street from me. It will serve Shoa survivors of the neighborhood as part of the local community service that I am involved in.
Chanukah will keep me busy.

All in a days work

On a Wednesday in November 2008 was just one of those days.
Tuesday in the afternoon the phone rang and I got an invitation as a Shoa survivor to attend the next day a short session in the Knesset in remembrance of “70 years to the pogrom of the Kristalnight”.
Of I went Wednesday morning at 10.00 o’clock and set in the special guest gallery, the nearer one without the glass dividing wall and had a good view of the constant comings and goings of the members of the Knesset. They rush in when the voting is announced and it is in their interest that some law of theirs or their party should be passed. As soon as they have pressed the voting button they rush out again. On the way out they stop to talk to somebody, or listen to their phone, which they are not allowed to do so in the main hall, others call out aloud when they disagree with what is being said. The speaker of the Knesset often has to raise her voice to tell a member to behave according to the rules or else to leave the hall.
Punctually at 12.00 o’clock, according to the timetable, three members of the Knesset spoke in remembrance of :

“70 years to the pogrom in November 1938”, the night when well over a thousand Synagogues burned, jewish shops were broken in and plundered, and Jewish men were taken to KZ / concentration camps.
That was the point of no return. From then on things got steadily worth for the Jewish people. Palestine was a British Mandate with restricted Jewish immigration and no other country wanted us.
After the speeches, as invited guests, the survivors had lunch at the Knesset restaurant.

Soon after I got home a guest from Germany arrived, who is the representative of the Berlin Missionary Work, in charge of the Thalita Kumi school in Beth Jala. I invited her to join me at the Cinematek for the book launch of “60 Years 60 Voices”.
Patricia Smith Melton founder and board chair of Peace x Peace women net working had interviewed 30 Palestinian women and 30 Israeli women and published 60 stories and vision in a beautiful book in English, Arabic and Hebrew. At a reception all those interviewed were presented with the book. My guest was amazed to see how Palestinian and Israeli women interacted and had shared interest.
I met old friends and made new acquaintances, including the wife of a UN official.
From there the director of IPCRI kindly drove me all the way to Tantur (next to the checkpoint on the road to Bethlehem) for our monthly Christian Jewish Dialog meeting of “Rainbow”, a group founded many years ago and still going strong. Next to me sat a visiting Scholar from Rome from the Pontificia Universita Gregoriana.
As is the case mostly, I got a lift home from a friend who is in charge of the Johanniter Hospiz in the Old City. Groups that stay in the Hospiz often come to my home to listen to me telling the story of my family.
Comes evening I was tired and pleased to get to bed.
As the saying goes : “All in a days work”.

How would you feel if you could spend a week with two young men?

The German Bundestag, as a gesture to the 60th anniversary of the founding of the State of Israel, invited 25 Shoa survivors together with a member of the second or third generation to come to their town of birth in Germany to give talks in Schools. ASF (Aktion Suehnezeichen) took upon itself to coordinate and make all the necessary arrangements. ASF asked me to accept this invitation.

The date was fixed for the week of 20. – 28. September 2008.
My sons and daughter are busy, as are most of my grandchildren.

But my grandson Ido (23) agreed to come along. The survivor should tell his or her life story and the young generation his or her attitude to the Shoa. As I had lived in Berlin until I left home for Scotland with a Kinder Transport in 1939, several schools in Berlin were chosen.
A special power point presentation “3 plus 3 Generations”, told my narrative. By showing pictures of three generations as we lived together in Germany, my grandmothers family, my parents and my brother and sister and myself, while through the next three generations, my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I feel rooted in Israel.
For Ido there was also a power point presentation, pictures from school, army life and his hobbies. In the last minute his brother Yoni (25) who was globetrotting at the time, joined us for the week in Berlin.
Accompanied by a coordinator, a young girl (21) from ASF and two young men, my grandsons, we set out each morning to another school, from sixth grade, (aged eleven), to grade thirteen, (aged eighteen to twenty). We were also invited to an Integration Center for young immigrants from Eastern Europe, who had done research for their newsletter about my family during the Nazi Regime and also arranged for a press conference including a member of the Bundestag.

All told we spoke to twelve different groups and were well received everywhere.
I have often spoken in schools in Israel and in Germany, but this time was very special for me. I enjoyed very much to be in the company of two young men who, where ever we went made an excellent impression on every body.

Trauma and Identity

In recent years I find an outlet for my thoughts in painting, prose, poetry and talking to people. I would like to share with you a recent talk I had with a student of Social Work.
He asked me two questions:
“What makes up your identity” and “How do you cope with your trauma”.
Being a Zionist, Jewish, Israeli and the Shoa have shaped my life.

Trauma and Identity .

I know who I am and who I want to be.
Growing up as a motherless daughter I had to find my own way through life. What helped me most was the fact that I had a goal. From early childhood, just like my mother, I had the dream of getting to our homeland, the Land of Israel and help build up the country as a Zionist pioneer. This is what my mother had hoped for to do and had hoped for her children. My mother remained my guide throughout my life.
Being Jewish was something my mother taught me to be proud off. That was a very daring thought at a time when anti-Semitism was at its height. Being proud has remained my attitude towards my Judaism till today. I am proud of belonging to the Jewish people with their ancient heritage, to keep to it and pass it on to the coming generations.

