NA'AMAT USA Magazine Summer 2012 Edition

Summer 2012

features

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Magazine of Na’amat USA Summer 2012 Vol. XXVII No. 3

Negev Diary................................................................................................4

Editor Judith A. Sokoloff

innovators and the beauty of the area’s natural diversity. By Rahel Musleah

A tour of Israel’s south takes a journalist beyond urgent headlines to observe the ingenuity of Israeli

Helène Aylon...............................................................................................9

Assistant Editor Gloria Gross

Artist, humanist, activist, Jewish feminist, Aylon likes to shake things up. And she does.

By Judith A. Sokoloff

Art Director Marilyn Rose

A Man of the Old City................................................................................14

Editorial Committee Harriet Green Sylvia Lewis Elizabeth Raider Shoshana Riemer Edythe Rosenfield Lynn Wax

The daughter of a fifth-generation Jerusalemite walks with her father through the city shortly after its reunification. From the memoir of Rachel Berghash

Na’amat News.............................................................................................17 Take an up-close look at Israel’s largest women’s organization: stories from the Glickman Center shelter, updates from the staff at Kanot Agriculltural High School and more.

Na’amat usa Officers

departments

PRESIDENT Elizabeth Raider VICE PRESIDENTS Gail Simpson Chellie Goldwater Wilensky

President’s Message

TREASURER Debbie Kohn

Take Action! by Marcia J. Weiss.................................... 19

FINANCIAL SECRETARY Irene Hack

Heart to Heart: Happy Hair by Marilyn Rose.................. 20

RECORDING SECRETARY Norma Kirkell Sobel Na’amat usa Chairs Harriet Green National Funds, Gifts, Bequests Lynn Wax Club and Council Fund-raising Na’amat Woman (ISSN 0888-191X) is published quarterly: fall, winter, spring, summer by Na’amat USA, 505 Eighth Ave., Suite 2302 New York, NY 10018 (212) 563-5222. $5.00 of the membership dues is for one year’s subscription. Nonmember subscriptions: $10.00.

Signed articles represent the opinions of the authors and not necessarily those of Na’amat USA or its editors. Periodicals class postage paid at New York, NY, and additional mailing offices.

Postmaster, please send address changes to Na’amat Woman, 505 Eighth Ave., Suite 2302, New York, NY 10018.

E-mail: naamat@naamat.org Web site: www.naamat.org

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by Elizabeth Raider........................ 3

Book Reviews........................................................24 Around the Country................................................29 Our cover: Journalist Rahel Musleah at the entrance to the Ben-Gurion Archives in Sde Boker. See article on page 4.

Mission Statement The mission of Na’amat USA is to enhance the status of women and children in Israel and the United States as part of a worldwide progressive Jewish women’s organization. Its purpose is to help Na’amat Israel provide educational and social services, including day care, vocational training, legal aid for women, absorption of new

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Na’amat Usa Area Offices Eastern Area 505 Eighth Ave., Suite 2302 New York, NY 10018 212-563-4962 easternarea@naamat.org Southeast Area 4400 N. Federal Hwy., Suite 50 Boca Raton, FL 33431 561-368-8898 marjorie.moidel@gmail.com

immigrants, community centers, and centers for the prevention and treatment of domestic violence.

Na’amat USA advocates on issues relating to women’s rights, the welfare of children, education and the United States-Israel relationship. Na’amat USA also helps strengthen Jewish and Zionist life in communities throughout the United States.

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Dear Haverot,

T

his past fiscal year has been a time of many positive changes for Na’amat USA, with technological innovations, active advocacy programs, new avenues of membership recruitment and connections through our Web site and a new national spokesperson, the actress Mayim Bialik, who has opened many doors for us.

I often wonder if the women who founded our organization could have ever imagined the scope and impact that Na’amat would have in helping to create and maintain the framework for life for women, children and families in Israel.

From a single request for money (actually a loan) to dig a well for a girls’ agricultural school and tree nursery in 1924, Na’amat USA’s foundation blossomed into a program that includes social services, agricultural, educational and technological schools, preparatory courses for police and veterinary degrees, scholarships for university degrees, women’s rights centers, legal aid bureaus, community centers — the list goes on. Where there is a need, Na’amat is there to find and implement the solution.

How proud Rahel Yanait BenZvi and her friends — Sophie Udin, Chaya Ehrenreich, Leah Brown, Luba Hurwitz, Eva Berg, Rahel Siegel and Nina Zuckerman — would have been if they knew that by their act of kindness to help provide water, they were nourishing both body and soul of a fledgling country through the formation of a unique women’s organization that would help define the modern State of Israel.

One of the most striking achievements in the past few years is the concerted efforts that Na’amat Israel has made to advance women’s rights in the workplace and in fundamental health care issues. Talia Livni, outgoing Na’amat Israel president, has been a tireless advocate for reform in these areas and in lobbying the government to provide free child care for working women.

Many of the children who attend our day care centers come from families who live at or below the poverty line. A good percentage of these families are cared for by single parents, mostly women, rearing their children with little or no financial backup. In response to the needs of these families, Na’amat has opened 23 multipurpose centers with extended hours, counseling, after-school care for older siblings and hot meals.

Addressing women’s status in the workplace, Na’amat Israel de-

NEWS FLASH!

veloped a program to encourage working women to attain managerial positions. At first, many women were concerned that they couldn’t do anything that might upset the status quo: doing the same work as the men in a company for about 70 percent of the wages that the men were earning.

However, as they attended these classes, the women gained self-confidence and realized that their efforts equaled those of their male counterparts. They began asserting themselves and went on to mentor other women to achieve a more equal footing and reach a higher employment level through their own empowerment.

Na’amat Israel has been at the forefront of advocating preventative health care for women — an issue that was largely neglected during the formative years of the state. Women’s health care has increased on a number of levels through public programs such as breast cancer screening and through interaction with the Komen Foundation to publicize the imporcontinued on page 28

ROCK WITH NA’AMAT!

Save the date!

NA’AMAT USA 41st National Convention Cleveland, Ohio July 21-24, 2013

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Negev Diary

A tour of Israel’s south takes a journalist beyond urgent headlines to observe the ingenuity of Israeli researchers and innovators and the beauty of the area’s natural diversity.

by RAHEL MUSLEAH

Photos by Rahel Musleah

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he dune-colored map of Israel provided by the Negev Tourism Forum resembles the bottom of a diamond, a V as in NegeV. Usually, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv — the country’s gems — highlight any map of Israel, but here the bustling, fertile regions have been left off. Instead, the topaz expanse of the vast southern desert captures my attention. This is a new perspective for me.

I am a guest of Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, the youngest of Israel’s seven research universities (established in 1969). The tour of the south organized for a group of journalists promises to encompass primeval canyons and Bedouin villages as well as the hi-tech research and innovation that have emerged against the enormous odds and stresses of life in the desert. It is to be a mission that takes us beyond urgent headlines, focusing on the inge-

nuity of Israeli researchers who under unforgiving conditions grow gourmet peppers, produce wine and cheese, develop anti-cancer drugs and maximize water efficiency. Evident everywhere is the imprimatur of former Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion, who envisioned that the Negev would blossom and serve as the future of Israel.

Traveling south from Jerusalem, the populated Judean hills turn beige and barren, inhabited mostly by scrub.

I anticipate mile after endless mile of arid landscape, reflecting the etymological “dryness” the word “Negev” implies — and I am not disappointed. But I am unprepared for the richness of the area’s natural diversity that unfolds as the trip progresses: cliffs and craters, warm spa waters, valleys, nature preserves, forests and fortresses, archaeological parks and caves, farms and wineries. At various

times in the space of a few short days, I wear sandals, short-sleeved dresses, boots and a winter coat.

The history embedded in the Negev’s grandeur begins with Abraham, who journeyed south (negbah), ultimately settled there and dug a well to draw water for his family and flock.

That well gave the city of Beersheva its name (literally, the well where an oath was taken). Today, Beersheva is Israel’s seventh-largest city and houses three of BGU’s five campuses; the other two are in Sde Boker and Eilat.

Water — or the lack of it — remains a daunting issue. Our mini-bus hugs the turquoise shores of the Dead Sea, the lowest point on earth (almost 1,400 feet below sea level). For the length of its 42 miles, the Dead Sea serves as the border between Israel and Jordan, and even at its widest point, the Jordanian moun-

Long, caterpillar-shaped greenhouses serve as indoor fields as well as laboratories.

View of Makhtesh Ramon, often called Israel’s Grand Canyon.

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The Israeli-pioneered method of subsurface drip irrigation nourishes gorgeous tomatoes.

tains are only 11 miles away. Though animal life cannot survive in its salty waters, the Dead Sea thrives with regenerative and hydrating minerals that have given birth to a multimillion-dollar skin care industry. A sign for Ahava declares “My Skin Reborn.”

