My dearest children, grandchildren, beloved family, trusted neighbor, wonderful friends and anyone interested to read.

Hello, Allooo, Shalom, and Happy New Year.

I got up early and decided to write my last Blog for 2015. 

Don't know from where to begin, life in Israel can not be imagine. The last few days

are a mix of reality show, soap opera, thriller movie, and a far out ferry tale. In

the last two days, Israel stood on it's heels. Among all the news, I am unable to write in one "short" letter, is the conviction of the past Prim Minister of Israel, Ehud Olmart. A story of, bribery, money laundry, deceiving, that was going on for years. All connected to a monstrosity complex building on top of a Jerusalem hill, name Holyland. ( my opinion: not Holy at all, just ugly, built against environmental and architectural suggestions.)

For the first time, in Israel, a prim minister will be serving jail time.

But, what is most special to this country, are the group of five Upper Court judges, who deliver the verdict. The "Av Bet Din", the presiding Judge, name Salim Ghubran, is an Arab Israeli judge. Now, this you will not hear in Europe, or America, were critiques of the state of Israel, are rampaging. Talks of Apartheid and the need for BDS are ringing from their Parliament houses. 

Where is the Apartheid ??  

I will not tire you with the sex scandals going on, or the trails and tribulation of Sarah Netanyahu, wife of Benjamin. (Bibi.) Those stories, juicy as they are, are the daily injection of laughter for me. 

I visited my beloved Karmel Market (Shook HaKarmel), the other day. Literally, it was difficult to navigate in the narrow street. I was able to detect tourist, locals, and most impressive, two groups of young people visiting Israel for the first time 

with "Taglit" (discovery). I had the opportunity to speak with a young girl from NYC,

first time traveler, with a group of 136 youngsters from all over north America. The group, accompanied by five security people, young guys, past combat soldiers from the Israeli Army. This is life now, I feel most comfortable, when I see soldiers with guns on the bus, on the train, on the street and in the market.

My "Magi-Mix", (food processor) story. 

I love to prepare my own Humus-Tahini. Without a food processor it is practically impossible to achieve the smooth texture. Was suggested by all the "Mavins" in Israel to get a Mini Magi-Mix. looking in my neighborhood, I could not find one. So, one goes to the big mall in Tel-Aviv at the Dizengoff Center.  Bingo!  In the beautiful housewares store I found my mini processor. 275 Shekel (= $72) and it could be mine. The only thing that held me from buying was the large, On/Off  Red button on the top of the machine. Did not match my Blue decor in my kitchen. You would think I am going to wear it....  I decided to further look, after all, I don't need to wear it for the next Bar-Mitzva I am invited.

Yesterday, I was visiting the south part of Alenby street in Tel-Aviv, my past life neighborhood. Looking in windows just for fun, I notice a small store packed to the

tilt with boxes of all sizes containing electric appliances. I ask the shopkeeper for my "Mini", and in a second the box was in front of me. Magic of Magic, my Megi-Mix was in front of me. Same thing as the one from yesterday, identical twin,  with a Silver Button. The price: 100 Shekels (= $26)......I think I will wear it to my next Bar-Mitzvah invitation........

Only in Israel. 

Again, I wish you all, a happy and a healthy new year. Don't drink and drive. 

To my dearest family, loyal neighbor, wonderful friends,  Shalom, Hello, Hi, and AAALLLOOO !

Long time has past since last I wrote. Must admit, the Muse did not shine her face upon me. 

I am in Israel, and of course,enjoy every minute. I arrived in the middle of November, and within a few days went to stay at the Dead Sea. I can not consider my stay at the wonderful hotel as a pleasure trip, I was there for Medicinal purpose. I needed the Sun, to heal my Psoriasis. Out of the 8 days, only 5 were suitable for sun exposure. One day was a rain day - very unusual in the area, and the other days, the sky was covered by heavy clouds. Because the Dead Sea is located, 400 meter ( 1400Ft) below sea level, the sun rays that reaches the area are pure UV rays, which are the healing rays for Psoriasis. For 5 sunny days, I exposed my self for about 5 hours, daily. Was told the best time to be there are the month of May, September, October. 

Happy to tell you, I am not fully cured, but what a noted improvement. To my dismay, the Dead Sea water are not recommanded for people with tendency for high Blood Pressure. Dipping in the very salty water it is like being "pickled" in salt. 

I took a day off today. Stayed home, did my laundry, took advantage of the mild sunny weather, and hang the laundry on the lines. What a fresh smell to my clothes. Tomorrow, towels.......

I return to my place of volunteering. "ALEH".  Genuinely  welcomed. The staff was happy to see me as I was happy to see them. Met new staff, especially other volunteers. 