Being an Israeli is the fulfillment of a dream to be wanted, to belong, to be allowed to do so. This plays an active part in my day- to- day life.
The Shoa and all that it entails, the consequences of being excluded, deprived of all rights, unwanted, dispossessed, is something I hoped to spare my children from.
My children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren feel that they belong to this country based on our ancient heritage. In my way I helped to create the basis for that.

Time in August

August is the month that most people go on Holiday. I am on Holiday the year round. So what is special for me in August, what can I do to fill my time in August?
Somehow I feel I have to do something useful, even when there is nothing to do. The computer is often my last resource. It is like a magnet. It has a constant pull on me to sit down and use it.

That is what I am doing most days.
In September, which still seems far away, I have an invitation to come to Berlin as part of the 60-year celebration of the founding of the State of Israel. The Project “Le Dor Dor”, organised by the German Government and ASF has invited 25 survivors accompanied by a child or grandchild to come to Germany and talk in schools. While I have been asked to talk about my childhood memories, my 23 year old grandson who will accompany me on this trip, should talk about his generations attitude towards the Shoa and the relationship between Germany and Israel as seen by his generation.
Out of experience I know that pictures convey a subject much better than words can. So I have been busy putting together a power point projection, looking for photos that will tell the story of what it was like for us to live as whole family in Glogau and in Berlin, that is my grandmother, my parents and my siblings. Showing three generations living together in Germany and following it with photos of three further generations who live in Israel. Putting together “Three plus Three” was easy.
I also crafted a projection for my Grandson to show. He supplied me with photos and I made a story out of it. While I have more time than is good for me, the young generation is always busy and never has time. Time for what? They have the time to do what is right for them, which does not always include what we old people think they should be doing.
Actually they are busy building their life, which is no longer comparable, to what it was like for me, when I did so 70, 60 or 50 years ago.
Much has changed since then. We have a State now, which for a long seemed like a dream to me but has become reality.

As one of my grandsons pointed out to me, my generation was busy with mere surviving. That has changed. The present generation has all the time in the world and they are busy living their life.

And that is how it should be.

Funeral and Wedding- - Sorrow and Joy

Prior to the outbreak of the second Lebanese war in 2006 Udi and Eldad, two reserve soldiers, who were also childhood friends, had been kidnapped by Hisbolla while on patrol on the Lebanese Border.
The fate of them had been unknown for over two years. Their family and the whole nation with them, pleaded for their return.
Lengthy negotiations with Hisbolla over a prisoner exchange was finalized, but to everybody’s sorrow in exchange for the return of the Lebanese prisoners two black coffins with Udi and Eldad remains were handed over at the Lebanese/Israel border-post of Rosh Hanikra. Everybodies face fell. All the television stations broadcast it.
The funerals, one after the other took place the following day.
This was last Thursday afternoon, I was glued to the television and cried as I sat and watched the crowds at the funeral.

Family, friends, neighbors, soldiers, members of the Knesset, everybody was heartbroken and so was I.
Then it was time to pull myself together. In spite of it all, life carries on.
I had an invitation to attend the wedding of the first granddaughter of very good friends, distant relations of mine and had to catch a special bus that would pick up some of the many invited guests to take them to Ancient Sussia in the hills of Hebron. Leaving Jerusalem and passing the checkpoint, it was well over an hours ride through beautiful peaceful looking scenery of vinejards, fruit trees, a patchwork of fields, passing smaller and bigger Arab villages where life has a different pace, villagers walking or riding on a donkey, fruit and vegetable laid out by the roadside, for passerby to purchase.
The bus swayed on the many curves, uphill and down again, just as my own thought swayed back and forth.
There must have been several hundred people making their way to greet the bride who sat in among the excavations of an ancient Jewish town dating back to the Talmudic time, 2nd to 4th century. For the Chupa -the actual wedding ceremony- young and old with many small children running around, everybody walked up to a high point of the hillock, where two giant pillars of a once gigantic looking Synagogue still stand upright. I was passed on from hand to hand, helping me walk uphill, pulling me up high steps, just so that I should not miss out on the joyous occasion of a beautiful and tasteful arranged wedding ceremony.
But my thoughts were elsewhere. The funerals had brought back to my mind the funeral of my grandson who fell in action 5 years ago, but also the birth of my great-grandson just a week ago. I am totally confused. Should I enjoy life or should I mourn for lives lost. It is difficult for me to keep up with the speed at which one occasion takes over from the previous one.
If that was not all, the very next day my son brought me boxes of books from my late brothers library to look through, including also the transcription the recordings of his life story. Among them there were some letters he had received more then 70 years ago from our parents, begging him to help them find a way to get permission to enter Palestine. But to no avail, they perished in the Shoa.
Reading those, by my parents handwritten now yellowing pages, brought tears to my eyes.
Death, birth, wedding, memories, sorrow and joy, all got mixed up within a short span of time. Historical past, recent past, present day-to-day life and future all melt into one.

Nobody can see the turmoil that is going on in my mind. Thoughts and feelings that keep cropping up are difficult to convey to another person.
I have to pull myself together and make the most of it. My involvement in different activities requires me to stay ahead of what expected of me.

A meeting here, a meeting there, e.mail to be answered, a powerpoint presentation to be prepared for talks that I will give together with my grandson in schools in Berlin in September, all that needs to be attended too. Life carries on.