At the Dead Sea Skin Laboratory of the Arava Science Center, BGU and Ahava researchers are collaborating in trying to find new compounds for skin care and drug development. They experiment with plants that have adapted to the harsh desert conditions as well as with live skin obtained from breast and abdomen reductions. The lab is even in the process of patenting an anti-cancer drug developed from a local plant extract; other plant extracts have been shown to protect against ultraviolet radiation and to increase cellular metabolism.

Dr. Eitan Wine is among the scientists trying to unravel why Dead Sea treatments for skin diseases like psoriasis and atopic dermatitis are so successful. Hardy bacteria and algae called “extremophiles,” lovers of extreme environments that have adapted to living in the Dead Sea’s high salinity, might provide one answer. Many extremophiles wouldn’t be able to survive in more “normal” environments. In the context of Middle East politics, it’s hard not to grin at the name.

As devoted as the scientists are to their research, they seem equally committed to the larger project of building the Negev. “We come here with our

families,” says Wine. “We are all part of the enterprise.”

Back on the road, a sign points toward S’dom, the biblical site of fire and brimstone, and a glance backward that turned Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt.

There is modern-day destruction here, too, not at God’s hand, but because of man’s intervention in diverting water from the Jordan River and pumping Dead Sea water to evaporation ponds so the residue of salt, potash and minerals can be used by industry. The water level of the Dead Sea is dropping at a rate of four feet a year, and 4,000 massive sinkholes have opened along the western coastal plain.

Further proof of an environmental crisis is hardly necessary, but it’s difficult to ignore a dying date palm grove in the Ein Gedi oasis. Again, BGU researchers are at work confronting the international problem shared by Israel, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. The countries don’t agree on a solution: Some argue for more rapid intervention, like building a Dead Sea-Red Sea canal to pump in water; others support a longer-term rehabilitation of the water balance system.

The mosaic floor of an ancient synagogue at Ein Gedi that dates back to the Roman-Byzantine period (third century CE) is tiled with an intriguing Hebrew inscription: “Warnings to those who commit sins causing dissension in the community, passing malicious information to the gentiles, or revealing the secrets of the town.” I imagine that the heavily guarded secret is Ein Gedi’s

Enjoying Falakhim hospitality.

coveted water supply (it used to be fed by 11 springs), but historians and archaeologists say the secret refers to the oil of persimmon, a valuable commodity produced only by Ein Gedi’s Jews.

An example of Jericho balsam — thorny, with date-like fruit — is labeled for visitors, along with other varieties of the area’s flora: the Apple of Sodom tree whose soft yellow fruit explodes with a puff when pressed, and the thorny, podbearing acacia. And then there is the caper bush (tzlaf) meaning sharpshooter, since it shoots out its seeds when it ripens. I think back to extremophiles, especially when our plans for the next day come under question.

Beersheva, our destination for day 2, is under attack in retaliation for the killing of a terrorist leader. Once considered Israel’s safest city, it is now within the 40 km (25 miles) range of rockets fired from Gaza. Schools — including the BGU campus — have been closed for two days as more than 100 rockets have rained down. A holiday celebration was postponed and 70 exams cancelled.

The Iron Dome, Israel’s mobile air defense system designed to intercept and destroy short-range rockets and shells — has demolished most of the rockets.

One fell on an empty school building.

The trip organizers ask if we want to proceed to Beersheva the next day.

They emphasize that while one person was seriously hurt and two were slightly wounded, nobody who has followed the safety rules has been hurt. The shelter is seconds away from the guest

At the graves of David and Paula Ben-Gurion, Rahel Musleah meets three soldiers on leave.

Cheerful looking Nubian goats at the Kornmehl Cheese Farm.

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rooms where we will be staying. This is reality for Israelis, I think, so why not try to understand it? I picture my kids, so I am more hesitant than a fellow journalist who is excited to ride into the eye of the storm. But I trust that we will be safe. We decide to show solidarity with Israel and with the university.

Day 2: Farmers, Bedouins and B-G University

We have much to do before we reach Beersheva. The sun bursts white and hot as its rises in a pewter sky over the Dead Sea. Its reflection silvers the water between two palm trees, fringed sentinels of the morning. Though tourism has suffered because of the ecological problems, it’s still fun to float in the water. In fact, it requires effort not to. The salt slicks my skin and leaves a layer of salt on my face when it finally dries. It’s a stark example of what happens in the soil.

One of the extraordinary aspects of the Arava, Israel’s long, eastern valley between the Dead Sea and Eilat, is that although it is mainly desert, 90 percent of its residents are successful farmers, many of whom are also scientists or who collaborate closely with scientists.

Greenhouses that resemble white plastic caterpillars serve as indoor fields as well as laboratories. “The main idea,” says Naftali Lazarovitch, a specialist in irrigation at BGU’s Jacob Blaustein Institutes for Desert Research, “is how to make crops with less drops.” Before he even explains the technology that allows crops to grow with saline irrigation water, he offers us the tangible results of his research: a gorgeous array of orange, purple, yellow and red bell peppers packed with crispness, crunch and flavor. A decided un-lover of peppers, even I am won over.

The peppers grow in small containers of perlite, a soil-less culture made of a mixture of stones, coconut powder and crushed building material. The area is disconnected from the main water supply, and desalinated water is only available by pipe when municipalities and factories have an overage, so farmers have learned to use the saline water below the soil. Sometimes the harsh conditions that Negev scientists tend to call “stress” creates good things in 6

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plants: more antioxidants, better color.

But the yield is reduced.

The Israeli-pioneered method of subsurface drip irrigation — which allows water to trickle slowly to the roots of plants — nourishes fat red tomatoes planted in soil, agricultural guinea pigs of sorts for experiments on water use, evaporation, irrigation and salinity levels.

Melons and sweet basil grow in other nethouses. “If we figure out how to solve the combined stresses of drought and salinity, we can feed the world,” says Lazarovitch.

The need for farm hands to replace Palestinian workers since the intifada has resulted in an influx of thousands of Thai migrants willing to labor for low pay — though they still earn much more than in Thailand. The Thais are not as trained to follow the safety measures that are ingrained in every Israeli: A worker playing basketball is wounded by a rocket, and a few days after our trip ends, a worker at Moshav Netiv HaAsarah on the border with Gaza is killed. Israel’s use of foreign labor has resulted in a host of social, psychological, cultural, legal and ethical issues that demand attention.

At the Bedouin village of Qasr al-Sir, south of Dimona, the poorest segment of Israeli society is trying to improve its lot through tourism. The village has an ambitious plan to transform itself into an eco-tourism site, reclaiming the tradition of Bedouin hospitality and combining it with economic and social empowerment as well as environmental sensitivity. Spearheaded by Bustan, an Israeli NGO that promotes sustainability and social development in the Bedouin community, the eco-site will feature dorms powered by solar panels that will use gray water (recycled waste water from domestic activities like laundry and bathing), outdoor compost toilets and small gardens.

Once or twice a month, BGU students and Bedouin residents work together on the project. We journalists pretend to be a council of village elders as we recline on pillows and sip sweet tea in the shig, the tent of meeting, where all important issues are discussed and gossip also has its day.

The 200,000 Bedouins in the Negev now live a sedentary rather than nomadic lifestyle. About half live in official towns built for the Bedouins by the state; the rest live unrecognized villages where they are not entitled to the infrastructure of water and electricity and where they are considered illegal trespassers on what they affirm is their own land. Solar panels are installed on most roofs in the village. Complex political disputes over land and relocation issues remain unresolved. “We want to improve the way the state works with the Bedouins,” says Yodan Rofe, an architect and urban planner from BGU’s Sde Boker campus.

I listen to Rofe discussing how urban planners can learn from the settlement patterns of the Bedouins, that their seemingly disorganized settlements, created from their day-to-day needs, are better suited to their way of life than what might be imposed by planners based on an outside vision. “We might learn things we can apply in our own communities,” he says, “because in many places planning doesn’t work. Forty percent of humanity lives in informal settlements on the edge of cities or in semirural areas. We can use our research for the development of such areas.”

As I turn Rofe’s business card over in my hand, his name suddenly sounds familiar. When I was a 12-year-old at Akiba Hebrew Academy in Philadelphia, there were two Israeli kids in my class. One was named Ehud and one was named Yodan. How many Yodans could there be? I tried to see the adolescent face I vaguely recalled in Rofe’s adult one. When he finished speaking we played a short game of Jewish geography, concluding with my announcement: “You were in my class!” He was completely shocked. It happens on the streets of Jerusalem, but in a remote Bedouin village in the Negev?