I was impressed by a young lady, in her midst of a Master Program in Brain research  Science, at Bar-ILan University. She devotes her daily visit to one child born with a brain malady. ( I am not sure if it is CP.) Not verbally communicating and unable to use her limbs. Because, not being there since last February, I was amazed at the progress the child did. Able to stand and walk a few steps with help. She holds wedges of apple and able to eat and swallow. Look like normal to us, but it is big steps for Z. ( I am unable to identify her by name.)

Last week, the Thursday visit, the plan was a cooking show, for me to conduct. However, unexpected, the main teacher had a PTA meeting and was unable to come. But, the other teachers, care givers, volunteers, we all improvised a show. Out side the rain was fearless, thunders and lightnings. A video was placed on the large screen about rain. Any one, who did have an umbrella, opened it danced to the music. ( I should taken a picture.)

I love this place.

Politics in Israel, the usual. We might have a general Union strike, tomorrow. 

The Knife Intifadda, the cars slamming into bus station, continue. What a sturdy, nation we are having here. I am sure, here in Israel, we are aware and more knowledgeable About the atrocities the extremist Islam are committing.  Please, take into account over 1 BILLION Muslims, the so call "minority" radicals are MILLIONS folds. The majority is irrelevant in view of the ISIS, DA'ASH, ISEL, minority causing havoc in the world.

To all my friends, celebrating the Christmas Holiday, I wish you Holiday Greetings from Israel. And to all, Happy New Year.

I miss you all, Much love, Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, Me, eem. Esther.     

Hi to you all my dearest.
I guess Ayumi, Aiden, Elino'ar and Shir do not have a E-mail Address.
So, things in Israel are not happy now. This is the "Knife Season" or any other means of sharp objects war.
I went to Tel-Aviv today. Visited the HaKarmel market, and the Nachalat Benyamin Midrachov. Glad to report, the places were busting with people.  Alenby St. looked like always, busy, busy, busy.
I shopped for wool in preparation to knit Jacob, Adam, and Avishay's scarves.
Good news, we are awaiting last approvals and signatures, for the start of the renovation of our buildings.
( 3 in the complex). Estimate starting date, February/March. What is driving the builder to start is the building across the street due for "Pinui/ Binui. Which mean, the old building will be leveled and a new one will be erected. The entire project, all 4, will be supervised by the same builders, saving time and $$$, man power, deliveries etc.
I visited cousin Esther Mandelbaum today, fed me lunch, sent regards to you all.
Had to change the the dates my staying at the Dead Sea.
The plan was, I will leave to the hotel on Sunday morning after my week end visit with Ditza. Could not 
find car service, home pick up, in Jerusalem.  Only option to travel is by bus from main bus station.
The car service companies, due to the unsafe situation, traveling to the Dead Sea via the territories, by way of Jerico refusing to start the trip in Jerusalem. I change my reservation by one day, leaving on Monday from Ramat-Gan. I will be picked up from home, and will return to my home 8 days later.
From Ramat-Gan/Tel Aviv, rout is south to Be'er Sheva, Arad, to the Dead Sea.
I already told you about the Rakevet Kala, ( translation: light train) being built. In Ramat Gan the train will be underground.
How do the Posner kids feel after their stomach episode ?
Take care, I love you all,   Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Ludmilla, Me, Esther. 

Allloooo to my dearest children, grandchildren, family, friends, neighbors, and all of you who are

interested in reading. 

NYC is in the midst of a hot and humid summer. I did not leave my home today. Amongst all the things I did in the house, I also took time to reminiscence of summers in years gone by.  Two of my grandchildren went to a sleep-away camp in Marshall, Indiana, which brought me to Camp Ramah in the Pennsylvanian Pocono Mountains during the years 1970-72. 

As you all know, I am a nurse, and during those summer years I was a camp nurse.  Avishay, my older son, was a camper, Adam was in the day care - Gan. ( In 1972, he was "adopted" by the senior camper group, called "The Chavura",  to be  kind of their mascot.)  Tanya was cared for by a Baby Sitter, a camp hire. 

I remember  those wonderful years with fondness. 

Camp Ramah had a camp mother named Jean Blum.  Jean was from Cherry Hill, New Jersey,

where the majority of the children in camp came from. Jean, very active in the Jewish communities of Cherry Hill and Philadelphia, knew most of the people living in the area, having connection to business, factories, and stores. 

Every year, when she came to camp, she had a "treasure" of gifts she received from donors in the form of arts and crafts material, spools of wool and fabric. 

In 1972, Jean came to camp with a large roll of beautiful lightweight upholstery material. 

My assigned bunk, in close distance to the infirmary, had two bedrooms and a bathroom. Real luxury apartment.  As I was settling into my summer dwelling, Jean came in with a large roll of fabric, offering to give me a piece to cover the window in the master bedroom.  I remember splitting the fabric half way, as Jean cut two strips for tying the just-made-to-order curtains.

