Family Matters

 

 

“Who among you knows the names of your great-grandparents?” the speaker asked. Only a few of us put our hands up. “Who of you has a family tree?” he continued. Even fewer of our group of English-speakers living in Israel responded positively. Our speaker, Neville Lamdan, proceeded to explain how in 1967, as a young diplomat serving in Israel’s foreign service in America, he had been inspired – as had many others – by Alex Haley’s book ‘Roots,’ to start investigating the origins of his family. The lecturer then described the process of searching for material, noting how the collapse of the USSR enabled formerly inaccessible archives to be opened up for research purposes. And obviously, the later development of the internet helped in many ways.

I wondered why anyone would need Alex Haley or anyone else to spur interest in their family’s origins. It was a subject that always fascinated me. My parents came to England as refugees from Germany late in 1938. They were not allowed to bring any valuables or other possessions with them, but what they both brought out, quite independently (they were engaged but not married at the time), were family documents and correspondence detailing their respective families’ histories.

Although I ached to understand the contents of those papers they were inaccessible to me for a long time until I started to learn German some thirty years ago (my parents did not speak German at home, as in war-time England this was not considered advisable, and luckily both of them spoke English well).

Among those papers brought out of Germany were the lists typed on yellowing paper that were compiled in January 1939 by my grandfather, my mother’s father, Max Hirsch, in Sprottau (then in Silesia, Germany, now Szpratawa, Poland) detailing the history of his family. The neatly typed pages contain an introduction about the whereabouts and livelihoods of the Hirsch family, first in Gollub, Poland, and subsequently in Prussia, where certain privileged Jewish families were allowed to reside in the mid-eighteenth century.

The first page is dedicated to ‘our forebears’ (his great-grand-parents), Elias Hirsch-Dubrski, born on 16.3.1783 and his wife, Miriam Jakob-Kuski, born 14.11.1786, from Mattebuden, Danzig. The couple had seven sons and one daughter, and each of the following pages is devoted to one of those eight children, with neat columns listing their spouses and offspring. Dates and other details are given and cross-referenced in a numbered index at the end.

The amount of dedicated work that must have gone into preparing and typing up all this information is immense, and I can only stand back in awe at the dedication and effort that the grandfather I never met invested in the project at a time when it was becoming clear that the end of the Jewish communities throughout Germany, and Europe in general, was coming ever nearer.

On my father’s side, which originated in Holland, we owe a debt of gratitude to a distant relative, Sal van Son, who has been studying the family’s history for many years, and has even produced several books on the subject (in Dutch). One of them,  ‘The van Son Family, the History of a Jewish Family from the Gelderland and Overijssel Provinces; Two Centuries of Dutch-Jewish Life in Sorrow and Joy,’ recounts the history of the van Sons in various parts of Holland, starting in 1757. My father’s branch of the family moved to Hamburg in 1823, and became well-established there. My father, Manfred van Son, had the book translated into Hebrew and English, and he and various other family members added segments describing their own branches. A bilingual English-Hebrew edition of the book was published, so that we now have a well-fleshed-out account of our family’s history. Credit is also due to Jürgen Sielemann, former head of the Hamburg State Archive, who established the German-Jewish Geneaological Society, and continues to be active in it. He has been the source of much valuable documentary material about our family over the years.

My own small contribution has been to prepare a graphic version of the two family trees, drawn by hand in the pre-digital era (1980) on paper used for architects’ plans measuring 22 inches by 27 inches, and containing over one hundred names, dating back to 1785.  The chart was a handy reference when our American cousins visited us recently. Unfortunately,I have not been able to continue the work, and so by now the chart is hopelessly out of date. I hope that each branch of my extended family (my two sisters each have seven or eight children, who in turn have many children of their own), will continue the work somehow, some day.

 

A Vision of Harmony

To mark Family Day, which is the Israeli version of Valentine’s Day (don’t ask me why), my husband and I were invited to visit the kindergarten which our granddaughter attends.

The kindergarten is rather special. It is situated in the Jerusalem neighbourhood of Abu Tor, which was once divided into Arab and Jewish parts by the border with Jordan. After  the Six-Day War the two neighbourhoods were no longer separated and people could move freely between them, as was the case when I lived there some thirty years ago.

