Ester Golan

It is about time to say something.

2011-12-31T18:48:00.002+02:00

The year 2011 has come to an end. So what? What has changed? Well, I am a year older. But what does that mean to me? Just that I carry on as best as I can under the changing circumstances. I am slower these days and still think that I can do as much as before, which of course is not possible, in spite of the fact that I do have help with my household scores, shopping and taking me out on my daily walk. My son Danny assists me wherever and whenever he can.

I still participate wherever I can, especially if it is nearby and I can get there without having to bother somebody to take me along. Within the last few months I had an exhibition of some of my paintings, took part in a small show of an inter-generational drama group, still write articles about growing old and was the moderator for a book presentation. Andrea von Treuenfeld collected interviews from 16 women who told her their tale, my story is also included. The title of the book: "In Deutschland eine Juedin, eine Jeckete in Israel."

At a special occasion of the tenth anniversary of inter-religious women encounters I was presented with a Certificate of Appreciation for my dedicated service in this field.

Chanukah some youngsters from the religious Scouts come to my house to light the candles with me and another night I spend with my grandchildren and 13 of my great-grandchildren, number 14 is on the way.

I wish all my readers that their wishes for the coming year 2012 should be fulfilled. I hope to see some of you when you visit Israel this coming year and hear from others.

It is always good to have good friends

2011-07-30T17:07:00.002+03:00

My grandson Matan, the eldest son of my son Danny is going to be married. Apart from the close family, the invited guests were mainly ex-soldier friends and fellow students of the couple.

The bride's family, live in the far north of the country. Near there is where the wedding is going to take place.

Not a catered affair but it was to be an all night joyful get together of young people under the stars. The brothers and friends and their uncle prepared the grounds days beforehand, brought straw mats, mattresses, pillows and low tables for the wedding feast. Lighting and all the necessary trimmings were being taken care of by them.

My son, his wife and her mother and sister who arrived specially for this joyous occasion from the States will spend the night after the wedding in a hotel nearby, in Miilia, a Christian Arab Village.

What about me? I need my bed and my bathroom for my personal comfort. We cast around for somebody to accompany me, drive me there and back to Jerusalem, most of those asked being engaged otherwise.

While mentioning my needs to a couple of friends from Austria, a schoolteacher and a school director, who come every year to Jerusalem to volunteer for a couple of weeks in old age homes, they immediately volunteered to do this service for me. They had a rented car and had never been to an Israeli wedding and were free on that day.

Danny printed out the exact route for them. He suggested we leave at 13.00 o'clock to hopefully avoid the traffic jams.

My friends, while driving through the lower and western Galilee, were astonished at the beautiful countryside that so far they had never seen. We stopped at the hotel in Maiilia for a drink under an Olive tree and a change of clothes. From there, with the rest of the family we drove through the village and via an unpaved dirt road the prepared wedding site.

An unusual beautiful view awaited us, to the north the mountains of Lebanon and to the west a glorious sunset over the Mediterranean Sea. With that as a backdrop at around 19.00 hours the traditional "Chupa" (Baldachin) ceremony, conducted by the local Rabbi took place. The other grandmother and I, (holding on to Danny's hand) were privileged to stand with the parents under the Chupa. Everything was beautiful orchestrated. After the ceremony the young people danced, dined and wined and a good time was had by all.

For me it was a real pleasure, see all my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren participating at this special occasion and introduce them to my friends, who kept taking photos and taking it all in as a very unusual and special treat for them.

The all night feast was at its heights, but for us it was getting late. We quietly said good bye and in the dark night carefully navigated our way home, arriving well after midnight in Jerusalem.

How good it is to have good friends.

Getting rid of extra baggage

2011-07-18T19:20:00.003+03:00

Growing old can become pretty complicated when illness strikes. While recuperating I had to find ways to ease life. My desk and shelves were so cluttered that I could hardly find what I was looking for. Being practically homebound and having help coming in, I used the opportunity to clear up, clear out and throw out, tons of paper and extra baggage.

