A heat wave followed by a cold wave in December 2010 .

The last time I wrote was in August. The summer was extremely hot and did not want to end. The Jewish holiday season was early this year and it came to an end in late September.

From the 30 September till 2 October I attended an International Conference arranged by the University Wolverhampton and University Salzburg "Children and War: Past and Present". When there was a call for papers I send in an abstract about "Motherless Daughters in the aftermath of the Shoa". It was accepted and I flew for 5 days to Salzburg to present the paper. I was taken good care of by Angelika Schlackl, who had also been my host 2006 when I told the story of a Jewish Family, my family in several schools including 7-9 year olds in elementary schools in Linz Austria. Apart from presenting my paper I also spoke in several schools. Flying with assistance makes it possible for me to get about in the vast airports in a wheelchair. But all told I got home exhausted.

It was still very hot. That is probably what caused the fire of the Carmel Forest to turn into an uncontrollable inferno. I sat speechless in front of the television. Having lived for 40 years in Haifa I spend a lot of my time walking in the forests and knew all the places that were directly involved and damaged. Many homes were destroyed and 43 people lost their lives trying to save others from the fire. Firefighters and airplanes from all over the world came to our assistance. In the end the rain put out the last glowing branches.

The heat wave all of a sudden turned into cold wave, sand storms in the south, rain in the north and snow on Mt. Hermon. A weekend of sea waves several meters high, storms that felled trees and all told, it caused a lot of damage.

The last few weeks I have been engaged activities for the local neighborhood elections. I was asked to be a candidate. Lots of messages and meetings, from among 8 candidates for 2 positions I was the oldest one, the youngest was 24 years old. Since I need a walker to get around, as many others my age do, my main interest is, seeing that the old people in my neighborhood get their fair share of cultural activities within walking distance and to arrange inter-generational encounters. I have been active on that line for years and will continue doing so whether I get elected or not.

If I do not manage to keep in touch with all my friends and acquaintances on a personal level, please forgive me or add a few extra hours to the 24 hours or perhaps an extra day to the week. No, better not. I have enough on my plate.

All the best to my readers.

Individual Memory for Identity Construction

Part of aging or growing old is keeping the balance between loss and gain.

Losses are an integral part of growing old. Spouses, partners, friends and acquaintances fall ill, some die. Loneliness is a frequent component in old age.

Gain in growing old under normal circumstances, is looking back to ones youth and achievement in earlier periods for formulating self-esteem and constructing present day identity.

Survivors looking back upon their childhood are confronted with a childhood or youth disrupted by the Nazi regime, deprivation, war, Ghetto, camps and multiple deaths.

Encountering losses was the order of the day. Extended and close family, were cruelly pulled apart during the Shoa. Loneliness hit the survivor in the face and throughout their life became a constant companion. Many old people are sole survivors.

While growing old one has to use individual memory for identity construction.

In order to construct “Present Day Identity” one leans on previous identity building blocks. Short- term memory is veining, but long-term memory is in tact.

Survivors, when looking back, find that the losses of aging are compounded by many previous losses during their childhood, caused by the Shoa.

For aging survivors, some of whom were mere children during the Shoa, the void of a destroyed childhood and early adolescence is like a deep abyss that will never be bridged. So for the aging survivor, loneliness becomes even more burdensome.

Aging survivors struggle to construct their self-esteem and present day identity, at the same time they should remember that they can look back to their own individual memory, to their immigration, constructing an entirely new way of life, many challenges that they had to cope with and succceeded . There is much that they can be proud of.

How times change.

