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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the best to my readers.

Individual Memory for Identity Construction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How times change.

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

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

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

Yom Hashoa 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ulpan and French Television

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Generations together.

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.

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

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

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

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.