The building that contains the kindergarten is set in what was once a park on the edge of the two neighbourhoods. With the help of the Jerusalem Foundation and various donors, the building was erected by the Micha Organisation which extends aid and education to deaf and hearing-impaired children in Israel. On the ground floor of the building is a kindergarten for those children, as well as offices housing speech therapists and other professionals whose task it is to help these children.

But on the second floor is the Harmony Kindergarten, where Arab and Jewish children learn and play together, and where the ethnic composition is made up of equal numbers from each population. Three times a week the two kindergartens get together for joint activities, so that what happens in that environment is a three-fold mingling of children from two different cultures as well as those who can hear and those whose hearing is impaired. The activities of the Harmony Kindergarten are conducted in two languages, Arabic and Hebrew, with attendants who come from both segments of the population.

The activities on the Family Day which I attended started with an introduction and welcome proffered by the two main teachers, Dafna, who spoke in Hebrew, and Randa, who spoke in Arabic.  The idea of the bilingual kindergarten had been incubating for a long time, and it was emphasized that its existence represents the fulfillment of a vision for all those involved. Then we were watched as our grandchildren all sang songs in both Arabic and Hebrew as they banged time on little plastic spoons. A light breakfast was served and together with our grandchildren we all partook of the delicacies that had been prepared.

For the rest of the morning we were divided into small groups and were directed to several stations where, together with our grandchildren, we painted, made sock-puppets and baked biscuits (wearing special hats). As was only to be expected, the Israeli and Arab grandparents all displayed equal pride in the achievements of their offspring, and it was heartening to sit side-by-side with our fellow-grandparents and work together to help and encourage the little ones. Although we were not always able to communicate verbally with one another, our smiles and gestures spoke volumes. Two of the stations were situated in the spacious and airy library, where children are able to sit and enjoy looking at books from the well-stocked shelves.

Children’s songs in both languages were played in the background as we worked at our various tasks and the atmosphere of genial cooperation was palpable. A great deal of thought and preparation had evidently been invested by the staff, and I think they were pleased with the result of their efforts. They certainly deserve a lot of credit for what they have achieved. As we left, after a period of free play in the open-air where a variety of toys and games were available, we were handed a little bag of toys for each child which we were were told was ‘a gift from Moussa’s grandmother.’

Children do not hate. That is something that they are taught by their elders and ‘betters’ somewhere along the way. If only the atmosphere of mutual cooperation that a small group of people experienced last week could prevail more widely, the world – and Israel – would be a better place. But it’s encouraging to find that there are some young parents out there who are doing their bit to overcome prejudice and encourage coexistence and cooperation between Jews and Arabs in Israel.

Brits in Israel

 

As well as forging and facilitating connections between individuals, Facebook also provides the opportunity to form groups, bringing together people all over the world who share mutual interests. These are many and varied, and seem to have succeeded in their objective. Thus, some time ago a bright spark somewhere out there in the ether had the idea of creating a Facebook group entitled ‘Brits Living in Israel’ for discussing topics of interest to former residents of Great Britain now domiciled in Israel. I’m not sure how long this group has been in existence, but at present it numbers 4,853 members, and may still be growing, for all I know.

During its existence the FB group has provided a forum for English people in Israel to discuss all kinds of subjects, though the moderators have requested that we refrain from controversial political issues (in Israel) or try to further our own business interests and sales. In my own particular case I found salvation in my relentless quest for McVitie Digestive biscuits (dark chocolate preferably), when one of the members (thanks, Anton Delin) provided the address of a shop in Tel Aviv where they could be bought. Although getting to downtown Tel Aviv is only marginally less arduous for me than getting to London, imagine the surge of joy that filled my heart when I walked into the shop and saw the shelves stacked with the biscuits that I have loved since childhood. Over the fifty-odd years I have been living in Israel I have managed to bring packets back from my occasional visits to London, eking out their lifespan by rationing myself to one a day. In an amazing recent development (apparently due to a change in their composition and subsequent granting of a rabbinic Hechsher) they are now available in plentiful supply in most supermarkets in Israel. My joy knows no bounds, but I am doing my best to restrict my daily intake.