A busy week

Some weeks are busier than others. Lately a number of important events seemed to have accumulated within days of each other. I am a member of various committees. Although I keep a check on my diary, it often happens that I have to choose which one to attend.
In front of me are four of the latest visiting cards each one collected from a different event.
An ex-member from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, whom I met at the committee meeting of JRJ gave me her card and asked me to contact her to discuss how to present better the stories of "Jews who Rescued Jews".
The next card is from a gentleman from the Ecumenical Accompanier, Sweden, who is here to keep a check on our Checkpoints to help the Palestinians when having trouble crossing into Israel, often without the necessary permit. He has heard so many problems that he decided to come and listen to some good news. He came to our Interfaith Encounter meeting, where Jews, Christians and Muslims meet on a regular basis, to learn about each other’s religion and interviewed some of us. He saw us sitting together in a most peaceful atmosphere at the Swedish Theological Institute situated between East and West Jerusalem and was amazed. From the media he got the impression, that that was not possible
Sunday and Monday were busy days, but Tuesday topped it all.
Tuesday morning at 9.00 my companion of the steering committee for the old age club picked me up for our weekly session. Rushed back for a quick lunch and at 13.00 a lady came with her friend who visits me regularly on Tuesdays.

At 15.00 I had scheduled a meeting with a Jewish and a Muslim women to discuss a workshop about “Trust” that we are to give jointly next week at an International Conference of ICCJ "Israel Council for Christians and Jews". In the middle of that a couple of pupils turned up to have a photo taken together with me. I had couched them for several weeks towards the ceremony of the 60th Anniversary of the state of Israel and to complete their paper they needed a photo of us together.

Before we women completed our task a visitor, Prof. Dr. Wolfgang from Berlin who is here on a business meeting turned up. He is an old friend of mine from the days when I traveled yearly to Germany to give talks in schools. He is a professor of Criminology and Sociology. We talked for a good three hours and then I walked him back to his hotel.
Wednesday I tried to catch up with my regular household scores like shopping and cooking and at 4.30 o’clock in the afternoon a friend from “Gagoshrim” (one of the organizations who bring volunteer from Germany to work in institutions for the aged or for handicapped children) picked me up to get to the assembly point for a trip to Tel-Aviv.
The German based „Heinrich Boell Stiftung“ together with „Aktion Suehne Zeichen und Friedensdienste“, (also an organization who bring volunteers from Germany) in honor of Israel’s 60th anniversary held a joint public event in Tel-Aviv, “Living after Surviving – Shoa Survivors in Israel”. There were a number of speeches, including Knesset Member/Deputy Speaker Colette Avital, as well as a panel discussion. Two young German volunteers asked questions of three old survivors, one of them was myself. There I was sitting on the podium and gave the relevant answers. When the session finished Colett Avital spoke to me and we had a lively discussion and exchanged visiting cards. She asked me to get in touch with her for further discussions. It was quite late when we got back to Jerusalem.
Early next morning I got ready for the final trip for the season of the Old Age Club. The club, that I had initiated, has been going for the last five years with once weekly lectures and once monthly trips. This time it was to a lovely shaded Nature spot of Eyn Chemed, with a very tasty pick-nick prepared by the head of the Jerusalem branch of the Organization of Immigrants from German speaking Countries.

After viewing the Ruins of the Crusaders Fortress we leisurely walked back and passed a big group of very boisterous Muslim girls. I asked them where they are from and among a lot of giggling some of the girls almost in chorus said “Palestinians from a school in Abu Tor”. They were pretty noisy. Not knowing any Arabic I still managed to engage them in some sort of a dialogue. With a few words of Hebrew and a few in English, but mainly by signs language I asked them how old they are. Thirteen, they shouted in Chorus. When I asked them what they think how old I am, they looked at me, thought 60 or perhaps a bit more but when I said 85 they were more than astonished.

I pleaded with them by saying sh… sh… sh… and again in sign language to keep a little bit more quite.
While we sat around singing old time songs to the sounds of an accordion some of the girls approached and stopped some distance away in amazement at us old people singing lustily away. As I walked up to them they started to make dancing movements to the music. I joined them and quickly a circle was formed, while dancing several more girls trotted along. We danced for a while and I returned to my group. They approached once more and asked to have a picture taken together with me. Their group soon left and our pick-nick came to an end by 2.00 o’clock.
At 4.30 I was of again for Tel-Aviv to a reception at 7.00 o’clock at the Residence of the German Ambassador Mr. Kindermann, in honor of the 50th Anniversary of the „Aktion Suehne Zeichen und Friedensdienste“, who since 1958 have annually send their young volunteers to Israel. After the Ambassador and a couple of others addressed the audience from the balcony, so did I, said a few words and presented the representative of the organization, Katharina von Muenster, with a framed certificate of a number of trees planted in their name in the woods of “Altneuland” in the Galilee.
It was late again when I finally fell into bed.
Next week I will give two workshops, one of them with a power point presentation, which I have prepared. I am looking forward to it hope it will work out alright.

Ups and downs.

Living and working (not for money) brings with it many ups and downs. The ups are usually the result of hard work. The downs, among other things, if somebody willingly or not, hits you over the head.
Some may be minor downs and are easier overcome, while others leave a bitter taste behind for a long time.
A very insulting reaction totally unrelated to what I wrote in my last blog message, is such an example. It left me paralyzed for days on end.

Being an old woman living on my own I go through experiences in uncharted water for the present day aging population.

We grow much older than previous generations ever did. There are no role models to go by how to live for 30 years or more after nobody needs you. Rather than killing time I am trying to fill my time by doing something for other people, something I believe other people will benefit from and am trying to make myself useful in whatever way possible. That is including writing down some of my thoughts on daily life experience and constructing my own narrative that I can live with. It is all on a personal level and I am far from making political statements.