Daniel Kish, sculptor and maker of organic boutique wines.

Qasr al-Sir can probably learn a lesson or two from the Falakhim who operate “Drejat: Hospitality in a Cave.” The tribe of Arab farmers originally from Saudi Arabia moved to Hebron and then relocated south to the foothills of the Yatir mountains in the mid-19th century.

They offer charming tours of their ancient residential caves, with mouthwatering feasts, humorous stories, and bitter coffee spiced with cardamom.

Though they are not obligated to serve in the army, they do so. “Anahnu hayyim bim’dinat yisrael v’zeh hamedinah shelanu,” says our guide, Nasser.

“We live in the state of Israel and this is our country.” But the Falakhim also fought for their right to open day care centers, kindergartens and schools.

Many of Drejat’s 900 residents are now pursuing degrees in higher education.

Nasser reels off statistics that sound like a version of the Passover song “Ehad Mi Yodea”: 40 medical students, 35 teachers, 10 doctors (including 2 women), 10 tour guides, 8 lawyers, and 950,000 visitors to the cave, owned by his brotherin-law. The moral, he says, is that if you set a goal, you can achieve it. Sounds a lot like Theodor Herzl.

When we finally arrive at BGU’s Beersheva campus, it is eerily quiet — not a student in sight.

We stop for a hurried group photo before meeting with Rivka Carmi, the first woman president of an Israeli university and an acclaimed geneticist. She tells us proudly that the university was voted the number one choice in undergraduate education by its 20,000 students; that it serves as a regional catalyst for physical, economic and educational development; participates in many consortiums with government agencies and private corporations; and provides outreach to underprivileged Bedouin, Ethiopian and Russian immigrants. “Other universities are not as involved in these areas,” she says.

As the new front, Beersheva must deal with the psychological toll, she notes. “We can’t just shut down an economy and a country.” The university is tapping its own student body to develop and train a cadre of crisis volunteers in collaboration with the city of Beersheva. A recent questionnaire elicited 400 volunteers in one day for 19 types of positions that included staffing day care centers for children of first responders; providing support for the elderly; opening shelters; working as engineers and security personnel. They will also be trained to reinforce “resilience centers,” separate clinics that help “stress patients” normalize their feelings and map out support systems. Developed by IDF social workers and psychiatrists, this alternative to hospitalization has also helped minimize posttraumatic stress disorders in the

general population. Resilience, hope, optimism — the Israeli trademark.

We enjoy dinner at a restaurant with a safe room, and on our return to our dorms, identify the shelter we might have to run to within 40 seconds of any siren sounding. I sleep with my room key in my coat pocket, my shoes facing the bed so I can slip them on quickly. I am nervous, but the night passes quietly. In the morning a cease-fire is announced. But some rockets continue to be fired.

Day 3: Wine, Cheese and a Crater

Today is a day for wine, olives and cheese. The ancient spice route traversed by the nomadic Nabatean tribes who traded in myrrh and frankincense has been revitalized, offering visitors the chance to stop at 35 ranches that specialize in olives, goat cheese and fish, and a dozen different vineyards that produce anywhere from 1,000 to 150,000 bottles a year as well as organic teas and spices.

A grove of 250 olive trees newly planted at the experimental Wadi Mashash Farm, 20 miles south of Beersheva, is growing miraculously in seemingly parched sand.

Pedro Berliner, director of the Blaustein Institute, explains that modern agroforestry is reclaiming Nabatean methods of water harvesting, a cheap, robust and efficient system. The amount of rainfall in the area is low — only four inches, he says, but there are a few “high intensity events.” Instead of being absorbed immediately into the ground, the heavy rains flow to low-lying areas and pool in previously prepared plots surrounded by dikes. The soil slowly absorbs and stores the water so crops can grow throughout the summer.

Using the same technology, an adjacent acacia forest provides fodder for animals as well as firewood; maize will be planted in between the trees. The techniques developed at Wadi Mashash are helping Third World countries combat desertification, the further degradation of arid lands.

From a purely gastronomic point of view, I’m bowled over. I can’t get enough of the extra-virgin, cold-pressed olive oil from a nearby grove that we sample with Bedouin pita. I must say that I like this combination of tourism and technology. And it’s far from over.

We meet Daniel Kish next, a tanned and bearded sculptor in denim overalls and a wide white kippah, who has turned his artistry to the creation of boutique organic wines. Kish grows and blends Cabernet, Petit Verdot, Shiraz, Zinfandel and Merlot grapes.

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He has named his wines for the four local riverbeds: Paran, Rimon, Neqorot and Ardon. BGU researcher Aaron Fait is working with Kish to test the impact of intense light, temperature and mild drought conditions on the grapes, and to determine how those variables affect the quality of the wine and the presence of anti-inflammatory compounds like resveratrol. The low humidity prevents fungi and bacteria, so pesticides are unnecessary. Birds are the biggest nuisance.

“If you are the only wet and colorful thing in desert, you will be eaten!” says Fait. Kish’s sculptures dot the path that winds down to the vineyards. “Wine is like good art, it’s from my belly,” he says.

On to the Kornmehl Cheese Farm, yet another collaboration between farmer and scientist centering on how to manage water in the desert. Micheal Travis is the Wisconsin-born scientist who moved to Israel in 2005 to get his Ph.D. degree from BGU, specializing in wastewater reuse. Amazingly, 80 percent of water in Israel is reused; the percentage in the United States is tiny.

Eighth-generation Jerusalemite Anat Kornmehl and her Argentinian-born husband Danny are the farmers and cheese makers who moved to the Negev highlands in 1997 and want to grow grass for their 100 Nubian goats. They believe that the health of the goats is of utmost importance, and the quality of the milk — 4,000 gallons a year, antibiotic and hormonefree — comes from the goats’ living

conditions and good food. With their long, floppy ears, smiling eyes, wide mouths and expressive, camel-like faces, the goats do look awfully cheerful — in fact, many pose comically for the camera.

The Kornmehls’ land faces remnants of terraces belonging to an ancient farm from the Middle Bronze period (2100-1550 BCE). Their small restaurant, opened four years ago, serves specialties like goat-cheese pizza, phyllo stuffed with cheese, camembert on potato slices in a garlic yogurt sauce, and Edna cheese sticks served in sweet wine apple sauce. “We are farmers, but we cannot disconnect from tourism,” says Anat. When tourists who arrive after us cannot be accommodated in the restaurant, she sends them to a nearby farm. “We are all colleagues. There’s no competition,” she explains.

Next: A feast for the eyes at Makhtesh Ramon, often called Israel’s Grand Canyon. I learn that a makhtesh is a geological formation distinctive to the Negev and Sinai; the word has no exact translation. I’ve heard the 1,000-footdeep makhtesh referred to as the Ramon Crater, but now I delete my vision of an asteroid crashing into the Negev and leaving behind a lunar landscape.

Crater/Creator: The awe-inspiring vista evokes a sense of primeval space and creation echoed in the name of the luxurious new Beresheet Hotel, built on high cliffs that look down into the panorama (“Beresheet” is the first word of the Bible). Built of indigenous rock and Brazilian wood, the 111 individual chalets were designed to blend organically into the environment. Visitors can continued on page 23

Helène Aylon

Artist, humanist, activist, Jewish feminist — Aylon likes to shake things up.

And she does.

by JUDITH A. SOKOLOFF Courtesy, Helène Aylon

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he standout magnet on my cluttered refrigerator door makes a simple but powerful statement: IN G-D WE TRUST. The hyphen is pink. The creator of the original image and many decades’ worth of other compelling art is Helène Aylon. The image is part of her “The G-d Project: Nine Houses Without Women.” Twenty years in the making, it is Aylon’s effort to “rescue God.” Through her art, she has also worked to rescue the body and the earth — and ultimately herself. Both cautious and intrepid, Aylon is a woman who is able to contain paradoxes. She poses difficult and disturbing questions, challenging her audiences to think and talk about the world and themselves in ways they never thought before.

“I like to shake things up,” says the 80-year-old Aylon in her loft in Westbeth, a residence for artists in New York’s West Village. And she’s been keeping things roiling for the past 50 years as a visual, conceptual, multimedia, performance and installation artist.

“I pretty much make up my own rules — I’m my own guide.” Her lovely, peaceful face, her soft movements, calm words and gentle laugh belie her inside rebel.