With thumbtacks we placed the drape on the window. Jean was looking around and decided

that another curtain was needed for the bathroom. In one strong rip, she cut another piece of fabric and, then, as I was having a complete suite, Jean looked around and made a decision only a seasoned decorator could make:  the large bed  was in need of a cover. With one stroke, she tore a large piece for a bed cover.  I wanted another piece for making pillow cases, but chose not to ask.

However, the fabric was beautiful for its time. Large orange colored flowers on a background of light brown and yellow. 

The year was 1972, the going style for skirts was long as it was called then, the Maxi, and the fabric was the perfect type for those skirts.  As Jean and I admired the look of my bungalow, I asked her for a piece of the fabric, so I could sew a skirt.  At this, Jean jumped to her feet, with a quick "NO!!!"   I was surprised at her response, for I could not understand why she was so generous in giving me all the fabrics for the cabin, but yet refused to cut me just one yard for a skirt. 

Jean asked me to sit, and proceeded to tell me a story:

It was winter, when she received the roll of the fabric from one of her acquaintances in Philadelphia.  One day, during that winter,  the Cantor's wife came over to discuss some private matters.

She saw the roll of fabric and asked about it. Jean told her about the final destination for the roll of the fabric.  The Cantor's wife, very humbly, asked Jean if she could give her a few yards to make herself an outfit for an upcoming Bar-Mitzva.  Without hesitation, Jean cut for her a few yards.

The Cantor's wife was a fine amateur seamstress, and from this fabric made for herself a beautiful long skirt, a Bolero top, and to complete the outfit, she sewed a nice turban for her head, as she was a religious woman and kept her hair covered.

Finally the Bar-Mitzva party date arrived.  The Cantor's wife dressed up in her beautiful costume.

Arriving at the Marriott Hotel in Philadelphia,  she was mortified to see the decor of the Lobby was matching her outfit. 

As guests of honor, the cantor and wife were seated at the dais, where a long drape curtain hung in the back. All the chairs in the hall were also upholstered in same fabric, and the Cantor's wife with the beautiful turban was matching, too.

Not insisting, I thanked Jean, for what she gave me. 

 I am looking forward to seeing all my children and grandchildren at Benji's Bar-Mitzva,

coming soon in Milwaukee.

I love you all.  Have a wonderful summer.

From :  Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, Me, Esther.

Shalom from NYC

Hi, to all my dear family, friends, neighbors, and all who are interested in reading.
I said , why not ? Why write my letters only  from Israel ? After all, I am not, as yet,  finished telling all the "Good" family stories. I must credit Tanya, (my daughter), who continuously asks me to write the "stories" I tell her.