As the result of being widowed and in order to live near my son, I moved from Haifa to Jerusalem. Looking back to give some perspective to my life, I tried to recall when and how I experienced “Jerusalem seen through the veil of time”.
Being accused in his comments to my last blog by Marwan (who does not know me), of living in other people’s houses, taking away homes that other people lived in and his words:
“….ask yourself how you built in houses and flats that have been previously occupied by Palestinian families and with which your Jewish army and militias frightened them into flight. You know it is just not that simple to come into another land and say "Oh I can take this house, I can live in the neigbourhood, and build it."
Through a deliberate wonting strategy your leaders sought to depopulate the land of its original inhabitants to make way for immigrants like you who came from all over the world……”

All this has nothing to do with what I wrote about. I was trying to recall my amazements of my first sight of Jerusalem some 62 years ago.

May be it is stupid of me to feel hurt by these unrelated remarks of Marwan, such as the above or:
“…..It really is extraordinary how you enclosed your self and managed to build an aura of normality and lecture and write at the same time……”

It is well known that old people try to look back on their life and construct a narrative that they can live with.
“Aura of normality” as he calls it, is an essential ingredient in old age, especially when life has brought many upheavals with it. It was not easy having to leave home at an early age, my parents were killed because of their religion, being a refugee, an orphan, roaming from place to place, all told living in over 30 different ones, being widowed, experiencing one war after an other, seeing many people killed on both sides including my grandson.
In spite of all that, it was by the sweat of my brow and with my own hands that I created as normal a surrounding as possible for the next generation to grow up in. That is what life is all about, living it as best as one can.
Is this too difficult for Marwan to understand?

Jerusalem - seen through the veil of time.

When did I first encounter Jerusalem?

It was a longing of mine of old to see, what had been but a dream since my childhood-days. Biblical stories that I had heard as a child in Germany seemed in those days to me like fairy tales.

In July 1945 when I arrived in Erez Israel to join a Kibbutz in Emek Jesrael I was already pregnant. At the end of nine months of breastfeeding my daughter, I was given a 9 days leave.

This gave me an opportunity to do and see what I had dreamed off.
Autumn 1946 and off I went by bus which drove along the ancient Kings Road via Affula, Meggido, Je’nin and Nablus to Jerusalem.
A cousin of my father, the Nathan family and her old father Adolf Brotzen, the brother of my grandmother, lived in Ben Jehuda Street. They kindly put me up on a couch in their living room.
Their charming son, then still in school, took me to see many of the sites in the old city, some Churches, the spice market, the sheep market and other sections of the markets, each with its distinct smell.
In the narrow lane (that is how it was in those days) I stood in awe looking skywards up the Wailing Wall.

All of these places are unforgettable sights for me.
The next day I went up to Mount Scopus and walked into the magnificent building of the Hadassah Hospital. It seemed like palace to me, all glittering and shining.
When I approached the matron and mentioned to her that I was a new immigrant, she called on a young nurse and told her to show me every thing I wanted to see and hear about.

Such treatment, I felt like a queen. She also directed me to the amphitheater of the university with the magnificent view over the Judean dessert, the Dead Sea and mountains of Moav beyond.

The next day I traveled by bus to Kalia at the Dead Sea.

The house in Ben Jehuda Street, that my relatives had lived in and Dr. Nathan had his dental clinic, was badly damaged when a bomb blew it up in 1947. They, and others like them, were put up in temporary quarters in the Bezalel building.
This charming schoolboy, who had introduced me to Jerusalem, fought in the War of Independence and fell in 1948 in the defense of Gush Ezion, a settlement near Jerusalem.
His sister married a police officer and moved to Herzlia. The parents whom I visited in 1950 were heartbroken and died soon afterwards.

In April 1948 the Old City of Jerusalem, after a long struggle, fell into the hands of the Jordanian Army. Jerusalem was divided into East and West with a strip of no-mans-land in-between. Dividing concrete walls were build to guard against snipers.

My next encounter with Jerusalem was as a Tourist guide from 1960 on wards.

The Tourists arrived in Israel via the border crossing at the Mandelbaum Gate from the Kingdom of Jordan , where they had visited many of the holy sites and it was up to me to show them around the Western part of Jerusalem.
Mount Zion, the Dormition Church and the Room of the last Supper. Climbing up the to the roof of King David’s Tomb, I used to point out what ever sites in the old city were visible.
From Abu Tor I looked towards the Old City while I stood facing the Jordanian Guard.
Another vantage point was the roof of Notre Dame. The front of the building faced the Wall of the Old City and the New Gate, which was in Jordan while the back entrance was from the Israeli side. The Street below, thrown with barbed wire was “No-Man’s-Land”.

Climbing unto the roof, a vast panoramic view spread out in front of my eyes.
A long, pasted together yellow strip of nondescript paper cardboard was sold to help identify all the lovely places one could see and yearned to touch, longed to walk in the lanes and discover long forgotten history.

My guiding experience and encounter with Jerusalem changed drastically with the Six Day War in 1967, as result of which the dividing line between East and West became invisible on the surface.