Aylon walks me through her loft — a museum. I’m entranced. There are enigmatic photographs of her as a small part of vast landscapes; a synagogue pew from a work titled “Alone With My Mother”; some of the books from her installation “My Notebooks,” each

Text from Jewish sources is projected on the face of Helène Aylon, from a series titled “Self-Portrait: The Unmentionable.”

with lined empty pages signifying the dearth of female commentary during her schooling; abstract paintings from her early years; two of her “Paintings That Change With Time,” first exhibited in the 1970s; army stretchers from an anti-war work; a pillar from “My Bridal Chamber” installation; magazines with articles about her, including the recent last edition, sadly, of the Jewish feminist journal Bridges, which features a dialogue with Aylon and her friend, the poet Rachel Berghash (see her memoir excerpt in this issue); DVDs and museum catalogs of her work.

Aylon’s long list of exhibitions covers the world, and her work is in the permanent collections of the Whitney Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, the

San Francisco Museum of Art and The Jewish Museum in New York.

Her own memoir, Whatever Is Contained Must Be Released: My Jewish Orthodox Girlhood, My Life as a Feminist Artist, was published in April by The Feminist Press. It is a riveting look at her remarkable life, swathed in her strong sense of humor and compassion.

Aylon’s latest project, now being shown at the San Francisco Contemporary Jewish museum, concerns the biblical Hagar and addresses the background from which Jewish-Arab hostility has sprung. “Hagar is a foremother,” observes Aylon, “a stepmother, but also a foremother.”

Created for Tu BiSh’vat, she placed a large bowl of water, a kos Hagar, on a table, surrounded by three napkins.

Written on the napkins, in Hebrew, Arabic and English, is a proclamation that apologizes for the banishing of Hagar and her son Ishmael. “It’s a metaphor, a gesture,” Aylon points out. “It says we’re sorry, we have chesed (kindness). Hagar was humiliated, used like a Shabbes Goy. God felt sorry for Hagar — we, too, should have empathy for her.”

“As a Jew, I’m full of pride and shame,” states the “post-Orthodox” artist. Much of her work reflects complex, antithetical feelings.

A

ylon’s busy schedule of exhibitions took her to the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh in spring 2011 for a solo show “The Liberation of G-d.”

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Courtesy, Helène Aylon

Courtesy, Helène Aylon

The artist used a pink marker to cross out words in the Five Books of Moses that she found inhumane, misogynist and cruel.

This past February, she traveled to Israel for an exhibition at the Museum of Art, Ein Harod, titled “Matronita: Jewish Feminist Art” (Matronita is a Talmudic term for an important woman, a woman who engages in discussion with rabbinic sages). Examining feminist consciousness in the Jewish world, it featured the work of female artists who come from traditional religious backgrounds. Three of Aylon’s large installations were shown, including “My Marriage Bed/My Clean Days.”

Aylon stayed on Kibbutz Ein Harod for a month, giving her the chance to see Israel for the first time in 20 years, to rediscover the country she once desired to live in. There, she felt the “richness” of life, as compared to the “thinness” in the United States.

“Just looking out the window of the car on the highway and seeing the word, yetzia, exit, gave me a thrill,” Aylon says.

“The words assume extended meanings.

They are layered. There is this duality, the two cultures twisting and braiding.

The past and the future and the present all seen in a glance like an epiphany every moment of the day.

“I constantly asked myself the question — could I have lived here?

Could I have done it? There’s a section in my memoir comparing the all-Jewish neighborhood of Borough Park [Brooklyn} to the Israeli Jewish neighborhood.

I guess I found Israel more sensual!”

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“My Marriage Contract” shows Aylon as a bride of 18, holding up a canopy. She dedicated it to the mothers whose names were omitted on the occasions of the marriage of a child and the death of a child.

Digging into her deep well of utopian notions, Aylon has some ideas for improving Jewish-Arab relations in Israel. She wants to “humanize checkpoints until they cease to exist.” Her plan involves providing delicious free food for those detained; chairs for mothers and elders and anyone who wants to sit; apologetic soldiers with manners; free books for Arab children to replace incendiary ones, along with other amenities.

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ylon grew up in a “Modern Orthodox” home in Borough Park; she studied at the Shulamith School for Girls and attended Young Israel synagogue. She shared a room with her grandmother, who spoke only Yiddish.

Her youth was a time when she thought there were answers, when her mother always encouraged her to “belong, belong” (Aylon’s mother played a large part in her life until her death at age 100). She couldn’t imagine life without faith.

Aylon married a rabbi at 18. From a very young age, she knew she wanted to be an artist, but in her married years, her main work was illustrating the newsletter of her husband’s shul. On the week of her 30th birthday, she became a widow with a daughter and a son. Soon after, she began studying art at Brooklyn College, where the abstract expressionist Ad Reinhardt was a mentor.

She wanted to be both “in and out” of the Borough Park community. But eventually, she writes in her memoir, “My de-

Did God really say that to Moses, or is it a patriarchal projection?

Judith A. Sokoloff

gree in art would be a degree conference on eco-feminism in freedom.” She coined a in Amherst, Massachusetts. new surname — Aylon, from Her eco-feminist worldview the Hebrew name for has persisted through the Helène, Aylonna. After years. One sees her ethegraduation, she rented a stureal figure in a series of pandio in the East Village, always oramic otherworldy landfeeling conflicted and guilty scapes (like salt flats). She that she wasn’t spending is “going to the land,” she more time with her children explains, “walking, crouchand also more time creating ing, crawling, looking for art. Around 1970, she was unnamed foremothers she “rescued by feminism,” inyearns for. I felt the land spired by women like Maya could tell me something, Angelou, Andrea Dworkin, answer questions that I was Adrienne Rich and Mary not going to get from God.” Daly, who, she writes, “inhabThe photos, taken in 1980, ited the world in a new way,” weren’t shown until 2005. threatening “to turn it upside Since then, Aylon “goes down and inside out.” Aylon into nature” every year and realized it was okay to be continues her search. Does both a mother and an artist. she get answers? She tells When did she know me that she experiences she was a feminist Jew? “turnings” and now visualAylon tells me about her izes herself as a “future foreturning point. In San Franmother, greeting those that cisco in the early 70s, some will follow. This is dauntsecular friends insisted she ing, the continuity!” Maybe Helène Aylon stands behind a 1999 installation she created for her attend a Chabad Shabbat mother, reflecting their conflict over her work. She calls it “Epilogue: that’s an answer.

— their delinquent son had Alone with my Mother.”

Back in New York in been “cured” by Chabad. the early 1980s, Aylon’s She was reluctant to go. To her surprise, and orgasmic body and the inevitabil- work became “less metaphoric, more when she saw all the candles burning, ity of change.” She focused on the con- activist, more tikkun olam,” she exshe started crying profusely, out of nos- nection between the human body and plains. It was about healing the earth, talgia for the Shabbat candlelight of her the body of the land: “its arteries of riv- halting the arms race, uniting women youth. “Well,” she recalls, “I was saved ers, its oceanic heartbeat, its vein-like from warring nations. In 1981, women by looking over the mechitza and see- branch forms, its oval female forms — carried Aylon’s sand-filled sacs in San ing the men huddled together in their the handwriting of the universe.” Her Francisco in support of a Friends of the exclusivity, away from the vayber, the metaphoric use of sacs filled with liquid, Earth event. Later in the year, during wives — and my tears completely dried.” her pourings, and her “Paintings That the intifada, she gathered Jewish and At that moment, she realized she was a Change in Time” (designed to change Arab women in Israel to clean up stones feminist, and more, a Jewish feminist. over time) reflected the flow of life. that the Arabs were throwing and carry Aylon divides her work over the Her series “Breakings” incorpo- the sacs in a show of peaceful coexislast 50 years into three categories, she rated sacs that participants broke in a tence. It was a period during which she explains. “The 1970s were about the way that resembled the release of amni- says she was “naïve and utopian,” thinkbody; the 1980s, about the Earth; the otic fluid at birth. Aylon would “accept” ing her art could help change people, 1990s, God.” The “three landscapes of what was released unconditionally, as that Arab and Jewish women would feminist thought” in her oeuvre, in oth- she accepted all the ongoing turnings of just “love each other,” that you just had er words, are “bio-logical,” “eco-logical,” nature. And she was making the distinc- to talk to women and things would be and “theo-logical.” tion between the visceral body, the one okay and lead to global feminism. A secIn the ’70s, when she lived in San that lives and dies; and the idealized or ond stone carrying, in 1992, she recalls, Francisco, Aylon turned from abstract sexualized body, as defined by men, the was “more tense” and less idealistic. art, which she found “too arbitrary,” to body that men want to control.

After hearing the anit-nuclear acprocess art, centering on the “visceral In 1979, she was part of the first tivist Dr. Helen Caldicott speak about SUMMER 2012

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“All Rise” is Aylon’s imaginary female Beit Din (Jewish court of law), where women are allowed to bear witness and judge.

and other women camped out for 14 days.