This event, for me, started in the year 1947, about one year before the establishment of the state of Israel.
My Uncle, Chaim-Dovid, as he was called, came from America.  Suddenly, I had an uncle, and no less but from America. Uncle Chaim-Dovid was my mother's brother, second child to a family of 13 children.
Never, until his arrival, did  I remember his name  mentioned.  My Uncle came to visit his son Yankev, as we called him (Yaakov-Jacob).  Cousin Yankev was married to Yospa, and they had two children, Moshe, and Noorit.
Yankev arrived in Israel at the end of the 1920s, as a pioneer with the left Zionist movement of HaShomer HaTzayir.
Though Yankev was my cousin, he was a bit older than my mother, she told me. Chaim-Dovid was 26 years my mother's senior. In our entire family that year, we counted  18 people, and now, an uncle came and we were 19.  At his arrival, we were invited and we all gathered at Yankev and Yospa's apartment in Tel-Aviv.   I was in awe, seeing this beautiful uncle from America. In my eyes he looked tall and large, with a shock of blond hair and a mustache.  While Yankev had gray hair, father and son looked more like brothers.  He wore a white cuffed shirt and a bow tie. What a beautiful Uncle from America I had !
During this visit, he gave presents, mostly to the adults. My mother received a red short sleeve cardigan made from, then, the new knit synthetic fabric. What was unique to the cardigan was the small gold color metal beads attached to the left side, chest area, in the shape of a crab(!)  You can tell by now, this was not my mother's style, and I was given this cardigan. It was my prize possession for years, until I was about 16 or 17 years old, and the crab on my chest grew up with my new figure as a young woman (!!!!!)
Back to Chaim-Dovid.  His grandson, Moshe, was celebrating his Bar-Mitzvah on this occasion.  I am not sure of the amount of time Chaim-Dovid spent in Israel during this trip . My parents told me he flew on an airplane for 3 days from America to Israel, with several stops over on the way.
One year later, after the establishment of the state of Israel, Chaim-Dovid came again, this time with a lady name Suralae. There was no mention if she was his wife or just a lady friend.  On this trip, Chaim-Dovid and Suralae used a boat as their means of transportation.
Again, I remember him beautiful, with his blond hair and his bow-tie.
The years that followed, my parents communicated with him by mail, where I learned he lived on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx.
I also learned he worked in the garment district of NYC, traveling daily two hours on the subway.
Some time during the 1950s, Yankev and Yospa moved to the USA, and my Uncle Chaim-Dovid did not come to visit Israel any longer.
During the time between Yom-Kippur and Succot, in 1961, the news of his death was told to my mother by Moshe, the grandson, who was already married, having stayed in Israel in spite his parents moving to America.
At the request of  Yankev, who was not religious,  my father said the customary Kaddish three times daily for one year. I remember, when I came for a holiday visit the eve of Succot, I was pregnant with my son Avishay.  I observed my mother in her stocking feet and I was surprised to see my father returning from the market with a the Chalot  (The Shabbat & Holiday bread).   I asked about the unusual situation (my mother not wearing shoes,
my father doing the family shopping), when my mother said: " I don't have a brother any longer."   After that, I  cannot recall ever discussing my uncle Chaim-Dovid again with my parents.
Years later,  when the family grew to more than 19 people, the story of Chaim-Dovid was told at a family gathering. It seemed every one in the family knew the story but me.
In the early 1920s , my uncle, living in Poland and married with three children, told his wife one evening that he was going outside to close the window shutters for the night. ( Window shutters, in those years, were closed from the outside). Chaim-Dovid never returned to his home, abandoning his family behind. 
Yankev, the older son, joined the youth pioneering Zionist left labor movement, Hashomer HaTzayir, and immigrated to Israel (Palestine at the time).  No one heard from Chaim-Dovid again until 1946-1947,
when second world war ended. Chaim-Dovid and Yankev  survived the Holocaust, while their other family members who were left behind in the small city of Wengrov, Poland  went to Treblinka.
Once Chaim-Dovid was sure that he would not find his family he left behind while he went for a moment to close the shutters, he got information about his surviving son. And then, he arrived in Israel, and I inherited a red Acrylic cardigan with a jeweled crab on the left chest area.
My dear mother, Pearl, who distanced herself from gossips, never mentioned this story.
I must conclude this writing in a different note than I usually do in Israel.
Yes, I still miss you all who live in Israel, This story does not belong only to Israel.
With love to you all,   Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, Me, Esther.

Shalom and Hello to my dearest children, grandchildren, family, friends, neighbors, and all who wish to read.

I am fine, looking forward to return, hoping the snow will melt. Finef, my cat, took sick, I thank  my dear neighbor, Gerry, assisted by my daughter in law, Barbara, my son Adam, and grandson Abba-Natan, (all are dear and beloved), the cat is getting to his own self again. Thank You, cat lovers.

 

Here in Israel we experienced a phenomenon in the last two days.  An horrendous dust storm based from the Sahara hit Israel as well as countries in north Africa, middle east, and even the south of Europe. The air in the southern part of Israel was a visible yellow- orange in color. The visibility was reduced to no more then 10 feet. All form of communication in Israel requested its citizens to stay home, with closed windows. This dust is harmful to human and animals, however, it is an important ecological event.

The dust particles nourishing the African land, and by way all other areas affected. The dust accumulates on land on the leaves of trees, and plants. Once the rain comes it washes the dust that soaks into the land and acts as the best nature fertilizer.

Yes, about 36 hours after the dust storm hit us, the rain came and washed the air.

A couple of days ago, I had another opportunity, to visit my childhood neighborhood.

The reason was the visit of Asher & Sharon Levitsky in Israel. ( Friends from my synagogue in NYC). I was born and raised in the south part of Tel-Aviv, a neighborhood bordering the Arab city of Jaffa, today under one municipality of the greater Tel-Aviv.

As I walked through the path of my past, we visited the Suzzan-Dallal center for art, dance and theater, which used to be my elementary school campus. We visited the Neve-Zedek

neighborhood, the first Jewish quarter in the Arab city, Jaffa.  Neve-Zedek going through renovation, were we discovered an advertisement by a realtor for a home on sale 40,000,000 Shekel. (= about $ 12,000,000). I remember the neighborhood filled with small hut for homes....We continued walking in now and then the main street name Shabazi. 

At that point of my story, I will go back to tell about my mother, Pearl, who for years visited an old cobbler on Shabazi street. The story I heard from her, was about me who at the age of three or four,  still did not talk. (hard to believe). She put me in the stroller, and walked to Shabazi street to visit the old cobbler. I understood he blessed me, (and my mother) and promise soon I will be talking.  Happily, Pearl, my mother, left  walking back home, crossing what was then a main artery, the Tel-Aviv / Jaffa road.