On the way to Mount Scopus one could drive back and forth and cross again and again what had been for so long the borderline. I could walk along streets in East and West, that had been closed and walled up for the last 20 years.
Within two weeks of the end of the fighting a small group of Tourist Guides, I among them, was shown all the places that I had been pointing out from the distance. We were very fortunate to be guided by Prof. Seew Vilnai, the author of the then prevailing and excellent Guidebook. He had been a commander in the Old City during the War of Independence in 1947-49 and knew the place inside out.
Tens of thousands, if not millions, of tourist streamed into Israel and I was guiding group after group through the narrow lanes sharing with them the excitement of being able to visit the many Holy Sites without having to cross borders.

1968 my daughter got married to the son of one of the founding members of Kibbutz Ramat Rachel, on the southern border of Jerusalem. Six grandchildren are the result of it, one of whom fell in 2002 while fighting in Je'nin. He is buried in Ramat Rachel where he was born.

It was early on a Saturday morning that I stood in Ramat Rachel, watching the sunrise from afar over the mountains of Moav waiting for the Rabbi, being a very religious man, who walked right across Jerusalem to perform the circumcision of my second grandson. I suddenly realized that my grandson is born a free person, born of parents who were born as free people in this country.

Somewhere in one of my bottom drawers, there is something I wrote then and there. It was a very moving moment for me. It gave me the feeling, as if my generation had been put to sleep and on the sudden awakening realized the next generation had accomplished what we had not been able to achieve. Jerusalem was no longer devided.

My son got married in 1980 and settled in Jerusalem, soon there were three more grandsons. That was as good an excuse as any for me to make frequent visits aside from my guiding.

In the meanwhile much water has flown under the bridges.

For 40 years we lived in Haifa where my husband had found work.

1995 I was widowed after having nursed my husband through his illnessd , and looking after him in hospital, during treatment and at home.

Suddenly there I was, all alone. My son Danny encouraged me to move to Jerusalem, so that if necessary he could look after me.

All my grandchildren are grown up by now and soon number nine of my great-grandchildren will be born.

The thirteen years that I live in Jerusalem are a very unique and special period in my life. Having found a centraly located very convenient, high ceiling ground floor flat near to where my son lives, it was in need of a very extensive renovation. As the architect did not seem to understand my special needs, as an alone living old woman, I sacked him, designed what I wanted and supervised the workmen, which obviously was not seen in a positive light. How can a woman know, how things should be done. The end result is a pleasant sunny place, people walking in, saying “Whaww” how nice, inviting, and comfortable. My own paintings adorn the walls in my home.
Living and functioning in Jerusalem I would not want to have missed.
Jerusalem has become the focal point for all my family get together, including my son Miki and his family who live in Karkur near Chedera.
My son Danny drops in frequently and is a great support for me. The grandchildren come as often as their time allows them and my great-grandchildren when their parents bring them along.

As a family clan we meet several times a year on sad and happy occasions, either in Ramat Rachel at my daughter Manja’s place, or at my sons or my place, or up in the mountains as a surprise party for Shirel, my eldest great-granddaughter, at her coming of age, all of 12 years old.

My activities in Jerusalem center around several aspects. I participate and am active in several different Interfaith Encounter groups as well as in Inter-Cultural meetings, give lectures, interviews, write articles, poems and given workshops at national and international conferences.
Meeting the “Other”, what ever group, religion or nationality he may be, is of utter importance to me.

Five years ago I started and have since accompanied an old age cultural club of the Irgun Mercas Europa.
The present project that I have initiated and am involved in, is inter-generational encounters between an ever growing group of old people living on their own and seeing to it that they get invited and involved with pupils in the local schools.
That is a story in itself and I will try to tell it some other time.

The young people want to know.

From Yom Hashoa to Yom Haazmut 2008

Spring time for the last 20 years, always brings a great number of speaking engagements for me with it, but this year topped it all.
Within the short span of two weeks I spoke to 12 different groups and in addition to participating at four memorial services.
It started on Sunday April 27. 2008, a week before Yom Hashoa. An educational officer had heard me speak in Yad Vashem to a group of "Birthright", was very impressed and invited me to her unit, to speak to officers and soldiers in Tel Aviv in the “Kirya”, our military headquarters. To flesh out the story I use my power point projection, which helps my listeners to follow in my footsteps as I talk about “A Jewish Family” my family.
Monday I was invited to the grant opening of the new exhibition “This is my Home” in Yad Vashem. It shows the contribution of Shoa Survivors to the building up of the State of Israel.

It certainly is an exhibition well worse while to visit.
Tuesday lunchtime I spoke to students of the Jeshiva in the Fuchsberg center for Conservative Judaism and in the evening to some 30 youngsters of their youth movement “Noam” in East Talpiot.
Wednesday morning the Evelyn de Rothshild school for religious girls in Rechavia near my home, invited me, as they had done a couple of years ago, to speak to some 200 pupils aged 14-15.
In the afternoon the “Lindenbaum Michlala”, a study center for religious girls from America invited me to talk the present group. They have been in contact with me ever since the group in 2002 joined the crowd at the funeral of my grandson who fell in the fighting in Je’nin on Yom Hashoa.
On the eve of Yom Hashoa I joined the annual ceremony in Yad Vashem. Thousands of people braved the bitter cold, but would not miss to listen to the torch lighters telling their tale.
Early next morning on Yom Hashoa I was taken together with half a dozen other speakers to the Jerusalem Forest, where Bne-Brith and the Jewish National Fund (KKL) had invited several hundred pupils and soldiers for their annual Yom Hashoa ceremony. This year the theme was JRJ Jews Rescue Jews during the Shoa, something which is always part of my story.
As soon as I got there even before the ceremony started I spoke to a group of recruits from the border police. I asked for the loan of one of the soldiers to accompany me up and down on the hilly territory.
There was a class of deaf pupils, with a sign language interpreter, who lost patience during the long speeches. I took them aside and with the help of print outs of my regular projection and the sign language, they were delighted to understand the story and thereby feel part of it all.
After the speeches were over I talked to a group of girls aged 14-15 from a religious school in Ashdod who did not want to miss the opportunity.