For the 50th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1995, her video of two sacs filled with seeds en route to Hiroshima and Nagasaki on a Japanese river was shown on the Sony Jumbotron in Times Square. Words appear on the screen: “What would you 12

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carry in your sac?” Aylon notes that the sacs remind her of a peckel, the bag shlepped by peddlers and other wandering Jews.

In the 1990s, Aylon immersed her art in Judaism. “My aim was to shine a feminist lens with a scholarly inquiry into ancient texts and practices that omit or deny the presence/input of women.” God, she felt, “had to be liberated from ungodly patriarchal projections in order to be God of the Bible.”

Her work became more autobiographical, concerning her background and her Orthodox identity issues.

For two decades, starting in the early 1990s, Aylon worked on “The G-D Project: Nine Houses Without Women,” a series of installations confronting gender inequality in Judaism and acknowledging forgotten foremothers.

The works are audacious, yet respectful of Judaism.

The first of the nine installations is “The Liberation of G-D,” a reexamination of sacred texts from a feminist point of view that is very much in keeping with the Jewish tradition of midrash (biblical commentary). In this powerful work, she has gone through the entire Five Books of Moses (it took her six years), using a pink marker to cross out passages she finds inhumane, misogynist, cruel, militaristic, vengeful — eschewing the concept of the “most limited and unevolved hierarchal God.” She also highlighted between words where a female presence is omitted.

The pink marks were done on transparent parchment paper that covered the actual text. As the artist went through the text, she challenged: “Did God say

these things to Moses, or are they patriarchal attitudes projected onto God? — as though man has the right to have dominion even over God.” She sees herself as “sticking up” for God who is being victimized. The work reminds us that so many heinous biblical commands still have a hold on people today. “The Digital Liberation of God,” a video of her action of highlighting the problematic words, has been shown in many venues.

The process, Aylon says, was a “meditation and a release for me.” In the act of liberating God, of nurturing a healing in the relationship with God, she liberated herself as well. She discovered that she could embrace her upbringing and cast it away at the same time (I’m “Schizo-Orthodox,” she quips) — a concept that permeates much of her work.

When the Jewish Museum in New York showed “The Liberation of G-D” in 1996, it represented her “going public as a Jewish feminist.”

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ylon is seeking the part of Judaism that was erased: the beauty of the foremothers’ input and guidance that was not recorded or acknowledged. She writes in her memoir: “In order to save Judaism for myself, I had to turn to the sod (secret things), the nistar (the hidden). The nistar that moved me the most often came from the foremothers.”

She has found that, through insights, extrapolations, conjecture and inspiration, she can honor God and honor women in new ways with new stories.

She explains that there is no commandment to cover mirrors when sitting shiva, but Aylon imagines that there was a foremother once so full of grief over the death of her husband that she covered the mirrors because she Courtesy, Helène Aylon

Courtesy, Helène Aylon

the arms race, Aylon drove her earth ambulance to Strategic Air Command (S.A.C.) nuclear bases across the United States where she filled pillowcases with soil and transported them to the United Nations Second Special Session on Disarmament on June 12, 1982. The film of the work, “The Earth Ambulance,” was shown as recently as 2004 to 2008 at the Hudson Valley Center for Contemporary Art in Peekskill, New York.

In Japan, she asked survivors of the atomic bomb to write their dreams and nightmares on pillowcases and exchange them with her. In a video, Aylon talks to a Japanese woman with deep facial scars who is still coming to terms with her beautiful childhood memories that clash with the memories of her post-bomb hell. Aylon tells her: “Maybe we will dream together — I’ll sleep on your dreams and you sleep on mine.”

Later that year, 1,000 pillowcases were hung around Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza at the United Nations, where she

Aylon covered the façades of art museums with her anti-war “Bridge of Knots.” On the pillowcases, women have written their dreams and nightmares.

I’m seeing myself as a future foremother. I follow my own footsteps.

Judith A. Sokoloff

couldn’t stand to look at herin pink where his mother’s self. This ritual soothed Ayname was left out. The artist lon when she mourned her dedicated the piece to the husband. She talks about the mothers whose names were sacred lighting of the canomitted on the happiest and dles, pointing out that nothe saddest of occasions: where in the Five Books of the marriage of a child and Moses is there a commandthe death of a child. ment for women to light The final installation candles. But it became a cusin “The G-d Project” is “All tom that got passed down Rise,” Aylon’s imaginary from mother to daughter, female Beit Din (Jewish as she passed it down to her court of law). Here, women, daughter who passed it to who have been forbidden her daughter. She sees the (along with minors, idiots prayer for a rainbow as the and slaves) to bear witness creation of a woman who and to judge by the Shulwas so delighted when she can Aruch and the Mishna and her children first saw Torah can now do so. She one. She is the woman who thinks this is a solution for braided challah and the the agunah (chained womhavdala candle the same way an), who can’t escape her she braided her hair; who marriage if her husband decovered the twin challahs nies her a Jewish divorce. It like a mother gently covers could also be the redress for her babies. “I say she was other acts of discrimination the first to say Who bringest against Jewish women. Pink forth bread from the earth,” pillowcases — universal Aylon intuits. flags — in her beit din hang “We must think of our- Behind Aylon are photos from her series “Turnings” in which she is on flagpoles. The pink neon seeking the footprints of the foremothers. selves as foremothers — a in the words In G-d We comforting thought.” And Trust represents a feminine she invites all women to be their own by a large photo of her as a bride of 18, presence. The tzitzit under the judicial midrashists. holding up a canopy. The ketubah re- seats refer to the fringes worn around Aylon and I look at photos of her fers to her as “Helène, Virgin daughter the groins of religious men to protect installation “My Bridal Chamber.” In of Anshel.” No mention of her mother. them from the lure of women. The one part, “My Marriage Contract,” On the floor is a photograph of her work, like many of her others, appears continued on page 27 there are four columns, each covered late husband’s headstone, highlighted

Torah Paradox

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h, but that dear young rabbi from Chabad — he was so very warm. He reminded me of my ten-year-old grandnephew, Tuvia, who has that same special vahrmkeit (warmth), even at such a young age. For years, Tuvia gave himself the job of calling me every Friday to inform me of the time to light candles. “We have Shabbos one minute later in Passaic than in New York, New York,” he would tell me excitedly. “You bench lecht [light candles] at 6:17 p.m. and 22 seconds. Have a great Shabbos!”

I know this boy will always have a great Shabbos.

Once he and his ten siblings reach yeshiva age, they are invited by their Dad to take turns standing at an actual lectern set up at the head of their dining room table to give a dvar Torah (a “learning” from the Torah). There’s a small stool for the younger children who can’t reach over the top of the lectern, and even these little ones repeat what they learned in the yeshiva’s kindergarten. This is how I could spend twenty years denouncing what’s in the Torah, but still love the idea of Torah.

— From Whatever Is Contained Must Be Released by Helène Aylon

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A Man of the Old City

by RACHEL BERGHASH

Rachel Berghash’s Half the House: My Life In and Out of Jerusalem began as a poem but turned into a memoir. In her eloquent book, she comes to terms with the city in which she feels most at home — Jerusalem — and the city she has made her home — New York.

In the chapter excerpted here, she relives a walk she took with her father, a fifth-generation Jerusalemite, soon after the city was reunited in 1967.

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uring the War of Independence the Arabs captured the Old City of Jerusalem. My father dreams of praying there, at the Wailing Wall, and whenever he prays he imagines finding the perfect mossy crack in the wall, to stuff in his note to God. He claims his faith is not as deep as my mother’s, that he has doubts. The Old City of Jerusalem is the birthplace of his faith, his wavering faith, and a lure for it. It is not clear to me whether my father’s doubts are about the power of God or the efficacy of religious practice.

More likely, his anxiety about some catastrophic future overrides his faith. He must fear that the future will be as bleak as it was in his childhood.

For nineteen years, from the Independence War in 1948 until the recapturing of the Old City in 1967, my father waited at the threshold of the Old City. For nineteen years he waited like the grasses on the third day of creation that, according to the Midrash (a tool to interpret Biblical texts), stayed at the portal of the earth until the sixth day of creation, when the first man sought compassion for them, whereupon the rains fell, and they grew.

After this long separation my father is eager to visit places that are a part of his past. He takes me to visit the Temple Mount. With my father, the Old City feels open and welcoming. I think of the time in the past when they used to close the gates of the city every night, and those who arrived late

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had to stay outside. Before we enter the Al-Aqsa Mosque, my father and I take off our shoes. My mother waits outside, adhering to the prohibition to enter non-Jewish places of worship. The interior walls, adorned by mosaics, emanate such venerable stillness that I become attuned to a silence that belongs to all religions at their highest.