Thinking more then 70 years ago, the main transportation on this road were horses, and horses and buggies. As my mother crossed the road, a horse carrying a buggy was galloping in full swing toward my mother and me in the stroller. Like a miracle, the horse stopped in front of the stroller, raised his front legs and neigh.  I looked at the horse pointed my finger and said : HORSE....   

Through the years, my mother visited the cobbler, never talking much about it. At one point when I asked her why she has to go to a cobbler, while my father was a shoe maker, she told me he is her adviser,consultant, psychologist, sounding board, teacher.

My mother did not have girlfriends as we know them today, she shied away from gossips, and small talks, today I understand her need to pour her heart.

The old cobbler was a Cohen. A decedent of Aaron the Cohen, the tribe of priesthood.  (Moses brother) The Cohanim, together with the tribe of the Levis served in the holy temple.  Traditionally, first born sons who is from a family of "plain" Israelite, is to be dedicated to the priesthood. Today, when we don't have a Temple, an Israelite family will redeem their firs born from any Cohen. 

When my son Avishay was born, at the age of 30 days, my mother chose the Cobbler to be the redeemer Cohen (priest)  The very joyous ceremony called : Pidyon HaBen. (redemption of the son). I remember, seeing the cobbler for the first time that Saturday evening, being carried the two flight of stairs, like a baby, on my brother In law's arm.  This was last time I heard about the old man.

Going back to the visit on Shabazi street, in a dingy shop-window, I see  a framed photo of an old bearded man with a fine and gentle face, and smiling eyes. On the bottom photo inscribed, "The Cobbler" and the full name of : Rebbi Moshe-Yaakov

son of Yosef the Cohen Rabikov, may he rest in peace. 

My heart did not pound as fast and hard as when I saw the picture. When I asked the store owner to buy it, he told me he gives the photo for free, but he is out of them.

I guess he saw my face, when he disappeared into a dark storage place, and within five minute he came out triumphant, saying : I found one. 

Only in Israel.

I love you and miss you all. And again I thank all who are caring for Finef my cat, especially my best neighbor Gerry.

Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, Me, Esther, eem

To my dearest children, grandchildren, family, friends, neighbors, and just passing by, shalom & hello. 

Hard to believe, in two weeks I will be returning to NYC after a three month stay in Israel.  As usual, politics is BIG in this small country. Again an election is coming up, with all the bickering, name calling, mud throwing, and empty "bottles" rolling. I am saddened for the money waste, when there are people who are unable to  "finish" the month on their meager salary, while twenty six parties are fighting for a seat in the coveted Knesset. 

And one more paragraph, about a personal opinion, regarding Netanyahu's upcoming speech to the American Senate & Congress.  I am sure, you are familiar with the turmoil the invitation to speak did, all same here. Pro and against, lies & fiction, true and dishonesty. As a citizen of both great places, and one who share her life almost equally between, I say : Go BIBI Go !

The small Israel is fighting for her life, for her existence.  And there , within a distance of about

900 miles between Jerusalem and Teheran , shorter then the distance between NYC and Milwaukee, a nuclear bomb will be developed.  So what ? you will say, the what is the threat that comes from Iran, the promise to  destroy Israel. The Iranian are saying this for some times,

loud and clear, and  the world is keeping a deaf ear.  I think, Netanyahu must convey this message to the American people before it is too late and a deal is signed. 

Last week I was privileged to attend an event by a non for profit organization name OMETZ.

In Hebrew translation, Courage.  The Hebrew letters of the name reads as: "Citizens for Proper

Administration, Social, and Judicial Justice. I am a proud member of this organization and my friend Arieh Avneri is its chairman.     Ometz decorated Doctors, Institutions, Programs and plain Citizens, in the fields of Medicine and Science. Ten recipients in total received the decoration. 

An organization close to my heart, the Hospice of the Galilee was one of the recipients. A couple in retirement, immigrants from Argentina, gave me a sense of joy and exhilaration. Every Friday, the couple visits adult / nursing home, dressed in clown outfits, were they sing and dance and just bring smile and happiness . 

A Doctor, who is one of the world specialist in the field of Oncology, left a promising position 

about 30 years ago in Haifa, to open the first Oncology unit in Be'er Sheva, Negev region, Soroka Hospital. From zero he built one of the best equipped, center for research  teaching, treating, healing,   and the cor for Cancer care in the entire south part of Israel. 