I had kept handouts from seminars and workshops or international conferences that I had given or attended, there was much background material that I had collected for writing articles or preparing my presentations. Over the last few years I had just made piles of it, left it on my desk, as the shelves were overflowing with files.

My help pulled out pile after pile, I sorted it out and threw away most of it, print outs, old magazines, and what else had accumulated.

When this was done I did the same with my paintings. For the last twenty year I had painted once a week. My walls are adorned by my paintings, others that had been framed to hang in exhibitions, while most of them were just accumulating in a box under the bed. I found an art student (future) who took a great many of them for reuse, as well as half empty tubes of paint, charcoal, and what else I no longer needed.

Slides? Who takes slides today? When many years ago I traveled with a backpack to Asia, Africa or to America and Europe, on my return I gave slid shows in clubs and old age homes as well as to travelers to be. Hundreds of them were standing around neatly stacked and marked, together with the projector and nobody needs or wants them. Out they go. Once upon a time I also had my own darkroom and enlarging apparatus. That too had to go.

Slowly I have more breathing space, but still much more to sort out give away or throw out.

As I shrink with old age, my world shrinks, but my memories, at least the long term memory is still intact. Looking back I enjoy having lived an interesting life.

Sorting out and throwing out what no longer is relevant, is part of the survival tactics. The less baggage you have, the easier it is to survive in old age.

June 2011 Life moves on and on

2011-06-19T12:07:00.004+03:00

Much has changed since my last writing. I had serious health-problems. After several tests I had to undergo a major operation. Danny my son was wonderful, carted me around to all the tests, was with me before and after my operation, spoke with the doctors and did all the bureaucracy that was necessary, and there was a lot of it. I could not wish for a better caretaker. He encourages me to move on, takes me out, he is available whenever I need him, during the day or during the night.

All this was ten weeks ago.

At the beginning I was so weak that I thought that is the end of it. Luckily a volunteer from Germany, who happened to be a medical trained home-caretaker, came in every morning to get me up, help me to shower and dress my wounds. Slowly I got back onto my feet. I am still weaker than before and have to take things easy.

By now I am back to a number of my previous activities.

My daily routine has change completely. It takes me much more time to get ready in the morning, I need a lot of help with my household scores, but most important I have to get out of the house and take a walk as often as I can, sometimes twice a day and at all weathers. By using a three-wheeler walker I have reached a certain amount of independence. I have several helpers, they are students, their time being limited because of their studies, and I need more than one. So I have to jungle, as to who does what and when. But rather to answer their question "and how are you today", I prefer to asked them what was your lecture about or when is your next exam and in what subject. That way I can participate in their life which is much more interesting than my health problems.

Although I am not moving out of my own flat, but over the last 15 years much un-needed stuff of all sorts has accumulated. Trying to sort that out and to get rid of some of it at least, is no easy task, but easy or not absolutely necessary.

Hundreds of my paintings that have been on exhibitions, but mean more to me than to any stranger, nobody wants or needs them today.

I used to travel around the world taking slides and later showed them in clubs. There are hundreds of them including the projector, all that is obsolete now, and no longer in use by anybody.

Years ago I had my own darkroom, developed and enlarged black and white photos. Who needs this equipment? It is difficult to get rid of all that junk, and junk it is in the eyes of the present generation today?

Although I have parted with many books, they seem to accumulate all be themselves. They need more and more shelf space. Since I still write articles and participate in various activities I need books as reverences. I love my books, but ! ! ! I need more space.

Somehow everything takes time and more time than I can find within the 24 hour that seem to run all by themselves, and time runs faster than I can walk.

There is always something to look forwards to, like my twelve great-grandchildren will soon have an addition or a great clan get-together pick-nick and in a month time the wedding of my grandson, the son of Danny. Life moved on and on.

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

2010-12-12T19:12:00.005+02:00

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

2010-08-10T11:44:00.005+03:00

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.

