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. 

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.”