There were  others to receive a decoration, but the one that held my breath was Professor  

( not an American title. Given to PhD, MD, in Europe and Israel. Kind of a post doctorate). Riyad Agbariya.  A Bedouin from the Negev, who was a simple brick layer, completed his high school education, studied Pharmacology at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, completed his master program and PhD, and return to his Bedouin outpost .   From non existent  professionals in the field of Medicine, Pharmacology, and science in the Bedouin society, Professor Agbariya was instrumental in developing the project called : "Desert Medicine Buds". Today,  more the 100 graduate, in the field of medicine, including six Female MD, serve the area. About 400 Arab student from the Bedouin community attending higher learning institutes to become professionals in the field of Medicine and pharmacology. Most, attending the Negev University, or as it is called The University of Be'er Sheva, Soroka.  

The event took place in Museum "Eretz-Israel", to a full capacity 800 seat auditorium. 

It was a evening of knowing, there is  beauty in Israel. 

Only in Israel.

I send my love, see you soon.

Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, me, Esther

Shalom from Sunny Ramat Gan

To my dearest family, children, grandchildren, friends, and neighbors. Shalom, Peace, and security.

What a week ? hard to describe in writing, looks like the western, civilized, world stood on its toes. 

The four Jewish victims, killed on Friday, in a kosher Deli in Paris were buried today, in Jerusalem.

Thousand attended. Here, I must add a very personal foot note. I heard the  critics Benjamin Netanyahu faced for telling the French Jewry to return to Israel. (We, Jewish people, when coming to Israel, say : "we are returning"). I understand his call to return was an alarm note to the government of France. Frankly, I am proud of Bibi for saying what is on the mind of Million of Israelis. If one is not safe, life is threatened, and no security, then just LEAVE. There is a home 

for the wondering Jew in Israel. 

And another foot note.  French President, Holland, sent his partner, lady friend, Segolin Royal

to represent him in the funeral.   She spoke French, simultaneously translated.

No make up or any hair tricks, beautiful lady in a blue coat. I felt, she genuinely, heart felt, with the grieving families.  Kudos to the lady !

This appropriately brings me to another chapter in the life of my mother, Pearl. 

Her call to return to to the land of Israel- Palestine at the time, was experiencing antisemitism, and her "gut feeling"  that Poland is not safe and Europe started to burn as she 

told me. Many Jews, in that decade left for America or like my mother, to the land of Israel.

And as we know, the one who left behind, was left behind.  Out of a total 13 siblings, a brother

Chaim-Dovid who left for America, and a sister, my aunt Yehudit who went to Israel, survived.

I never had grandparents. As a child, I thought, grandparents are old people they die when one is born. 

In 1937 Pearl's eye operation was declared a success. She returned to the Slutzky's home after their return from vacationing in Alexandria, Egypt, and continued to care for Mrs Slutzky. 

In the evenings she was free at liberty to leave the house. She spent  many of those evenings at the Hershfinger's home. 

As a young child, I remember visiting the Hershfingers often. My memory of this home was the large entry room with the massive table in the middle and a row of chairs around. On the entire wall facing the entrance, was a built in breakfront and shelves on top. A large tea kettle my mother called a "TCHAINEEK" , (I think it was a Samovar) was permanently placed on the breakfront, were guest helped themselves to tea. On the shelves were at display silver articles, all for sale. Candelabras, Candalesticks, Wine goblets, Chanukah Menorahs, Fruit balls etc. 

At the time, when I visited the place, Mrs. Hershfinger, always held her grandchild, Meir Yedidya

on her lap. Zipora, the Hershfingers daughter, died about 3 weeks after giving birth and Meir was raised by his grandmother. My mother used to take Meir to the Rothschild boulevard for "fresh air",  placing him in the stroller with my brother. But her main duty was to take Meir to the children's clinic on HaShachar street. 

Going back to 1937, when my mother is a regular visitor at the Hershfingers. Pearl is small built,

dark curly hair, amber Yellow color eyes ( a very recessive gene), not a smiley type, strong willed, smart,  and must admit, opinionated. while the tea was served, and silver goods were sold a Shidduch (match making) for my mother was thought after. 

On HaKishon street lived a young man with his parents. His name was Noah Mardix. Good looking, making a living as an upholsterer.  However, Noah was born with Club Feet. He wore 

special shoes and had a noticeable limp.  The idea for the Shidduch was, Noah with the club feet and Pearl with the cross eyes, a perfect match.   Noah was invited and unbeknown to my mother about the arrangement, she, as usual, came for a regular visit.

Noah, very bashful, asked his brother in law, Yaakov to accompany him. Yaakov, a young widower left with a 2 year old child, he was raising. Very good looking, quiet, and gentle, agree to escort Noah.  They all sat around the table, mingling with other guest and silver buyers, drinking tea from the Tchainick, making small talks.  Late in the evening they left.

Once Noah & his escort Yaakov left, Mrs. Hershfinger asked my mother how did she like Noah.