2010-05-10T19:14:00.004+03:00

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

2010-04-19T19:58:00.006+03:00

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

2010-02-13T17:26:00.003+02:00

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.

Generations together.

2009-10-17T08:37:00.003+02:00

Does being an artist run in the family?
It appears that it often does.
“Irgun Joze Mercas Europa” - the organization of immigrants from Central Europe, had the bright idea to invite artists of two or three generations from within the same family to a joint art exhibition.
I have been painting for the past 20 years to give creative expression to some of my thoughts and feelings, participated at group exhibitions and had several single ones.

But this time the call to register was different. My grandson Ido likes to make sculptures from what ever he can lay his hands on. He has created some exquisite ones from odds and ends of discarded metal tools, one of them called multi- tool.
I thought that this exhibition would be an excellent possibility to give a young man like him some exposure of his artistic trend.
The curator had asked us to send in by e-mail some examples. He was immediately taken by my grandsons work. From among my vast store of paintings he choose a set of three small paintings that were hanging on my memorial wall, scenes I had painted in 1989 after my visit to Auschwitz where my mother had perished.
Also chosen to include was a small wooden Jewel-box that my mother decorated back in the year 1913. She crafted it for her cousin, who brought it with her to this country and later gave it to me for keepsake. My mother was a very gifted and creative person and in my childhood I often admired her skills and loved to watch her do things with her hands.
My three children are creative in different ways and so are my grandchildren, as well as some of my great-grandchildren, like the three brothers aged 8, 6 and 4 year old, playing musical instruments.

Eight family groups, some two and others three or four generations within the family, participated. For the festive opening of the exhibition in the gallery of the Jerusalem Theater some 70 guests turned up.
I was proud to see that the sculpture of my grandson Ido was exposed at a strategic point of entrance so that everybody who entered was aware of it and it a brought a smile to their faces. Ido is about to start his engineer study.
The grandmother of one of the families, 50 or 60 years ago did the graphic design for a cleaning material called “Ama”, depicting a little girl with two pigtails. Her granddaughter did a very artistic variation of that picture putting different faces, including some famous actors in place of the little girl. This granddaughter is about to enter the Bezalel Art College. Another family, the father, an architect by profession, and his 14- year old son, painted each other’s portraits.

To judge by the exhibition, the joy of creativity seems to be passed on from generation to generation. All told it was very impressive. As soon as I got home I started to write an article about it to the newspaper of the organization that organized and funded the exhibit.

Danny, my son went back to take pictures to be included in my article.

I hope it will be printed in the next issue.

All in a days work.

2009-09-10T07:42:00.004+03:00

August was hot but besides that very little happened.
September is different. My days are again filled with different activities.

Yesterday was one of these days.
The morning started of with the old peoples club meeting entering the seventh year. It is a club, which I initiated, as part of the Association of Former Immigrants from Central Europe. We heard a pleasant rendering of stories connected with the forthcoming High Holiday season and wished each other a Happy New Year. Before going home I sat with a couple women to plan the activities for the coming two month.

To get from one place to another I either have to take my three-wheeled walker or get a taxi to get me to the further away meeting places. That is how it is when you get old and older

At 4.00 o’clock, of I went to the weekly meeting of Café-Europa, a get-together for Shoa survivors, just up the street from where I live.
It is thanks to the cooperation of different departments of the Municipality, the Welfare Department, the Neighborhood Administration and the Jerusalem Foundation with a generous donation from the Wagner family in Germany, that within the last couple of years, different activities for old people got once more started. I have since emailed the Wagner family and thanked them for their donation.
Three young women, social workers by profession, when starting their various activities for old people in this neighborhood, first came to me and we had long talks as to what the social and emotional needs of old people are. I gave them articles to read, that I had written on the subject. Doing research on Aging and Old Age is just one of the many hobbies that I pursue.

At yesterdays meeting in Café Europa representatives of all the departments involved were present and I greeted them with a few words, praising the facts that thanks to their cooperation we can now enjoy ourselves week after week, relax to pleasant music, coffee and cake.

