Papa John's Visit

This is Eden writing for a change!  My hat's off to Marc, my dear husband, who takes hundreds of photos each week (really, hundreds of them) and spends many hours hunched over the computer, researching and writing great blog posts.  This blog is his baby and I'm usually the editor with a light touch.  I keep saying that I am going to write more.  My father's recent visit seemed like a good subject to start with; I looked forward to his visit with great anticipation and enjoyed it even more.

Gee, do we look alike?

More than anyone else, my father gave me my positive Jewish identity.  When I was growing up, he brought Jewish rituals into our home (mainly the fun ones).  We lit candles on Friday nights, dipped apples in honey on Rosh Hashanah, celebrated all eight days (and eight gifts) of Chanukah, and had lively Passover seders.  My sister and I went to Hebrew school and became bat mitzvah.  When we traveled the world, my father would tell us about Jewish communities thriving (or, often, long gone) in seemingly exotic locales.  And, though less and less over the years, he talked about the connection he felt when we lived in Israel for a sabbatical year in 1971-1972.  (I have absolutely no memory of that year when I was 3.) For me, Judaism and, to a lesser degree, Israel grew to represent a feeling of connectedness - to my family; to a global and timeless community bound by traditions, values, and history; and especially to my father.

Since I have had children, one of my joys has been sharing Jewish traditions with them and, whenever possible, with them and my father together.  One of my dreams was to visit Israel together.  We did it!  Here are a few highlights from my father's first visit to Israel in almost 40 years:

John (left) with Tibi and Anny, relatives of Eden's mother

In Ashdod, we had a wonderful visit with my mother's relatives Anny and Tibi.  My mother and grandmother lived with Anny's family in Chernovitz (then in Romania and later Ukraine) for several months at the end of World War II.  From there, both families fled the Soviets, my mother and grandmother moving on to Bucharest and eventually settling in Brussels; Anny's family starting a multi-year odyssey, traveling "illegally" (to quote Anny) through Europe before finally being admitted to Palestine on their second try, in 1947.  Tibi, who is from Slovakia, also fled Europe and helped to build Israel from the ground up (and still serves as a "volunteer" adviser at the Ministry of Economics).  A fascinating recent part of Tibi's story is that he stayed connected to his original homeland and, in the 1990s and early 2000s, he returned every year to lead High Holy Day services in the same Bratislava synagogue where he had his brit milah (circumcision).  Anny and Tibi are very warm and engaging, and it feels amazing to me to be able to connect to this part of my mother's past.

Eden turns 3 in Israel, October 1971.
Cousin Raya and her mother, Zipporah, are on the right.

My mother's first cousin, Zipporah also made her life in Israel - and raised her family in Ramat Gan, where we are living now.  I visited Zipporah for two weeks in 1990 and she showered me with love and homemade treats.  Unfortunately, Zipporah is no longer alive.  Her warmth and hospitality live on, though, in her daughter Raya.  Raya lives in Tel Aviv and she was the first person I contacted when planning this adventure.  Spending time with Raya and her 14-year-old son Noam has been a highlight of this trip.  And Raya has been an invaluable help - finding our apartment, helping to pick schools for the kids, suggesting fun sightseeing adventures, lending us toys and games, giving us practical guidance (including how to navigate Israeli bureaucracies), and more.  Of course, my father wanted to see Raya (whom he last met in 1972), meet Noam, and thank them for taking care of us!  We decided to invite them for a festive meal at an Arab restaurant in Yafo.  It turned out the most convenient night was Friday.  It wasn't exactly like the candle-lighting and roasted chicken of the Shabbat dinners of my youth.  Nevertheless, as we gathered together around a beautiful table, enjoying fresh fish from the Galilee, it had just that family feeling I remembered.  We forgot to take our camera to dinner, but here are a couple recent photos of us having fun with Noam and Raya:

Noam showing video games to a rapt Talia and Jeremy

Eden and Raya exploring Tel Aviv

When we weren't seeing family, I wanted my father to see Israel.  I think it changed a bit since his last visit in 1971-72!  We visited Bialik street, the main drag in our hometown of Ramat Gan.  We swam in the Mediterranean, still warm in late October, and gazed up from the beach to watch the sun set over Old Jaffa. We strolled down Dizengoff Street in Tel Aviv to window shop and eat sabich (a delicious sandwich of eggplant, hummus, egg, salad, and condiments).  Jeremy and Marc also took John to Jerusalem's Old City.  On the way, they stopped in Abu Ghosh (a small town near Jerusalem) to sample hummus at a restaurant that has a running battle with a restaurant in Lebanon to see who can make the largest bowl of hummus on record.