Well, her answer put a silence in the Hershfingers home. Pearl said: Noah, I did not like, but his friend, (who at this time she did not knew Yaakov's name,or his familial connection to Yaakov),  I like very much.  Once the Hershfingers, recovered from their surprise, they told my mother that he is a widower with a child. This news did not faze Pearl, she just said, it is OK I like him. I think, about 3 month later, On the 16th day of the month of Sivan in the year 5698, correspond with June, 15, 1938

My mother Pearl and my father Yaakov Edelstein got married. In their wedding K'tubah (Jewish marriage contract) Pearl used the Hebrew translation to her name, P'nina. 

The day after their wedding, they both picked up my sister Sarah, who was 4 years old, from the kindergarten and brought her home with them.

More to come.

Only in Israel.

Love, Miss you all.  Your Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, Me Esther.

Shalom from Ramat Gan on a stormy day

To my dearest children, grandchildren, mishpacha, friends, neighbors,and all who are interested

reading.   Just a reminder, all my Mishpacha letters since 2009 were compiled into a Blog by

my dear grandson Jacob.  (Jacob is Avishay & Barbara Mazor son).

The blog name is :   http://shalomfromramatgan.blogspot.co.il 

It is a real storm in Israel. Snow on the mountains, Golan, Galilee, Judea, fearful winds, and rain in the seashore all the way down south to the Negev. I do not hear much complains, as Israelis  

are so very used to do, water from heaven is a blessing to this land. 

This is a wonderful day to continue to write my mother, Pearl, history. In hind side, I think I was interested to hear her life story, told to me in small portion through my life. I have regrets, I did 

not ask the questions I am asking now when she is no longer here. Today, I feel she never cease to amaze me, small woman of about 5 feet tall (or shorter), smart and diligent.   

Pearl arrived in Israel in the year 1936. I do not know where she spent her first days or weeks in the land, having a Sefer Thorah as her treasured possession. 

In the new fledgling city of Tel-Aviv, number 61 Hertzel street lived the Hershfinger family, in a comfortable very large apartment with many rooms, on the 2nd floor.  

They arrived in Israel in the 1920th. Mr. Hershfinger, a silversmith, a silver refurbisher, and trader, had a fine business where most of the selling and buying and other interesting dealing,  was done from home during the evening time, while the factory operated in another place during the day. 

The Hershfingers home was open to all new arrivals to the land of Israel. I assume this was possible my mother's first stop.  As my mother told me, when the house was full, Chayale, the youngest daughter, slept in the bathtub, padded with a blanket, and pillows, she said her evening prays in the tub..... 

The Slutzky family arrived in The land of Israel in 1917. A very wealthy family, from St. Petersburg. With the start of the Russian revolution, the entire Slutzky family, filled every pillow case, duvet, and bedsheets with all the gold and silver they had in their possession, and left  their home in the middle of the night.  As my mother told me , the Ruble lost his value, the Bolsheviks started a pogrom, confiscating all the riches and the finest of the city. 

Safely, the Slutzkys arrived in Israel, and built a home on the corner of Rothschild Bulvard and

Nachalat-Binyamin street. 

In 1936 my mother started to work at the Slutzky's home as a personal live in aide/maid to Mrs.Slutzky, who by then was old and afflicted with severe Arthritis which limited her movement. 

Mr Slutzky was generous, paying my mother monthly, however, holding the money in his own saving account.

When a year of service ended, the family, were planing their yearly retreat in Alexandria, Egypt.

Of course, the expectation was for my mother to join them. But Pearl had a different plan.

As I mentioned before, Pearl had a severe Strabismus (crossed eyes),  with Astigmatism, and her only wish was to find a Husband, and have a family. She was not young in the standard of the time, and being crossed eyes was not helpful in finding a man.  As she requested her yearly  earnings from Mr. Slutzky, he was surprise to hear her plan to operate her eyes.  Understanding her  reason for the

operation, he offered her a deal he had in mind for saving her money. His plan was to secure her future, as a single woman, was to buy a  large parcel of land in the center of the city. The deal was almost done, the real estate was chosen, but,  

Pearl insisted, and received the 32 English lira.  Within a few days, she traveled to Jerusalem

to the Clinic of the world renowned Dr. Ticho.  The doctor was known for his treatment of Trachoma, a disease of the eye, that afflicted many people in the beginning of the century. 

Her story about her operation was repeated throughout my life at home.  The five days post operation, lying in bed with sand bags holding her head, I remember by heart.  After the operation, she removed her eye glasses, using them for reading, only, though she needed them

for daily use. 

Twice, I remember, traveling with my mother to Jerusalem, in 1944 and in 1946, for a post check up with Dr. Ticho, in the clinic, located behind the central bus station of then, on Yaffo street. 

