Shalom, Alllloooo, Hello, to my dearest children, grandchildren, family, friends, neighbors, and all interested reading.

How are you ?  I am fine, here a pain there a twitch, but all and all I am OK. After a few eventful weeks, I did my 15 min. prescribed exercise today, and planning to walk the 2 Kilometers later in the day.  

I am asked about the latest politics and the up coming election, To this I will answer, the show is yet to begin. I am sure, in my future writings I will have a "bag full of goodies".

My grandson, Abba-Natan, went to Brooklyn, yesterday, for a short 2 month Vacation, with his family. 

About 2 weeks ago he was discharged with HONORS from his service in the Israeli Army. 

Abba-Natan, served in an elite fighting unit known as "Modiin-Sade" or Yisuf Kravi as it is called now. In a rough translation it is Field Intelligent.  Stationed on the Syrian boarder, he described his time as a good one, and especially praising the other comrades in his unit.

  Abba-Natan was a Lone-Soldier, which mean his family do not live in Israel. He enlisted on his own, and was adapted by members of Kibbutz Urim, located in the south next to the Gaza strip. 

I must clarify: "discharge with honors" (or served with honor): There are 2 type of service,

Honor or a dismissal.  But, as a grandmother, I am letting all know, that he and only he, served with honors........  As of now, upon his return, he plans to stay permanently in Israel. His goal was to pass the driving test and receive a NY driver license. Once he return, he will have 1-2 years to complete the Israeli driving test. 

My mother, Pearl, born in Poland in a small town name Wengrov.  Orphaned at a very young age, she was raised by several of her siblings, some more then 20 years her senior.  My mother was the 12th child out of 13. From the stories she told me, her favorite place to be was at her sister Freyda , who lived in the next large town name Sokolov. 

While spending some weekends in Sokolov, she joined a religious Zionist group, young women only, name "Bruria".  While on a visit, just before the holiday of Purim , a ruffle was drawn. The 1st prize was a permit certificate to immigrate to Palestine. Those certificate were issued by the British, as Palestine, at the time, was under the British mandate.   My mother won the certificate,

but the girls of "Bruria" protested, claiming Pearl is only a guest. The heads of the organization, knowing her situation, made a decision to bring the dilemma to chief rabbi of the city of Sokolov.

Another ruffle was declared, and Pearl, my mother, won the second time. 

(I never new my mothers age, for reasons I speculated and will write about it later).

With a certificate in her hand,  receiving some money from her older brother, Pertz,  she bought a ticket on a boat. Her family tried in vain to persuade her not to leave, a single woman, going to an unknown future in an uncultured place.  When asked, what she would like to take with her on her journey, she requested to have the "Sefer Torah", ( Scroll of the Torah- the five books of Moses)  that was in the family for years. Many of her siblings were secular, nor religious,  the family Sefer Torah did not play a part in their life.  Never admitted to that, because she loved her brothers Peretz & Herschel very much.  To her family, her trip became a comical story. Here she is, single, having a severe case of strabismus (crossed eyes), not young, in the culture of then, going to Palestine with only a Sefer Torah  warped in a bed sheet, hugging with both arms.  As my mother told me, for 8 days on the sea she held the treasure, arriving to the land of Israel, as she always call, in 1936. 

My mother and the Torah,  survived the atrocities of 2nd world war, her family, left behind, ended in Treblinka. 

Foot note, The Sefer Torah, since was checked & renovated with loving care, twice, by my brother.  Now, temporarily,  station in a synagogue in Jerusalem, awaiting the ordination of my nephew, Daniel, to be placed in the synagogue he will serve. 

Last week end I was in Jerusalem. Staying with my brother & sister in law, to celebrate the birth

of their new grandson, son to Shira & Daniel. Arriving on time, grandnephew, has a new Hebrew word. While we used to  called a grand nephew in Hebrew, "the son of my nephew" the Academy for the Hebrew language decided on a new Hebrew word : "Nechdan".  My  new Nechdan's name is:

Shlomo - Yehuda ( Can be translated to : Solomon Judah).  Shlomo, was my Mother's father, a single child, who inherited  the Sefer Torah  from his parents. Yehuda, is the name appropriate

for the Chanuka Season, Yehuda was a Maccabi.

Hope to hear from you, I miss you all, though, happy to be here avoiding the cold winter of NYC.

Shalom, Peace, 

Only in Israel !   Love,  Ima, Savta, The Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, me, Esther, eem  

To my dearest Mishpacha, friends & neighbors, Shalom. 

Yes I am here again. The neighborhood welcome, as usual, is heartwarming for me. From the people in my local supermarket, to the Glaser with the two cats, Vered my Optometrist, the place I buy weekly flower, Raya from the beauty shop, the watch repairman, and yesterday, to top it all my Manicure place. There is lots of warm hospitality and friendship amongst the Israelis.  All this is my honest true, until I listen to the Radio. ( I do not have a TV here). Listening, it is like being in a 2nd Israel. Another place, I call it the people's zoo.   