After a short break at home I was of to Yad Vashem, where a group of over a hundred Military Police soldiers were waiting to listen to me.
In the evening I participated at a short creative writing workshop in “Amcha”, the result of which you have just read.

Sunday of the following week it was a large group of “Birthright “ I spoke to in Yad Vashem.
Monday a school for religious girls aged 11-13 invited me to kick of the week of celebration "60 Years the State of Israel".
I prepared a special power point presentation “60 Years ago”, that tells the tale from the Balfour declaration, Zionist Youth Movement, Hachshara, Aliya, Athlit Detention Camp, Kibbutz, setting up a new Kibbutz “Choma Umigdal” (Watchtower and Fence), UN Partition Plan, War of Independence, Declaration of the State of Israel, mass immigration,

Maaberot (Tent Cities), “Zena”(Austerity) and building up of the country.

Although the girls were very young they listened carefully and asked relevant questions.

In the evening a group of German pilgrims waited for me in a Hotel in the old city. They had previously visited Palestinian cities in the West Bank and were pretty amazed to hear my story. It all was new to them.

Tuesday evening my son took me to Ramat Rachel to participate at the memorial service on the eve of Remembrance Day for fallen soldiers from the War of Independence, as well as my grandson who fell in 2002 fighting in Je’nin.

Wednesday was the highlight of my recent activities.

For a couple of month Or and Shachar, two pupils from the school of “Science and Art” had visited me once a week collecting information of what it was like 60 years ago. They listened to my stories, searched in the inter-net and scanned photos. With that and the addition of a petrol stove, petrol lamp and Wonder Pot that I lend them, they put up a very impressive exhibition.
Wednesday early in the morning I arrived at the school, was received and made welcome by Or and Shachar. For the celebration of the Day of Independence their school had invited me to talk to some 200 of their pupils from the upper classes with my special prepared power point presentation. I had a very captive audience.

Thurday was Independence Day.
Two weeks packed full with advantures.

I have now returned to my normal schedule.

Pesach - a great occasion for a family gathering

Comes Tu Beshvat (the new year of the trees), the beginning of spring and the first signs of the reawakening in nature I ask my sons where will we celebrate Pesach this year.
For 40 years, as long as my husband was alive and we lived in Haifa, it was self-understood that for the Pesach Seder the whole family gathers in our place to hold the traditional Seder, reading the Hagada from beginning to end. Guests were always present, my sister and brother and their families, friends of the family or students from Africa or Asia. It was up to me to make sure that everything will be just right, as it was my mother’s duty in her time.
I have very vivid memories of Pesach at home, like the anticipation, the preparations, the Seder evening with its melodies, the hiding of the Afikomen, without which the Seder can’t be completed and many other details.
It was the last day of Pesach 1939 that I left home. I have never missed a Seder since. By now I am just an onlooker, the next generation has taken over. We all get together.
This year my children decided to hold the Seder out of doors, under a giant Oak tree. Four generations gathered, all three of my children and their families.
They spread out mats and mattresses to sit upon and everybody contributed and brought some food along. I made a big pot of vegetable soup, as some of the grandchildren are vegetarians and brought a big pile of washed lettuce leaves which were quickly consumed.
My task as a tribe eldest and as in all previous years, was to prepare the traditional Seder Plate with the roasted Bone and roasted Egg in memory of the sacrifice at Temple times, the Petrosilia to dip in Saltwater when saying for the blessing over what the earth brings force, the Charoset (grated apples with blanched and chopped almonds, honey and a drop of wine) in memory of the clay blocks that the children of Israel had to make in Egypt, the Lettuce leaves to hold the Horse-reddish (bitter Herbs) to remind us of the bitterness of slavery. All that sits on three covered Matzot, (unleavened bread quickly backed).

The middle Matze is broken in half early on during the ceremony and sat aside as Afikomen for later. The children quietly steal and hide it. Who ever is the master of ceremony, in order to continue, has to redeem it against a bag of nuts or other presents.
Danny, my son, was the mastermind, let everybody know where and when we would meet and how to get there, informed them as to which part he or she had to play, and started the reading of the Hagada, the tale of the exodus of the children of Israel from Egypt, from slavery to freedom.
Each one of us was asked what freedom or to be free means for him or her, what it means to be here or what we wish for our future.
Me feeling of freedom goes back to the day I came on Aliya, that means when I arrived in Erez Israel. Since then I call myself Ester, Ursula I left behind me.
A great joy for me was to be together with all three of my children, many of my grandchildren and great-grandchildren. To be part of a four-generation family makes me happy. I see it as a great achievement and gives me a feeling of belonging and continuity.
Today is the last day of Pesach. It is 69 years ago that I left home. On that day my father handed to me a Hagada, which was already read by his great-grandfather and we still read from it year after year.