Yesterday Danny asked me if wanted to come along to meet up with the family outing. Joyfully I agreed. The family clan had gone out earlier to the beach at Moshav Habonim, just south of Haifa. Driving along the toll road Nr. 6 which has no traffic lights, was an experience for me, since these days I seldom travel long distances. Views I have not seen in the old days, long before the new highways were introduced. Turning of the toll road I felt confused for a moment, but soon found familiar surroundings, although they have changed a lot as well. Furadis, once a little Arab village, has grown to a full sized township. We soon reached the beach and were just in time for helping to transport some of the clan and their stuff up the winding mountain road to a parking lot in the beautiful Mount Carmel Nature Reserve. Here I felt at home. There is hardly a spot in that region that I had not explored when we still lived in Haifa and tramped around week after week getting to know the surrounding like few other families did. Then it was just our two boys and me and sometimes my husband. Or I was there with my Scout troupe. Later I helped my son Micky when he explored the Carmel to prepare the map for all the different hiking trails, up and down and on top of Mount Carmel. The different colored marks are still visible. Having arrived at the campsite next to Beth Oren the smaller children scrambled out of the 4 cars and roamed around to explore the surrounding, while the grownups set up tents for the night, build a campfire and started to prepare dinner. The babies needed to be fed and somehow everybody chipped in and helped where ever it was necessary. Where once, when my boys were young, we were just 4 people camping out all over the country, now we were 4 generations, me, my daughter and her husband, 4 of their children and their spouses plus 10 of her grandchildren, two of Danny's sons and a daughter of my son Micky. The rest of the clan joined them early next morning in time to scramble down the Carmel range.

Danny had set up a folding chair for me and I joyfully took in how things just happened. Nobody told anybody what to do but all chipped in helped. Babies were past from hand to hand to allow the parents to do whatever needed to be done. The campfire was roaring and soon everybody settled down to a hearty and wholesome well cooked dinner, salad, herbal tea, and cake. When the smaller children started to get drowsy, it was time for Danny and me to leave and set out for home.

Taking a different route this time we drove through the Druze villages of Ussifia and Dalijat-el-Carmel. Actually they are no longer villages but one great township. The streets were lined with modern shops, lots of restaurants, hundreds of car driving in different directions causing traffic jams, people and people, young and old milling around. Just here and there one could see a few elderly women sitting in their doorway dressed in their traditional garb. The rest were dressed in the latest fashion. It was a totally new experience for me. The place has changed within a few short years, not to be recognized. We soon got to the end of the brightly lit streets and followed the winding mountain road until we got back onto the toll road Nr. 6 and were home in no time. It was a lovely outing for me, which I really enjoyed, the drive and all and especially seeing all the great family clan having fun together.

Yom Hashoa 2010

Throughout the year I get asked to tell the story of a Jewish Family, my family in schools, Yeshivot, army camps and Yad Vashem.

But the week of Yom Hashoa I am booked weeks ahead for every day of the week and beyond.

It started last Friday with a memorial service for my grandson. Eight years ago on Yom Hashoa he fell in action in J'enin, while I was at Yad Vashem at an International conference, about to give a workshop on how to remember the beloved ones who perished long ago in the Shoa.

Sunday, the eve of Yom Hashoa, early in the morning I got picked up by an army car and taken to a training camp somewhere in the desert. The drive was long, dusty and bumpy. A group of young recruits from a special air force unit, just back from some exercise, gathered for a memorial service and listened to my story. From there I was taken to a permanent camp, miles away from the first. Some 400 soldiers of all ranks took time out for a Yom Hashoa ceremony. Four of my grandsons had served in the air force, two of them in this special unit. Some officers remembered them from when they served there. I felt it as a special honor for me to be allowed to talk to that unit. It was a long day for me.

The next day, on Yom Hashoa itself, I participated in the ceremony at a school for pupils with special needs. The topic was siblings during the Shoa. So I adapted my talk to put special emphasis on this while telling my story. In the afternoon a couple of soldier girls visited me as part of the project "A Flower for Survivors". They insisted on hearing my story, so I told it to them.

Tuesday I was off again to another army camp in the center of the country, driving through densely crowded country side in contrast to the previous ride to the camp in the desert. The soldiers were from different groups in training for becoming officers.