That was not the end of the day yet.
Shortly before 6 o’clock I caught a taxi, which took me to an Inter-faith meeting. As the people slowly trickled in, Donna Jacob Sife, a well known storyteller from Australia, asked me whether I was also involved in Inter-faith work. My answer was, yes, why else do you think that I am here. Her reply was, that is a cheeky answer. Why is this cheeky I asked and we chatted on. As it turned out, it was her and me who best understood each other. As she kept telling one fascinating story after another, she frequently referred to the talk we had before the meeting got started.
One of her sayings was: “When You are You and I am Me, I can be Me. But if You try to be Me and I try to be You, I can not be Me”.
In an e.mail I send to her this morning I wrote: ”So, You are You and I am Me and that is how it should be”. I thanked her for a wonderful evening.
I then commenced to browse on her website.

http://www.donnajacobsife.com/
It was difficult for me to tear myself away from it. Some of the tales are well known, but get a new perspective when used in the context of Inter-faith.

Late last night I got a phone call from a good friend in Germany. We had an interesting talk. She said that it is a long time since I last wrote on my blog.
So here I am.
It is hard to get everything done that I would like to do, but I did want to share with you some of what I do.
What has become clear to me, more then ever before, is the fact that You are You and I am Me and that is how it should be.

"Amcha" Yom Hashoa 2009

2009-04-26T10:35:00.006+03:00

As in previous years on Yom Hashoa, so also this year, I participated in a couple of workshops at “Amcha”. Under the guidance of a senior psychologist we discussed ‘Emuna Beshoa’ - Belief during the Shoa. There were vast differences in the approach to this subject.

My own personal belief goes back on my upbringing at home in Germany. My mother was a devout Zionist. From a young age I belonged to “Habonim”, a Zionist pioneering youth movement. My belief, then and now, is based on Judaism, Zionism and Pioneering. The Shoa did not change my belief. My mother was willing to make great sacrifices for her belief. She parted from one child after the other, in order for us three children to be able to live. Her parting words were "Lehitraot Bearzenu" -See you again in our homeland-. My brother came to Erez Israel with Youth Aliya, my sister and myself were throughout the war on Hachshara in England. There I waited until I could fulfill my dream to come on Aliya, to arrive in Erez Israel as soon as it was possible, which was within a month of the end of the war in 1945. My parents perished in Theresienstadt and Auschwitz, their bodies bend, but with their spirit alive. They preserved their integrity, dignity and "Emuna"- 'belief' in humanity until the end.

My mother lived under the Nazi rule for eleven years, from 1933 –1944. I left home in 1939 aged fifteen. For three and a half years, until in 1942 together with my father she was on the transport to Thersienstadt, where my father died, she accompanied me during my growing up stage. It was my mother in her many letters I received from her, who gave me the courage and inspired me to live up to my belief. It is precisely that, which keeps me going 70 years later in my old age.

In the discussion there were people who objected to my saying that my parents perished. They insisted and tried to imply that I should say they were murdered. The word “murdered” for me brings up the image of the murderers. It sounds like the language the historians use.

For me it is important to remember my parents as they were. They were always concerned and helpful to others, loving and caring for each other and their children and until the end strong in their belief in humanity. It is their image that I have in mind when I tell the story of a Jewish Family, my family.

It is my narrative, a narrative I can live with. I cherish the memory of my parents and the values which they instilled in me, hoping they will be passed on from generation to generation

Twenty Years of Friendship

2009-04-07T11:54:00.003+03:00

In the spring of 1988 I met Pastor Berndt for the first time in answer to a small notice that I saw in the Jerusalem Post: “Will be visiting the Rutenberg House in Haifa with a youth group from Germany and would like to meet with someone who remembers the “Kristall Nacht” – the pogrom night of November 1938”.

1988 was a general awakening in Germany to pay attention to what happened fifty years earlier. I got an invitation from several cities to speak in schools and tell the story of a Jewish Family - my family.