My father also takes me along to visit the archaeological digs near the Wailing Wall. I can see him standing there, exhilarated, intently watching the excavations, as if waiting for something to unfold. He wants to locate his father’s gravesite, his father who collapsed and died on a street in Istanbul many years earlier. Until the end of his life my father tries to find out where the grave is, but his inquiries are in vain. He remembers his father’s kind face and his small beard, and is certain that he will see him again at the resurrection of the dead. I will be old and gray, he would say, while my father will be younger, only thirty-six years old.

As we stroll, my father shows me the neighborhood where he lived as a child. He tells me that during the time the new city was separated from the old, he longed to visit the neighborhood he grew up in, to touch the tombs, now mostly destroyed by the Arabs, in which his ancestors were buried. He wanted to be nearer to their spirits.

We also visit the site of the first Ashkenazi synagogue, the Hurva. The Hurva once belonged to the Ashkenazi

Jews; its unfinished structure was burned, together with forty Torahs,

by Arab creditors. As a little girl, my father’s great-great-grandmother Zelda was among those who volunteered to clear the site and help carry stones to rebuild the synagogue. A legendary figure in the Old City, Zelda was famous for her energy and piety, entertaining at weddings and praying the midnight lamentations over the destruction of the temple, prostrating on graves of tzaddikim (righteous men) in the cemetery on the Mount of Olives.

The Mount of Olives has an aura of holiness and also of impurity. Many tzaddikim are buried there. Among them is my mother’s father, who moved to Jerusalem in the late twenties to be buried there, a custom that still prevails among religious Jews in Diaspora. A bit further away is Mount Zion. King David, according to some, is buried there; others deny it. As a child I didn’t like visiting the tomb because of this uncertainty, and when I did, I kept thinking that maybe the place is a lie.

Zelda’s enthusiasm over rebuilding the Hurva reminds me of the exiles returning from Babylon to Eretz Yisrael under the inspired leadership of Ezra the Scribe, to rebuild the Second Temple and to dedicate it to God. I admired Ezra, but it was Cyrus, King of

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Photos, courtesy of Rachel Berghash

Rachel Berghash’s parents in Jerusalem in the late 1940s.

tors such as Zelda and her father, I believed there was no real pedigree in my genealogy. My father would tell me that we are descendants of a great Hasidic rabbi, Reb Shmelke from Nikolsburg.

It left no impression on me until years later when I read Martin Buber’s book on Hasidism and was able to understand how greatness is akin to simplicity. I would have been excited if I’d had a tie to the great actors of our Hebrew theater, such as Hannah Rovina — her facial features were perfectly carved, her deep voice saturated with meaning, and when she played in “The Dybbuk,” she transcended all limitations. Or Yigal Alon, a commander in the Palmach, the elite Jewish underground fighting force during the British Mandate, who symbolized a strong generation that exuded freedom and confidence. Or the poet Natan Alterman, who spoke of the national struggle for independence. Many of his poems were banned by the British authorities.

Alterman was in a habit of sitting in Café Cassit in Tel Aviv and drinking coffee with his artist friends. What were they talking about? I was intrigued.

As a teenager I wanted my father to be different. I wanted him to dress better. His stained shirt and crumpled pants annoyed me. I complained about it to my mother, who said, This is the way Father is. Couldn’t she do anything about it? I fantasized that my father was driving a car on our small and dusty street. It was not the car that interested me but my father driving it, which, in

my eyes, transformed him from the small and anxious man he was into a brave and daring one.

Where did the idea of my father driving a car come from? None of his friends drove. Not even Feldman, a childhood friend who moved from the Old City of Jerusalem to Petah Tikva. Feldman owned orchards, and my father had a picture of him on a horse by his orchard. Whenever he came to visit us he talked about his kidney stones and said he needed to drink eight cups of tea a day to dissolve them. He sat on our terrace and gulped down one cup of tea after another. I thought of him as a hero, and the non-stop drinking of tea added to my idea of him as a hero.

I could see that my father admired him, too. Maybe because he took unusual risks, like moving out of his childhood city and becoming a farmer. A farmer who became rich. At times my father talked about moving to a place in the country, having a small farm and a garden. My father wanted peace of mind.

And he imagined that a farm would provide it.

My father does not follow this dream. But after he retires he studies Talmud every morning, something he aspired to do all his life. He adheres more rigorously to rituals. He rises with my mother at 5 a.m. and goes to the synagogue to pray. He devotes time to sending checks to the needy. He doesn’t refuse people who ask him for money.

My father’s early responsibilities made him a very worried man, but it made him autonomous. He is decisive. His conflicts, if he has any, are not apparent.

I can still see his quick, confident walk in the streets of the Old City, sharing with me his past, the neighborhood he grew up in, and his interest in all great places of worship.

My father is a man of habit. During his years working in the store he comes home every day at 1 p.m. for lunch. He looks weary. He declares impatiently that he is hungry. My mother serves him lunch quickly. Then he takes a nap.

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Persia, who captured my imagination and became my true hero. He sent the Jews back to their land to worship in their temple.

He was the most magnanimous of all rulers, understanding that people have a need for religion, any religion.

Zelda’s father, the artist Mordecai Schnitzer, came to Eretz Yisrael from Poland in 1810. As a young man and student in the Beit Midrash, he had a dream about a holy ark with elaborate engravings.

When he awoke he was inspired to buy artistic tools, and he started building the envisioned ark. He became a sculptor and a painter, a restorer and builder of holy arks, a man who lived inside his art. While living in Jerusalem he made objects of art for visiting British and Austro-Hungarian royalty. Among the stories about him was one about how he selected the stone for the cornerstone he was assigned to carve for the synagogue in Vienna: He hopped from rock to rock in the mountains surrounding the Old City; completely absorbed in his search, he tapped each rock until he found one whose sound he liked, and then he had it mined.

On another visit to the Old City, my father shows me off to his former Arab customers, who sit on low stools by their shops. He says in Arabic, Here is my daughter who was that little girl you knew before 1948. We enter a stationery shop. Pens lie on a counter beneath glass, and the smell of paper permeates the place. I recall my father’s shop. My father and the owner of the shop are chatting amiably. It is as if time has risen above the long, inimical journey they both had been forced to take, and has stood still.

After the walk, my father and I stop by a small Arab coffee house. We sit outside. The sun is hot, but we sit at a table covered with a canopy. My father orders Turkish coffee. He lights a cigarette and sits back. His face is relaxed. Lines of sorrow and worry that usually inhabit his face are gone. He is back home.

In spite of having spirited ances-

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The author proudly wears her Israeli army uniform, 1953.

father loved me more than anything else in the world. Whenever he saw me in a new dress, he would say it looked good on me. Sometimes when my mother and I tried on the same dress he would say it looked better on me. I felt guilty about this comment, but my mother did not seem to mind. It was clear to me that my father loved her too.

Throughout his life my father would talk about how emaciated I was after being sick with typhus for a month. I was very sick. He would talk about how small I became. I am three.

I am sitting in the palm of his hand. He is standing on the terrace; he has taken me outside to be in the sun. Perhaps my father thought I would not survive. He thought he was losing me, the way he lost his father and his brothers, the way his family lost everything after his father died in Istanbul and was buried without a trace. He lost his childhood. I am skin and bones, but I’ve survived. He hasn’t lost me. He talks with sadness and pride about the moment he took me outdoors. He talks about how he held me, like that, in the palm of his hand.

What is it you are playing? my father inquires. I say, Mozart, or Chopin, and he writes it on the inside of the bathroom medicine cabinet. A few days later he says, Play the Mozart, it is very beautiful. As I play the piano my

father looks at me lovingly, grateful for the gift. I am grateful for his remarks, though they are scarce, and usually uttered in an off-handed way. My father plainly says what he feels. He is not inclined to encourage me. He is mostly busy with his store and his customers.

My father and I could have shared more. But his anger often gets in the way. And I am proud and unappeasing. Now, I conjure up his kind face, the concern it expressed as he leaned to look at my leg after I underwent minor surgery, or the quiet, anxious way he recited the Psalms when I went to the emergency room because of stomach cramps.

My father says, You have a good head, you could be a lawyer. I wonder: Does he miss having a son? He says, I’ve donated money to the orphanage I was in, and they will see to it that someone says kaddish for me after I die. (It is not customary for a daughter to say kaddish for her parents.) My father is meticulously organized. He buys graves for himself and my mother, and every time he makes the slightest change in his will he shows it to me.

In 1988, my father calls me in New York. Without a warning he starts to sing. And he sings Yah Ribbon Alam Vealmaya, a sacred song in Aramaic sung after the Sabbath’s midday meal.