Wednesday I spoke in the local elementary school where my grandchildren had studied. It was up three flights of stairs and one of the teachers had to literally pull me up all those steps. It took some time to get the Projector to talk to the Computer but in the end it worked out alright. The pupils from the fifth and sixth grade were as fascinated by my story as any other listener. In the evening I spoke in the Jewish quarter of the old city to a bunch of girls from English speaking countries. The girls are in Israel for a study year.

Thursday afternoon I went to a group meeting in Amcha (Social support for survivors). Each of us was given a chance to tell what Yom Hashoa means for us today. There are vast differences in our stories. It was a long week for me.

Sunday evening my son Danny took me to Ramat Rachel to take part in the memorial ceremony for the fallen soldiers of the Kibbutz. Afterwards the whole family gathered at my daughter's place. We had missed a television show where I appeared.

This morning, Monday, I gave a talk to pupils of the ninth grade at the High School next to the university. This was part of an extended memorial ceremony for fallen soldiers on the eve of our Independence Day. When I got home I went to my computer and managed on the internet to listen to yesterday's program.

The week before Channel 2 had interviewed two sets of grandparents and me as a bereaved grandmother. Parents, widows and orphans are recognized as bereaved members of the fallen soldier's family. Grandparents so far have been left to their own devices. What I tried to convey at the interview is the difficulty of a grandmother living on her own to cope with grieving for her grandson without actually being considered as part of the bereaved community. As grandparents we are never invited to participate at official ceremonies.

Tomorrow is Independence Day. Thursday I will give a talk in a girls high school. The emphasis will be on 62 years of Statehood but still include the story of a Jewish family, my family and building up of the country in its early stages.

Ulpan and French Television

A few days ago the winter Ulpan began in Beth Ben Jehuda, which is the guest house of ASF.

ASF is a German organization that brings young volunteers to Israel for a year to do civil servis in institutions for the handicapped, old people or historical institutions like Yad Vashem. Whenever a new group arrives they turn to me and asked me to tell them my story.

This time it was only a small group of nine people from he Ulpan who came to me. They were of different ages and different professions, among them a math teacher from Hamburg, a physic student, somebody who had served in the Bundeswehr, an ergo therapist, a radio reporter and a musician.

At the same time there is a French television team in Jerusalem who were interested in the relationship between Germans and Israelis, Christians and Jews. They too had turned to ASF and asked for permission to film. It was decided to combine the two and a date was fixed for Wednesday at 3.00 o’clock.

It was a rainy day. While the people from the Ulpan arrived a bit early with dripping umbrellas at my house to listen to my story, the French television team of four was late in arriving. The musician had brought her violin along, so we filled in the time, until the team got ready, by her playing Hebrew songs and everybody joined in. It created a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere.

I tell my story with a power point presentation. The team kept walking forth and back, not quite knowing where it was best to look and film. As this was not the first time for me to be photographed, I took little notice of them and just carried on talking. At the end there were a few questions and a lively discussion developed for quiet some time. When we thought we had finished and were ready to pack up, the television team started to question the Ulpan people as what they thought about the German Jewish relationship.

By 7.00 o’clock I finally closed the door on the last person.

The television team would return the following Wednesday to film me together with the young volunteer from ASF, who regular visits me for a couple of hours once a week as part of his volunteer project.

Again the team turned up late, told us what to do, how to walk, where to sit, but luckily not what to say. We spoke German with each other, while the television team spoke French amongst themselves, with one of them translating the orders into English, a real mix of several languages.

So we laughed a lot, were told to take a walk outside and return to the house. We then proceeded to my computer and I showed photos of my grandchildren and my son. He has just purchased a yacht in Florida and sent me pictures. There is always something to talk about and if possible laugh about.
As we thought we had finished, the French started to asked some more questions in English. What their intentions were initially I do not know. It was difficult for them to comprehend how a young person from Germany and an old Jewish lady in Israel can want to share time with each other.

As far as I am concerned any body, who is nice to me, I am nice to them. If a young person from Germany comes to this country and wants to get to know something about us, about Judaism, about day to day life in Israel, wants to visit me and chat with me he is most welcome. And that is what it is all about for me.