As you all know, the coalition government were disperse as of yesterday, and new election were called for the 17th of Mach, 2015. (I will miss the voting.)  The Israeli of the home, street, work, 

is completely different from the one in the radio. Not taking any political view, I found the media very bias, using inappropriate language addressing issues, and political opinion, that is known   as "Daberet".  Not a real word you find in the Hebrew dictionary. Comes from the Hebrew word Dibur,  in translation Talk. I will translate the word as Talkitis. 

No doubt, there is a lot of anger on the Israeli street, were the government made many cuts of services, is now, going to spent about 2 Billion Shekels ( about $ 500 million) on election. 

There is something very difficult about us as a people, especially the one in power.

For me, to form an opinion, I read about 3 different newspapers, and listen to 3 radio stations.

The 3rd on is my classical music......when I say; enough is enough ! !

 However, the people of Israel never ceased to amaze me. On my morning short walk I do, I meet an senior citizen, as we are called here, pushing a stroller with a very cute baby. After a few mornings of passing each other, we started to greet each other with the traditional "Boker-Tov" (good morning). Within a few days we became friends, his name is Shlomo.

Shlomo Is a great grandfather to the little boy name Ori. While his granddaughter goes to work

in the morning, he picks up Ori and baby sit him until 1:00pm.  Shlomo told me, Ori gave him a new lease of life. He has to get up early, forgetting all his aches & pain, walks to his granddaughter home, to start his day with Ori. Feeding, changing diapers, walking in the fresh air, etc.  

Then I remember, my dear friend Ya'ara, who, on a permanent arrangement babysit a great grandchild 2 times a week while her granddaughter goes to school. 

I understand, it is not unusual in Israel, when often, grandmothers still work and the great grandmothers become the sitters. 

I wish to remind you all that my dear grandson Jacob set up my Blog and all my writings since 2009 can be found there.   

http://shalomfromramatgan.blogspot.com  or simple I think you may open just by clicking

shalomfromramatgan. 

 Only in Israel.

All my love, miss you all , Ima, Savta, the Shvig, Estherika, Ludmilla, me , Esther.   

Ofra and Pearl

I met my friend, Ofra, on the eve of Yom Kippur, a Friday in 1956.  We had just started our Nursing School education at Tel-Aviv Hadassah Hospital (later to be re-named Ichilov Medical Center).  We both came out of the dormitory at the same time, walking west on Balfour Street towards Alenby Road.  Ofra was a petite girl, dressed in blue cotton short pants and a matching shirt with a white lace tied to the top like a shoelace.  She was wearing the official uniform of the left Zionist Youth organization, a secular group called HaShomer HaZayir.  I remember that I was wearing a Shabbat dress, since it was the Kol-Nidre eve.
When I inquired about her destination, she said “It is Friday eve and there is a program to attend”, and that she was going to the Ken (Nest in Hebrew, the name used for her gathering club).  I mentioned to her that I was heading to the synagogue, for that day was the holiest day of the year.
When we reached Alenby Road, we parted, Ofra walking to the north and I to the south.  That Sunday, in our dormitory, we met again and, then and there, we started to build our life-long friendship that remained tied with strong knots.
Over the course of our fifty-eight year friendship, Ofra served as my sounding board, my confidante, my story teller, my secrets keeper, my mischievous partner and my trusted advisor.  We cried and we laughed together, I held her hand as she gave birth to her first born, and we mourned when her parents and sister passed away.  Throughout the decades, we always made sure to stay in close touch, no matter the physical distance.  We were true friends.
In the early 1970s, after attending and completing a four year course in Tel-Aviv Art School, Ofra devoted her time to her art. She became a well-known artist sculptor, and her bigger than life statues are displayed in Israel and around the world.
My mother, Penina (Pearl), died in November, 1981.  Her death was a quick one from the time she was terminally diagnosed.  I was called by my father to come home.  I left my home and three children behind, arriving in Israel about three weeks prior to her death.  I met her in the hospital, lying in bed; I was unable to recognize my vibrant, energetic mother.  Never before, in my lifetime, could I recall my mother being sick and bed-bound.  For the first time in my life, I could not find words to speak.  I sat silently next to her, until she said she would like to go home.  That same evening we brought her home, and this was the last time I saw her walking.
The following two weeks, her condition deteriorated rapidly.  Had I had the Hospice experience and knowledge I have now, I would have recognized her imminent dying condition.  The home visiting doctor requested, once she went into coma, to transfer her back to the hospital.  She lost consciousness two weeks later on a Sunday.  On Monday morning, I boarded a flight back to New York. I told my father I would keep in touch.
My friend Ofra had planned a trip to the U.S.A. some months before.  But, once I arrived In Israel, Ofra delayed her traveling until we both might travel together.  As usual, we kept a daily contact.
My mother’s condition deteriorated, and her doctor recommended the hospitalization.  Once she was admitted, Ofra and I called the airline and made arrangements to leave the next day.