"Trust"

Israel/Palestine Center for Research and Information- IPCRI
held in Tantur on 11-12 April 2008 a Peace Education Conference

Participants came from many different places and religions, different ages and different walks of life.
There were more than 45 presentations and several workshops, among them one about “Trust” given by Elana Rosenman and myself, which was well attended.

Dialogue can take place only on the basis of mutual trust.

In pairs each person was given 3 minutes to talk about a personal experience, while the other listened without comments and after 3 minutes they switched over and the talker became the listener. It is amazing how much one can convey when there is a compassionate listener.

After that we split up into two smaller groups to allow input for everybody on the subject: “What is helpful in building trust?” From the dialogue in the small group came the following remarks:

To limit expectations, patience, putting things in a positive way, work against prejudice, protection, finding the balance between tensions, somebody who is close to you, you have to trust yourself, you have to be a trustworthy person yourself, self confidence, trust starts from birth, to be courageous, to take risk, we cannot change the world.

At the closing circle of the workshop participants were asked to give just one word, any word, what trust means to them.

Comfort, truth, revelation, construction, respect, faith, connection, honest, helping, affirmation, dignity, love, openness, personal, no fear, building, compassion, bravery, integrity, return, forgiveness, life, acceptance, sympathy, consistency, diversity.

Elana Rosenman is the founder and I am a cofounder of “Trust-Emun” a new Israeli nonprofit organization committed to building mutual trust and understanding through innovative person-to-person activity in our region.

This is just one of many other time consuming but gratifying activities of mine.

Expectation

Expectations are something that I am not sure of, where to fit them in.
Can I expect something or anything of anybody or may be only of myself?
It is up to me to live up to my own expectations.
If necessary, I have to change my attitude towards something or somebody in order to live up to my own expectations.
My question is, can I expect something from the other, just because that is something that I might have done in his or her place?
My answer is no, a definite “no”.
What I do or how I behave is entirely up to me. But why should I expect the same behavior of the other?
When I encounter the other, I do so for the sake of the encounter. I want to get to know him or her, hear his or her views, but at the same time remain myself, just as he or she does. The fact that we meet does not mean that the other or myself have to change our attitudes or our views nor his or her behavior..

The behavior of the other may be the last thing that I expected of him or her. But I am not responsible for the behavior of the other.

In other words, expectations I should turn inwards, towards myself, but not towards the other.

A remarkable recovery.

February 2008

Major surgery is major surgery at any age. Recuperation takes its time. To be back at a normal routine within a month of a complicated major surgery is remarkable for my age. There is no doubt that Danny’s devoted care-taking is a major factor, as was my urge to regain autonomy and independence for myself, which helped to speed up my recovery.

Thursday the 10th if January 2008 was the operation. The first couple of days were very frustrating. Lying in bed and not being able to move, I was totally depending on Danny’s help. I could not even turn from side to side.
Once the doctor told me on the third day to sit up it was easier said than done. Danny came to my help. He supported and encouraged me. The same when I was told to walk around. The first few steps felt like hell. I was so weak that I could hardly make it back to the bed. Danny got me up again and again. By Tuesday I started to drink with Danny's help, Wednesday I got liquid food and on the fifths day I asked Danny to bring along my walker. I wanted to try and get about by myself. Which was just as well. The doctor was pleased with my recovery.
Thursday, a mere week after the operation the doctor told us that I could go home. I hardly believed my ears. Danny got all the paperwork done and everything ready, came with the 4X4 jeep and brought me home to my own bed. Debby had prepared some soup and applesauce for me.
By evening I was on my own. Pretty scared, but brave enough to want to weather it some way or another. Early next morning Danny was there to take me to the shower, I washed my hair and he helped to get dressed. It being Friday he told me to dress warm and took me for the usual Friday night dinner to his house.
For the next few days he came morning, noon and night, encouraged me, joked with me and took me out for a walk, often for a second one in the afternoon or evening, each time increasing the distance a bit more.

Love and care, family and friends are all important ingredients to get well and for successful aging. But without meaning to ones life, a purpose in life, a goal, a target or an aim, call it what you want, it is difficult to master daily life and especially so in old age. Having grown up on my own, a motherless daughter from age 15, setting an aim for myself was always paramount. For one thing I always wanted to please my mother, and in spite of my age this is still the driving force in my life.

While in hospital I read Two Lives by Vikram Seith. One of the two lives is about a Jewish refugee woman whose old mother was send to Theresienstadt. It so happened that while I lay there in my clean hospital bed, getting all the latest and best treatment available, I read in this book a description about the hospital in Theresienstadt.
I thought to myself, who am I to complain, while living in such luxury, with excellent surgeons and the most modern equipment available and my son taking such good care of all my needs.
It spurned me on to make the best of it. My thoughts went back and forth.
When my father was in hospital in Theresienstadt, my mother took the best care possible of him, but there was lack of everything, hygiene, medical equipment, there were no medicaments available, my father just died. My mother could not even bury him, for that was not allowed. She was left all alone for many months until she was send to Auschwitz to her death. I was not there to take care of her. My mother had send all three of us children away so that we should live and be spared the hardships that she seemed to know that lay ahead.

I felt that out of respect to my mother I had to get better quick and get back to my old routine. I had so much to live for. I have my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There is still a lot I can contribute to my surrounding.