The song beckons God to return to his Temple and the Holy of Holies in Jerusalem, where every soul will be delighted. So sings my father in his small, warm, melodic voice: My father, who likes to listen to sacred music, is a cantor now; he sings to me, sings on the phone.

Berghash is a poet and essayist who has been published in many literary magazines.

She holds a master’s degree in social work and is a longtime teacher of Interior Life seminars, which use key philosophical, psychological and religious texts. She lives in New York City.

“A Man of the Old City” is an excerpt, copyright © 2011, by Rachel Berghash. Reprinted from Half the House, My Life In and Out of Jerusalem, Sunstone Press, 2011, by permission of Rachel Berghash and the publisher.

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When he wakes up, though the lines on his face are a bit smoother, he still looks burdened. He must return to the store to reopen at 4 p.m. My father says, I am not as ambitious as some of my competitors, Feinstein and Cohen. People trust me, he continues, I have my customers, and it is sufficient. I have had a couple of offers for partnerships, but I like to be my own boss, not get involved with other people’s ways of doing things. My mother nods. She agrees. Feinstein is very ill, my mother says, he has been too ambitious. My mother is protective of my father’s health; she doesn’t want him to work as hard as Feinstein and ruin his health.

The store in its heyday was a meeting place. My friends would stop there to buy supplies. My architect friend Reuven would linger in the store and chat with my parents after buying supplies. (At some point when I was growing up my mother started helping my father in the store.) My girlfriend Dina would occasionally stop by to borrow money. Juan, the Spanish consul to Jerusalem, whom I met on a boat coming back from New York, once stopped there and left me a note inviting me to a party. (He was unable to call me because we had no phone.) My father said, Such a nice guy, what a pity he is not Jewish.

My father says he hates the store.

But he never says what he hates about it. And when I ask him what he would have liked to do instead, he says he would have liked to sing. I recall Ferrer, an old Cuban singer, who sings about love and longing. He sings about being hungry as a child. He sings about gardenias. There were no gardenias in the Old City of Jerusalem. But my father would have liked to sing.

When my older son was a child, my father would “employ” him as a cashier in his store. My son would stand by the cashier, a big smile on his face, giving change to customers. In my early twenties I would go to the store to ask for money to supplement my salary, and my father would take paper bills out of his cash register and ask, How much do you need? Before I had a chance to answer, he, with a twinkle in his eye, happy to be unstinting, flipped several bills and gave them to me and asked if I would like more. My mother would tell me that my

News Na’amat

Stories from the Glickman Center Emma

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mma, a self-employed 40-year-old, was married for 18 years and had two teenagers, a daughter and a son. Throughout her marriage her husband verbally abused and humiliated her. The first time she contacted the Na’amat Glickman Center for the Prevention and Treatment of Domestic Violence was following an incident in which her husband was physically violent with her. When Emma tried to call the police, he grabbed the phone and smashed it.

Yet, the police did come to their house and ordered the husband not to return for a week. They also advised Emma to contact Na’amat.

When Emma came in for her first counseling session, she was upset and confused. It was recommended that she begin therapy sessions with a social worker at the center. The husband came home after a week, and Emma continued her life as usual. She went to work and took care of the children. But every Tuesday she would come to the Glickman Center at 6 p.m. for a three-hour group meeting with women who were victims of domestic violence; the sessions were mediated by a social worker.

As the weeks passed, Emma grew emotionally stronger and gained courage. She was now able to offer her children a healthier role model, showing them that outside the home she was an independent woman; and inside, she was no longer a door mat for her violent husband, who had abused her in their presence.

After 10 months of therapy, there was another violent episode, but this time Emma had a different reaction: She was determined to put an end to the torment. She went to the police, filed a complaint and met with an attorney at the Glickman Center.

Following the complaint to the police, a restraining order was issued against the husband. This time Emma was not worried about payments and alimony because the center helped her contact a state-issued lawyer who filed a claim with the family court, suing for custody and alimony from her husband.

Today, about a year later, Emma is divorced; the husband is gone from the home and pays alimony. Most important, the two children are relaxed and no longer afraid to bring their friends home. When the school year ended, both brought home report cards that were significantly better than previous ones.

Natasha

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atasha, a Christian woman, married a Jewish man when they were living in Russia, and seven years ago they made aliyah along with his elderly parents. All lived together in a tiny apartment, but after six months, Natasha’s husband returned to Russia for work — or so he told her and his parents.

Natasha stayed in Israel and continued to live with her husband’s parents. For some reason, he didn’t want to be in touch with them, and they lost track of him.

After about a year, Natasha left his parents’ apartment, moved to a different city and got a job.

She met a man who she later learned was a Muslim and became pregnant with his baby. Just before the baby was born, he moved in with her and became controlling and very possessive. Two years later, their second child was born, and because of economic difficulties, he pressured her to move in with his parents in their home in an Arab village. But the boyfriend’s parents said they would agree only

Sophie Udin Club Makes a Difference!

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ooks and directors from Na’amat Jerusalem day care centers prepared the meal for the luncheon of the Sophie Udin club/Na’amat Jerusalem, giving participants a taste of the preschool experience. Held at Moadon Hachavera, the festive event featured local Na’amat leaders and government officials as guest speakers. Proceeds from the event enable the club to provide day care scholarships for disadvantaged children.

Many of the club’s members belonged to Na’amat USA prior to making aliyah, but the enthusiastic group also includes women from Australia, Norway, Great Britain and Canada.

Here’s an excerpt from the last Sophie Udin club newsletter: Let’s begin our visit at the Patt Day Care Center, located in a very low-income neighborhood with many social and economic problems. Children enrolled in the center come from large families, single-parent families, and many parents are unemployed. Can you imagine the difference it makes in the life of a child enrolled in a day care program that offers not only developmental

on one condition — that she convert to Islam and wear the traditional garb and veil. Natasha agreed to these conditions, thinking that if she wanted what’s best for the welfare of her children, she had no other choice.

Natasha converted to Islam in a short ceremony in the Shari’ah court, where she didn’t understand a word of what was said in Arabic. Soon after, her husband became violent and demanded that his mother accompany Natasha wherever she would go — whether to the grocery store or even to the baby clinic. His mother didn’t allow her to call her friends, cook or even speak with her children privately.

After a violent incident in which the husband hit Natasha in front of his mother, the neighbors called the police — and this is how she got to the shelter.

At Glickman, she felt she could freely tell her story. She also consulted with a lawyer there about her complex situation: The two children were registered under her Jewish husband’s name; but for the father to have visitation rights and pay alimony, it was necessary to obtain a court order to register the children under his name.

In addition, Natasha wanted to explore the possibility of returning to her original religion. The staff in the shelter helped her to rehabilitate her life with her children and to undo her legal bind.

activities, learning opportunities and social skills advancement, but also provides hot, nutritious meals, healthy snacks and tender, loving care?

Ask Noya, Liel, Ma’ayan, Yarin and Yorin. They are fortunate to be part of this program, along with Roi, Ellia and Amiel who attend the Katamon Gimmel Center, located in a neighborhood that houses many families whose parents and grandRachel Aspir, regional chair of parents came to Israel in the early days of the Na’amat Jerusalem, guest speaker state. Many are now third- and fourth-generation (left), and Judy Telman, editor of the Sophie Udin club bulletin and residents who have not succeeded in breaking the a former national vice president cycle of poverty; yet they maintain households, of Na’amat USA. love their children, and try their best to expose them to all the positives this country has to offer.

What better way than through a “head start” experience in a Na’amat day care center? You help make it happen!

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Dealing With Learning Disabilities A message from the educational adviser at Na’amat ’s Kanot Agricultural High School

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want to tell you about the complex processes that take place at Kanot. Much effort is invested to identify those students who suffer from learning disabilities and work with them on their specific difficulties. In order for the students to be granted the needed modifications for their matriculation exams by the local council committee [the government of a municipality], we attentively oversee the long process.

We are well aware that many of the students at Kanot have learning disabilities that have not been properly identified and/ or treated previously. As a consequence, they have often experienced repeated failures during their lives — not only in the academic area, but also in the social sphere.

And it is precisely these failures that in many cases have caused them to drop out of other educational frameworks and lose their selfconfidence in all matters relating to learning and to succeeding in their studies.

Our main goal consists of restoring selfconfidence and working to obtain optimal educational conditions for them. All teachers receive instructions at the beginning of every year on how to identify students with learning disabilities, taking into account their performance in class and their achievements.

School counselors, trained in special education, provide general guidance; they are the ones in charge of diagnostic exams.

After identifying the students and receiving parental consent, much effort is invested in having the tests taken at school, at special low prices, to make them accessible also for economically disadvantaged families.