As we arrived in the airport, we were told El-Al airline was striking and our choice was to leave with Hapag-Lloyd, a German cargo plane, with a stopover in London.  We took it, and away we went.  I remember we held hands the entire trip.  In London, I chose to sit in the large corridor adjoining the waiting room the airline assigned to travelers bound for New York.
Late that day, we arrived. The following day, my mother died; my brother went to Israel; and I stayed in New York. Ofra was a comforting force during the shivah period.  She knew my mother and understood when I told her that her death was beyond my understanding.  In my eyes, my mother was immortal, a person larger than life.
I remember, as a child, I thought my mother was a giant.  Even today, I see her as tall as a six footer, though she hardly reached the five foot mark. She was smart, wise, clever, diligent and very organized.  Ofra used to comment that she was always orderly, and meals were served at the table with all proper utensils.  Of all my friends, my mother loved her as one of the best, regardless of her secular way of life, for my mother was very religious. They spoke the Yiddish language between them.  Ofra was fluent in the language.
Ofra stayed with me in New York about seven or eight weeks, and then she went back to Israel.  I was busy at work, busy at home with my three.  Life then returned to its routine, or did it?  The loss of my mother haunted me, and I was unable to accept the death, her death.
About six or eight months after she died, I dreamed I was sitting in that same large corridor at Heathrow Airport, but, in my dream, I imagined that there was a large revolving door in the area.  In my dream, from behind the door, I saw my mother running towards me.  I stood up and walked to meet her. She came through the revolving door and stood in front of me, her eyes, their usual amber yellow, looking at me.  She wore the same dress she wore for my wedding, but in my dream, it was kelly green, not the dark navy blue as the original.  She did not touch me and she said, “You know, I am not here any longer.”  And then she continued with a few instructions about caring for my father.  I woke up, and I knew my mother was dead, and I would never see her again.
Life returned to the routine:  the marriages of my children, the arrival of grandchildren, the divorce and his death, the move to Manhattan, horizontal career change and just plain getting older.  All through those years, my friendship with Ofra flourished.  We were in constant contact. I visited more frequently as the years went by.  I remember I was once not so eager to tell her a thought I had of no particular importance, and she responded, “If you are not going to tell me the truth, who will?”
Ofra and her husband, Dubi, moved last summer to their new dwelling in Tel-Aviv proper.  At the time of my arrival in October, she was limping, diagnosed with a stress fracture.  The fracture never healed, and my Ofra was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  I visited her whenever she was able to tolerate guests.
When I went back to New York after an over three month stay, I thought and wished for a miracle.  Ofra was still involved in her art, placing monumental permanent statues at Ben Gurion University in the Negev, talking about writing a book about “Sculptures as a Theater.”  My own statue she sculpted, and the added wings were twice the artist’s size and larger than my own size.  Ofra, in my mind, was always alive and vibrant.
When I returned to Israel in May, she was very sick, with only a few grace days.  I was with Ofra as she was dying.  On the evening of June 22, she returned her soul to her Creator.

I returned to New York, and life did not return to the routine.  War and turmoil in Israel, the worries, fear and anxiety are my usual state of mind.  I find myself looking through my phone book for Ofra’s number to call her.

Every night, I go to bed with the hope that Ofra will come in my dream and will tell me, “You know, I am not here any longer.”

Written June 2, 2014

To my dearest children, grandchildren, family,  friends, neighbors, and any one willing to read.

 Alo, Shalom and Hello.

I am doing OK, using my cane when I feel my knees are playing tricks on me. One benefit to the situation, I am getting a seat on the bus.

I am in Israel for the past three weeks, (have another three to enjoy life), pondering a question, the deep in my heart, the soul feeling,my  inner relation,  to this country. Today, as I was ready to write, I am telling all: I love this country.

There is no other like it any where in this world.

Where else you will find four political Jokers, a once upon a time woman Judge,a Nobel price laureate, contending to the position of the President of Israel ?  Listening to the radio, reading the news, I do have enough entertainment to last, at least, a day.....And the next day, the cycle repeats.

Hah, Hah, Hah, my daily laugh. In one week, a new President will be elected, and in one more week, the complaints will start.......

The largest, dairy producers, synonymous with the establishment of the state of Israel, a company I knew from my childhood, the mighty T'NUVA, was sold to the Chinese.