Also, as a young child, I remember the frequents visits to the Slutzky's home. By then, Mrs. Slutzky was completely bed ridden. What amazes me, today, was my mother communicating with Mrs. Slutzky in Russian. Pearl, being an orphan, was not privileged with elementary education. She knew to read from the prayer book, from the Bible and especially from her favorite the book of Psalm. She spoke a "broken" Hebrew, some Polish, she spoke Yiddish

and I guess some Russian. 

My story of my mother, Pearl Pravda, will continue. 

The rain is knocking on the windows. 

I miss you, love to you all.

Only in Israel.

Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, Me, Esther.    

To my dearest family, friends, neighbors, and all others interesting in reading, Shalom, Allo, and Hello. 

A cold wave is approaching Israel, with rain and a possibility of snow on the mountains. I chose to stay home this Shabbat, nursing a slight cold. 

I have a daily routine, visiting my neighbor, across the hall, Bertha. She is at least ten years my senior, busy sewing as she did all her life from the time she was six years old.  Born in Iraq, 

Bertha never learn to read or write. Does her measurements according to the size of the tiles in her kitchen. (each tile 20x20 cm, five tiles = 1 meter).  She told me once: My eyes are a centimeter, and my hands are a Kilogram. Meaning, I can measure with my eyes and with my hands. 

Bertha, and her, just married, husband, arrived in Israel in 1952 with the large 200,000 other Jews from Iraq known as the famous  Babylonian Immigration. It is an historical immigration. Thirty generation (over 2000 years) of Jewish presence in Iraq ended within a few weeks, in 1952. 

So, visiting Bertha daily, at time just to say hello, she always asks me "Where are you ?"  and in Arabic I answer : "Honnie", meaning "here". Through the time I live here, I do have a very slight understanding of the Arabic language she speaks with her friends & family who frequent her place. 

Refusing to wear a hearing aide, and busy at her singer machine, she never hears the guests

coming to visit her, until the tapping of her shoulder. (Bertha's home is never locked between 9:00 am and 8:00 pm.)   Yesterday, she forgot to unlock her door, and when her friend Camilla

came for her daily visit, she could not come in, in spite, ringing and knocking.  Today, when I visited Bertha, she announced in her broken Hebrew :  "My Ears are Dead"......

Thursday, is the day I volunteer at  "ALEH". A home for special, very special children. 

There are four such places in Israel. My volunteering home is in the heart of a very religious neighborhood in the total orthodox city of B'nei Baraq. There is a home in Jerusalem, in Gedera, and an entire village in the south, near the town of Netivot in the Negev. 

On Thursday, dressed up appropriately, long sleeve top, long skirt, (no pens) I arrive at about 2:00 pm. For the first two hours, I help the head nurse in arranging the medication in the cabinets, then I go to what is called "Tinokiya", (the babies). Sadly, some of the "babies" are 12 years old. Majority are fed via tube, unable to swallow, all are unable to walk, talk, or using their limbs.  My baby is Johnie, a beautiful 7 years old, who by now recognizes me, when I arrive, with a big smile. I was told to  keep  talking to him, pronouncing the word A-B-B-A, (meaning father).

I am happy to tell he says ABBA, and now also IMA. (mother). 

Between 4:00pm & 6:00pm the place is busy with activities. regardless the children's condition, the teachers, the aides, the therapists, the nurse, all the staff are involved with the children's activities. Yesterday, activity director project was Pancake making. Like in a regular class, she told the children about pancake making, pronouncing the "A" in pancake like in fAther.  Because the Israel Academy for language just picked up a Hebrew name for pancake and cupcake,  "OOGONIT" we used the Hebrew word. ( Cake in Hebrew = ooga).  Every ingredient we used was shown to the children. The Eggs for the mixture was broken by a child with the assistance of a staff,  we mixed all walking between the children, repeating "now we are mixing". 

An electric pancake maker was used, and in no time the pancakes were piling up.  I am very proud to say, I was in charge of making the "dressings".  With no Maple syrup or honey, I made 3 flavors.  Try this : 1. Soft spreading Chocolate (about 3 Tbs) with Sour Cream. (about 3 Tbs). Mix well.  2. Soft fine like cottage Cheese, sour cream, 1 tsp Vanilla sugar, 2 tsp Vanilla instant powder pudding. Mix well.   3. Strawberry, very fine strained Jelly/Jam, and sour cream. Mix well.  (No recipe was used, just the look of the product, as Bertha probably would say: my tongue is the recipe...... 

The children are unable to eat the Oogonim, but we went to a few children who are not in danger of just tasting the dressing. 

As the staff was eating, music was playing, and the place was hopping. 

Only in Israel.

I miss you all. sending my LOVE.

Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, me, Esther, eem.