John and Eden hanging out in downtown Ramat Gan

Playing in the Mediterranean

Sunset in Old Jaffa

Jeremy and Papa John at the Jerusalem Knights Festival in the Old City

Jerusalem Knights Festival lights up the Old City

Jeremy doesn't like hummus, so Marc and John had to eat 2,000 kilos each.

Strolling on Dizengoff Street in Tel Aviv (and wondering how they came up with that store name)

Marc shows John one of his favorite hangouts in Tel Aviv (actually, not so much)

Kinda looks like back home in LA

My father and I also visited Yad Vashem, the "Jewish people's living memorial to the Holocaust". We had both been to Yad Vashem before but had read that the new history museum warranted another visit.  It did not disappoint.  The historical artifacts, the survivor testimonies, the vast quantity of factual data presented with state-of-the-art multi-media techniques - and the very architecture of the museum building (designed by Moshe Safdie) - created an extraordinarily powerful experience.  The final exhibit in the museum is the Hall of Names, which contains a dizzying collage of pictures, and a seemingly endless collection of books listing the names of those who perished in the Holocaust.  We also visited the Children's Memorial, the only part of Yad Vashem that I remembered from my visit 20 years ago.  The Memorial is a dark chamber where mirrors create the illusion of being surrounded by infinite flickers of candle-light while alternating voices give a haunting, matter-of-fact reading of the children's names, ages and birthplaces. We also visited the Hall of Remembrance, a contemplative, dimly-let square space with an eternal flame and the names of 22 concentration camps engraved into the floor.  

Here are some pictures of Yad Vashem that I (well, Marc, who is my editor) found on the internet.  You can learn more at www.yadvashem.org.  

History Museum exterior

Museum interior

Hall of Names

Children's Memorial

Hall of Remembrance

When we left Yad Vashem, we tackled the only "must-see" item on my father's Israel sightseeing list. He wanted to find the apartment in Jerusalem where we lived in 1971-72.  The apartment is in the Katamon neighborhood, near Hebrew University.  As we drove into the neighborhood of winding, hilly roads, my father was struck by how much the area had changed.  There were new buildings everywhere - taller, more modern, unrecognizable.  And yet, amazingly, at the end of our little street, next to a sparkling and elegant new house, there stood #17.  My father said it hadn't changed a bit!

John in front of the Jerusalem building we lived in 39 years ago

We were surprised to see that the same name was still on the mailbox!  Of course, we had to ring the bell.  Some moments later Leah appeared. It took her a minute and a brief reminder. ("We lived here when you went on sabbatical in 1971.  I was three. We had a fluffy white dog.") Yes!  She remembered. She invited us in and we spent an hour and a half reconnecting with her and her husband Yehuda.  A (retired) professor of literature and a world-renowned artist, respectively, Leah and Yehuda were fascinating and delightful company and their home was filled with Yehuda's vibrant artwork. It was exciting for me to realize that I had seen one of his works before - in my parents' home in Los Angeles.

My father's trip continued with more sight-seeing (see our recent post on Ashkelon and Yad Mordechai), and a visit to the local shopping mall (Canyon Givatayim) so that the kids could pick out presents at what is probably their favorite store in Israel, "Big Toys."  Overall the best part of Papa's visit was being together, and we had a special gathering on his last evening in Israel:  Talia's 5th birthday celebration.  We decorated the apartment with Winnie the Pooh "Mazal Tov" flags and baked chocolate chip cookies in our toaster oven (the real oven doesn't work).  Talia was very, very happy that her Papa was with us to celebrate.

Happy Birthday Talia!

L'hitraot Papa!  We are so glad you came to visit!!