Within the first week of being home the volunteer from ASF (Aktion Suehne Zeichen) came to visit me and the television channel 2 wanted to make a report on his work with Shoa survivors. Although still weak, I agreed. They filmed for over an hour, but in the end showed a very short version of a few minutes only. A number of friends phoned to say that they saw me on television.
A couple of days later I gave a talk at my home to a group of older volunteers from ASF who are here for 3-6 month to work in various institutions for the old or handicapped.
The two eleven grade pupils that I had been meeting on a weekly basis turned up as usual and we carried on our work about the first decades of Statehood towards their presentation in school on the 60th anniversary of the State of Israel.
The phone kept ringing and Yad Vashem asked if could give a talk to a group of youngsters. There were other phone calls and a number of visitors.
My children and all my grandchildren turned up, as did some of my great-grandchildren. All that cheered me up. I felt that I had to live up to their expectation of being myself again. It was not always easy, but soon I got the hang of it all. Day by day I got more independent, do my housekeeping, shop and cook for myself.

A month after the operation and I am back to my regular routine of daily life and being able to participate in all the activities that I had been involved in before.

These include active participation in several groups of Inter-faith encounters, being a member of the steering committee of the once weekly old age club of the Irgun Oleh Mercas Europa, giving talks to various groups on different subjects, preparing papers for presentation at conferences, writing articles that are being published in journals, taking part in meetings of groups that I belong too and of course my extended worldwide e.mail correspondence.

A subject that most interest me these days is the research into successfull aging. Sometimes, after I tell the story of a Jewish family, my Family Chronicle and people asked about what I do these days and I mention this. Today I recieved a parcel. A kind person from Germany searched for and send me a couple of books on this subject.

One of them is The Art of Aging by Riemann & Kleespies 2007. I already read half of the book. I find the insight shown by the authors facinating. More about that next time.

A month later.

My belly was so swollen that it looked as if I was in the tenth month of pregnancy, which at my age of 84 was not very likely.

A visit to the doctor brought with it a lot more visits, tests and examinations of all sorts. They found out that I had cancerous growths in my abdomen. I urgently needed major surgery.
On the 10th of January 2008 I lay on the table in the operation theater and a team of doctors labored for five and a half hours to remove eight and a half kilogram, great lumps of growth as well as jelly like liquate.

Whereas before the operation I weight 70 kg, I now weigh a mere 54 kg.

Danny, my son, looked after me before and after the operation, he helped me sit up when told by the doctor to do so and walked me up and down the corridor as ordered.

A week after the operation we were told that he could take me home. Weak as I was, he kept me on my toes, walked with me, brought me food and in short, he was the best caretaker I could have hoped for.
In my absence my apartment was broken in. Not that the burglar found much aside from my ring, a golden necklace a couple of hundred Shekel, but he empty out all my shelves and drawers. I could not find a thing. Day by day I labored to put things right again. It gave me something to do.
My children, all my grandchildren and some of my great-grandchildren visited me, as well as a number of well - wishers and friends.
Within a month of the operation I am back to my old routine, do my shopping and cooking, started to give talks again to youth groups at home and at Yad Vashem.
Doctors are amazed at my quick recovery.
It is obviously a combination of good care on Danny’s side as well as my ardent wish to regain my autonomy and independency.
If there is a purpose to life I have to give it a chance. I have to have an aim to live up to. As long as I can, I feel that I want to give rather than take. I am glad that I can still contribute in different ways. My social engagement means a lot to me.

A visit to the doctor.

Sunday 2. December 2007 after a visit to the doctor.

Growing old is complicated. Living on my own makes it even more so. To have to depend on somebody is a great problem for me. From a very young age I had to make my own decisions and live by its consequences for better or for worth. As a result I am how I am, as independent as is possible. I do what I can for myself and only ask for help from my son when it is absolutely necessary.
Of late this has become more frequent and that is very upsetting for me. The last thing I want is to be dependent on somebody, to be a burden to my son.
I seem to have reached the limit of my autonomy.
Lately my strength seemed to ebb from week to week. Everything hurts me. My knees have been hurting for a long time, both the one that have been replaced as well as the other one. My belly seems to have grown while I actually lost weight. It is tense and hurts when I walk.
A couple of weeks ago I spoke briefly to my grandson about it. He has finished medical school and is doing his specializing in Internal Medicine. His one and only question was if my doctor had examined my belly. That rang a bell.
Last Sunday 25th of November 2007 I went to see him. He immediately sent me for a CT and said it was urgent and he made every effort to get all the paperwork done as quickly as possible for me.
Monday 26th November I did a blood test.
Thursday 29th November I went for the CT test. I had to fast 4 hours ahead of it and then every 20 minutes for 3 hours to drink some preparation. My son came along and helped me. At the end I was pretty exhausted.
Friday 30th November I brought the CD with the results to my doctor.
Today Sunday 2nd of December 2007 I went to see him. In my blood test there is an indication that there might be cancer cells somewhere and he rung up an Oncologist in the Share Zedek Hospital. Tomorrow at 9 o’clock in the morning I have to go there. Again he is doing all the paperwork for me to speed it up.
I asked, how will I manage? I live on my own. How will I cope?

I phoned my son Danny. He said: “But Mum, you knew that there is something wrong with you. This is not new. I will take you to the hospital tomorrow”
I was close to tears.
It is always Danny who is there for me. I told him that that was my greatest worry. It is always Danny and Danny, again and again who sits with me, looks after me and helps me.
His reply was: “ When I was small you looked after me. When I will grow old my sons will look after me. Now I will look after you.”
I try hard to hold back my tears. I hope to keep my wits about me and be as little bother to him as possible. Will I manage that?