Pastor Berndt invited me to stay with his family in his home for the duration while I was talking in schools and in the community. A deep friendship developed and I called him my Pastor. On my annual lecture tours to Germany it became a regular stopover for me. He visited Israel with different groups over the years. His younger son who studied Theology spent a term to study in Israel.

A couple of weeks ago I received a mail from Pastor Berndt that he will be touring Israel with his wife, hid elder son, daughter in law and their 4 children aged 12, 10, 6,and 4. They would like to visit me. He wanted his grandchildren to hear me tell the story of my family in my home. While I gave the younger children paper and colors to paint, I used my picture book that I specially made for such a time when I can’t use my computer power point presentations.

Pastor Berndt recalled our first meeting 21 years ago and his amazement at that time when he met an old lady who greeted this group of young Germans boys and girls with a bunch of spring flowers.

Twenty years of friendship, covering three generations, was crowned with the present visit. Everybody showed great interest, hugged me, thanked me warmly and promised to return.

War is War

2009-01-11T11:34:00.002+02:00

The war is raging in Gaza and here I am sitting at home and do not know what to do with myself. Life goes on, I have to do my shopping, cooking, eating, going to the doctor, making appointments for further examinations, trying to keep in touch with the rest of the family, keeping a dentist appointment.
The news broadcasts are blaring in my ears and tears come to my eyes. Often I get asked by all sorts of people, locals as well as visitors, what I think of what is going on in Gaza.

My only answer is, there is a war going on, and we have to hope that there will be a brake-through to achieve and allow for peaceful living in all parts of the country.
Israel has been threatened and attacked over and over, again and again. Over the years my children and grandchildren have served in fighting units and seen defensive battle after battle. Six years ago, one of my grandsons, while engaged in defending us, fell in J’enin during the battle of “Defense Shield”. For his parents, his siblings and the whole family, the wounds over this loss have never healed.
The present war is a bitter war, taking its toll of killed and wounded in body and soul on both sides. In many parts of the country everybody - women, children, old people are running day after day and night after night for shelter. Schools are closed and life is interrupted. It is a traumatic period we are going through which will have repercussions for a long time.
Hopefully it will end soon and bring about the much-needed arrangement for peace and quite.

A busy Chanukah week

2008-12-25T12:11:00.003+02:00

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

2008-11-07T17:30:00.002+02:00

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?

2008-10-01T18:24:00.003+03:00

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

2008-08-16T09:05:00.002+03:00

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

2008-08-05T17:00:00.003+03:00

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

2008-07-21T15:57:00.005+03:00

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

2008-06-20T10:52:00.004+03:00

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.

2008-06-02T07:01:00.003+03:00

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.

2008-05-28T16:18:00.006+03:00

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.

2008-05-19T12:37:00.005+03:00

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

2008-04-25T12:58:00.006+03:00

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"

2008-04-14T19:01:00.002+03:00

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

2008-03-10T10:51:00.002+02:00

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.

2008-02-22T17:47:00.003+02:00

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.

2008-02-19T16:30:00.005+02:00

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.

2008-01-01T16:39:00.000+02:00

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?

Meeting people.

2007-12-02T11:11:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-25T18:50:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-05T18:45:00.001+02:00

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

2007-09-24T08:19:00.000+02:00

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

2007-09-15T18:31:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-31T09:32:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-22T11:44:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-08T17:53:00.000+03:00

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

2007-08-04T16:18:00.000+03:00

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

2007-07-07T19:56:00.000+03:00

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 ?

2007-07-05T18:12:00.000+03:00

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

2007-06-15T16:30:00.000+03:00

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

2007-06-03T09:03:00.000+03:00

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

2007-05-12T19:01:00.000+03:00

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”

2007-05-06T11:13:00.000+03:00

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

2007-04-13T21:10:00.000+03:00

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

2007-02-27T19:09:00.000+02:00

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

2007-02-17T19:22:00.000+02:00

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.