T'nuva, was the first food company to produce a FREE cook book for the holidays, to promote  shopping and use of dairy variety in cooking, and baking.

As the holiday of Shavu'ot approaching, traditionally, dairy food served, homemaker looking for a new addition of a cook book, I found a wonderful cartoon in the news paper, of a lady looking into a book printed in Chinese, asking for the Hebrew translation.

Hah, Hah, Hah, I am not sure if I should laugh.

Cirque Des Soleil, Justin Timberlake, The Rolling Stones, Niel Sedaka, the Pope, to name a few, are visiting Israel, placing notes of prayer in the Western wall grooves. I guess, the Cirque Des Soleil performers, who are masters of heights will be able to place their notes on top of the wall....

As you all know, I was born in Tel-Aviv, she is still my city of choice.

Non like her. Though, compared to NYC, or London, Tel-Aviv is very unique,

and now, I must admit,  getting beautiful. Rejuvenation and restoration,  "cosmetic" applications and beautification of rundown, old building,  Tel-Aviv  was declared  by UNESCO Heritage as "White City". I was surprised to learn that over 5000 buildings in Tel-Aviv were built in the Bauh House (sp ?)

style of the 20th & 30th. many being renovated. A sample of this is the entire Dizngoff circle with its old ESTHER cinema building. ( This is where I went to see the movie Samson and Delila, almost every week, and cried my eyes out when he brought the house down).

I continue to volunteer, in my special place, ALEH. (every Thursday).

Next Thursday, twelve special children with twelve chaperones, of which I am one, will travel, to ALEH institute in the Negev,

about 1.5 hrs from ALEH in Benei-Baraq.  I was told ALEH Negev is the cherry on the cake. An institution spread on acres of land includes a small Safari, outdoor large swimming pool.  Can't Wait !

So, this is why, I love this country. I think it is the people, the multiple languages I hear, the Falafel I eat, and the Shook Hakarmel I visit.

Most of all, I can't get over, my Grandson, Abba-Natan, who serves in an elite fighting unite of the Israeli Army. He is, what it is called here, Chayal-Boded (Lone Soldier). Arrived in Israel as a "Boy",  two years later, visiting me on Shabbat he is a "Man".

I miss you all, I do miss NYC, however, I love Israel.

See you soon with love,  Me, Ima, Savta, Estherika, Ludmilla, The Shvig,  Esther.

Passover in Brooklyn

Written April 17, 2014

 

To all my friends & beloved family, Shalom and Chag Same'ach.

As some of you know, when I write my letters from Israel, I end with "only in Israel", this letter will end with "only in New-York".

A couple of day before the the Passover holy-day, as I was standing in the lobby of my building, two young man stopped to ask direction to a destination in NYC. Very common tourist practice,  as we are located in the center of the east side, within walking distance to many Subway and bus stations.

Our doorman directed the question to me when he said, "she knows all about the subway".

After providing the information, I was interested to know where those tourist came from.

The two young man, as I estimated were no older then 25 years old, only one was a spokesperson, which sounded to me as a perfect American English, with a tinge of an accent, that I took as Middle-America.

Well, I had to know where they came from. Was very surprise to hear they were from Riga, Latvia.

Now, we are getting more familiar,  telling me his name is Dimitri and his friend  addressing himself with a name I could not pronounce and by now, don't remember. We are exchanging name information, and

Dimitri asks me where I am from ?? (can't hide my accent), to my answer, "from Israel", Dimitri started to speak in Hebrew. Just a few words , but Hebrew it was.

At that point, Dimitri asked me If I know, where can he celebrate the Passover  Seder.

I am sure you all heard the phrase "Never Assume", but I did assume he resides in Manhattan. The Idea to call Rabbi Elli from my congregation came up, as our congregation has a community Seder.

We exchanged phone numbers, and they left. 

A few hours latter I call Dimitri to check his place of dwelling while in NY.  (Remember Don't Assume ?)

Dimitri was staying with friends in BROOKLYN in the Kings Hwy. area, just a hop and a skip from where Avishay & Barbara live, and where I was celebrating the Pessach, with my entire family.

Needless to say, Dimitri was a guest at our table.

He arrived at the house early, so he joined Avishay going to the Synagogue for Services.

Dimitri had no problem to followed the reading of the Hagada in Hebrew & English.

When it came to the 4 questions of why we do celebrate the Pessach, Shir,(my youngest granddaughter) sang them in Hebrew, Elino'ar recited them in Yiddish, Akiko, my daughter in law asked them in Japaneses. Dimitri, did the best, he asked in Russian and in German. ( He studies in Germany). 

p.s, the food was delicious, kudos to Barbara.

As I said, Only in NY.   Have a very happy Holy Day. Chag Same'ach

Love to you all, Me, Estherika, Ludmilla, Esther.