Other subjects discussed (and mainly complained about) by the members of the group have been the availability in Israel of Heinz vegetarian baked beans, the policies regarding the BBC of Israel’s TV channels, the price and availability of other much-loved foods and sweets, the difficulty of finding reliable handymen and the agony of dealing with Israeli bureaucracy. Fair enough. I’ve seen similar grievances raised in groups catering for British expats in France, so it all seems fairly standard.

But at some point last year one of the bright sparks (Anton Delin again, I believe) had another brilliant idea. Why not arrange an actual physical meeting for members of the group? This was duly done, in a pub appropriately called Murphy’s somewhere in the Tel Aviv area. I did not go to that but by all accounts it was a great success, and the idea of organising a similar event in the Jerusalem area was duly adopted. The meeting that ensued was held recently in a Jerusalem café, with some twenty-five members including myself in attendance. The choice of venue was excellent, and we were provided with a secluded room at the back of the café, so that we were accorded sufficient privacy and a relatively quiet environment.

Names that had formerly featured solely as disembodied entities moaning about the difficulty of obtaining baked beans, BBC programmes on TV, or Cadbury’s chocolate eggs now emerged as actual, visible people, of various shapes and sizes, different religious and political beliefs, and a preponderance of women over men. Over plates of fish and chips (not quite up to the British standard), pasta or sandwiches, according to the individual’s preference and purse, we all got to know one another a little better, finding connections to places where we had lived in England, relatives and communities we had known, places where we had once worked, and altogether finding ties to bind us closer together.

Which only goes to show that you can take the individual out of England, but you can’t take England out of the individual.

A Sad Saga

 

 

 

It was not one of my best days. Deciding to do some washing, at the last minute I added my corduroy trousers (pants, if you’re American) into the washing machine, and it was only two hours later, after a persistent thump-thump noise finally impinged on my consciousness, that I realized that I’d left my super-duper iPhone in the pocket of those trousers.

After my initial panic I raced to the machine, opened it and extracted the unfortunate device, now sodden and somewhat battered.

Then began a series of rescue attempts. I had heard of miracle cures, such as putting the phone in the oven on a very low setting overnight, putting it in rice to extract the water, and we tried all those. It was a sunny day, so we lay the phone on the carpet in the hope that the sun would do its work and dry the poor waterlogged thing out.

But it was all to no avail. The phone seemed to be past all the help that we could provide. This called therefore for professional intervention.

We checked the local directory and asked friends and acquaintances for recommendations, and were sent to a local laboratory that apparently has a good reputation.

Tzach, the technician behind the desk, opened the phone and showed us that it was still waterlogged, but said he would do his best to restore it to its fully functioning former self. Luckily, my previous phone, a somewhat inferior version, was still in existence. So I retrieved it from the drawer in which it had been languishing since being superseded by its successor, the precious SIM card was transferred from the new phone to the old one, and I was sent away with hope in my heart that my suffering at having to endure this humiliating demotion would not persist for very long.

But many of the features to which I had become accustomed in the newer phone were unavailable in the old one, whether because of my own technical ineptitude or the phone’s inherent weakness. After having become accustomed to checking how far I had walked, how many steps I had taken or how many flight of stairs I had climbed, it was something of a blow not to have that feature constantly at my fingertips. Furthermore, being deprived of such features as constant weather updates, and, more importantly, Whatsapp, wherein reside the groups to which I belong, such as my close family, and the various language groups I attend, as well as being the site where photos of my latest grandchild are posted for my delectation as well as that of others, caused me real suffering. I was cut off from the virtual world to which I felt I belonged.

Phone calls to Tzach during the following week were met with the response that he was still working on the renewal project or was waiting for an essential part, and that I should be patient.

But eventually even he, a universally acknowledged magician in the field of mobile phone repair, was obliged to admit defeat. The only known remedy in such cases is to buy a new phone, which can be an expensive business. This was eventually resolved by taking advantage of the reduced offer made by one of the purveyors of these devices, and this procedure was followed by returning to Tzach and the lab in order to have all the features without which life is not worth living installed in the new device.

Once again, the SIM card was transferred from old to new, the device was told to start itself up, passwords were reinstalled, and eventually I was the proud possessor of a newer, faster, lighter but slightly smaller phone.

Once again I am a happy bunny. And I will have to try to be a more careful one in the future.