It is about time to say something.

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

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

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

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 .

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.