After the diagnosis is obtained, the team of teachers is fully mobilized to start preparing a report for the local council committee. This report should eventually reflect, in the most truthful way, the capabilities and difficulties of every student.

Teachers will then talk to their students, conduct comparative tests, and put into practice the recommended adjustments. At the same time, they will try to find out whether these recommendations enable pupils to better express their knowledge. Simultaneously, teachers will work with students at our learning center on developing appropriate learning strategies and habits, as well as on remedial learning, according to the examiner’s guidelines.

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Coping With the 9th-Graders

by Metial Hajaj, 9th-Grade Coordinator at Kanot

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hen the 9th-graders first come to Kanot, most arrive without proper learning habits; some have almost never experienced success in their studies. I will even dare go further and say that the failure experiences they have accumulated have caused them to lose all trust in educational professionals as well as in themselves as students.

While working with this age group throughout the year, we deal with issues related to raising their self-esteem. We help them increase their academic selfconfidence and gain learning strategies that will help them better their experiences in the coming years.

All our ninth-grade teachers know that besides the strictly educational material they are supposed to teach, they will be centering mainly on developing the teenagers’ learning habits. Therefore, teachers check notebooks consistently to get students used to managing an orderly notebook. They also teach their students to keep an organized diary. The teenagers learn how to manage their time, take down homework assignments and get ready for exams.

Teachers divide the work into small tasks, structured to enable students to experience success. The pupil who succeeds gains recognition and, at times, even a small gift — a sticker or a candy.

Everyone can succeed. At the same time, teachers identify those students who are in need of private lessons or have to make up material, as well as those who need to reinforce their reading or writing skills.

Each student is encouraged to take private lessons at our learning center or within a different framework. In addition, there is an extra teacher in the classroom who works together with the main teacher and who goes around the class helping those who feel stuck or lost.

During our general classes, we work on self-esteem and feelings that arise and lead to temptations and dangers, helping them to develop the attitude: The moment I realize how good I am, I have no need to act as if I were someone else so as to be loved.

Recently, we had a lesson that dealt with finding those positive parts we each have, as well as developing a positive point of view about the world. The students wrote down all the favorable things that were said about them along with the ones they thought of themselves. Then they made a bookmark for next year’s diary, which contained the commentaries.

Coping with these problems is not simple and sometimes becomes more challenging from day to day. Many students have been beaten and wounded in previous encounters with the educational system, which eventually left them outside.

It takes us a few months to get pupils to understand that we are on their side.

The experience accumulated during the past years shows that consistency is worthwhile. When getting close to 10th grade, we succeed in arriving with them at quite a different place — a place where they believe in themselves and they also believe in us.

Students make cheese from Kanot’s cows. The excellent product is used for meals and special events.

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f you are caring for an aging family member in your home or in an assisted living facility, you understand how difficult it is to suddenly find yourself in the role of primary caregiver to that loved one. It can be a full-time job, often taking an emotional, financial or even physical toll on the caregiver.

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS), the older population — those aged 65 and above — numbered 39.6 million in 2009, representing 12.9 percent of the entire U.S. population, or one in every eight Americans. By 2030, there will be about 72.1 million older adults, about 19 percent of the population.

These staggering statistics mean that the demands for elder care facilities and services will increase dramatically. As medical technology becomes more sophisticated, the population is living longer; assisted living facilities, adult day care, long-term care facilities, nursing homes, hospice care and in-home care will be strained as the population needing such facilities continues to grow.

Given the choice, most elderly would prefer to age in place; that is, to continue living in their own homes.

As they gradually lose their ability to function, however, and require either additional assistance in the home or in a facility, close family members often face difficult challenges in helping their loved ones make correct choices. Most family caregivers are daughters or granddaughters, who play a major role in providing a home for their loved one, fulfilling their social needs, and often offering financial assistance.

As the strain of care giving

takes its toll on the caregiver, a relatively new service, respite care, has arisen in the United States. This type of care allows the caregiver the opportunity to take a vacation or a trip away, as good temporary care for seniors is provided in the home. Some facilities have provisions for respite care, where the elderly are housed in the facility for a certain period of time until the regular family caregiver returns. ACE or acute care of elder units exist within certain hospitals as well, providing “a homelike setting” within a medical center specifically for the elderly.

In the United States, the majority of the approximately one million residents in assisted living facilities pay for care out of their own funds. The remainder receives help from family and friends.

Medicare does not pay for long-term (custodial) care unless skilled-nursing care is necessary and provided in certified skilled nursing facilities by skilled nursing personnel. Assisted living facilities usually do not meet Medicare’s requirements. If the elder meets the requirements for the Medicare home health benefit, Medicare will cover some skilled care.

When funds are completely depleted, Medicaid will cover costs.

Impaired mobility in the elderly is a major health concern, affecting 50 percent of those over 85 and at least one-quarter of those over 75.

As the elderly lose their ability to walk, climb stairs or rise from a chair, disability quickly follows. Therapy designed to improve mobility in the elderly is generally focused on treating specific impairments, such as reduced strength or poor balance. As

by MARCIA J. WEISS

cognitive ability declines due to Alzheimer’s disease and other dementias, however, the focus shifts to helping with activities of daily living.

It is important for certain legal documents to be in place so that if physical or mental incapacity should arise, the person’s wishes have been already documented. The use of “advance directives” — powers of attorney, trusts, living wills and health care directives — prepared by an attorney while the person has the capacity to express his or her wishes about end of life care — can simplify decision-making by caregivers at a later time.

More than 30 years ago, the federal government mandated creation of the ombudsman program.

Each state’s long-term care ombudsmen are supposed to be staunch independent advocates for residents of nursing homes, assisted living facilities and similar adult care facilities. Federal law authorizes these troubleshooters to take action on various issues from investigating residents’ complaints to identifying widespread problems affecting seniors’ welfare — from medical problems to building hazards.

They work to bring about changes at the local, state and national levels that will improve residents’ care and quality of life.

If there is an issue that cannot be resolved internally, the ombudsman program represents an alternative. Contact the National Long-Term Care Ombudsman Resource Center at www.ltcombudsman.org. The Web site of the Administration on Aging (www.aoa.gov) also provides information on the ombudsman program and other

Take Action!

ELDER CARE: Responsibility and Choices

resources for seniors and their families and caregivers.

Another issue of great concern to the elderly is abuse, which is reaching epidemic levels in the United States; some two million cases of elder abuse are reported each year. The ombudsman program can be helpful in this area, though the first agency to respond to a report of elderly abuse, in most states, is Adult Protective Services. The role of APS is to investigate abuse cases, intervene and offer services and advice; its scope varies from state to state.

On the legislative front: Due to the severity of violence against the elderly and in recognition of Older Americans Month in May 2012, Representative Tammy Baldwin (D-WI) has introduced H.R. 4979 entitled “End Abuse in Later Life Act of 2012.” The bill sets up training programs to assist attorneys, health care providers, religious leaders and community-based organizations in recognizing and addressing instances of abuse of individuals age 50 and above, and conducts outreach activities and public awareness campaigns to ensure that abuse victims receive assistance. A similar bill (S.464) has been introduced in the Senate by Senator Herbert Kohl (D-WI) to establish a grant program to enhance training and services to prevent abuse in later life.

Both bills are presently in committee. ______________ Marcia J. Weiss, J.D., is the Na’amat USA National Advocacy Chair. Last issue she addressed domestic violence issues.

SUMMER 2012

Na’amat USA’s column on advocacy highlights American public policy issues and items of interest that concern us as Jews, women and Zionists. This issue’s column focuses on elder care. Join us in speaking out for policies that defend the rights of women, children and families.

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Happy Hair

Love, Loss, and How I Wore My Hair

by MARILYN ROSE

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y earliest baby picture shows me as a 7-monthold propped up and gurgling for the camera. My sparse hair is gathered up in a single curl atop my head. Looking at that picture, I can practically feel my mother’s fingers, several years later, winding my fine little-girl hair around her fingers to form curls. Often, she’d leave one in front and sing to me, “There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead.” The memory of that rhyme evokes tenderness, yet the rest of the verse echoes in my head: “And when she was good, she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid.” Like that nursery rhyme, many of my childhood memories revolve around my complicated relationship with my hair.

Before I started school, my older sister and I both wore our hair in thick ponytails, high up on our heads. I remember wiggling impatiently while my mom put my hair up in that ponytail with a rubber band (no nylon-covered elastics then).

She would command me to sit still, which I seemed unable to do, and the rubber band would always pull the loose tuft of hair that she tried to capture as she transferred the rubber band from her fingers to my hair.

Mom would wash my hair every week as I knelt on a chair and tucked my chin to my chest and dunked my head into the bathroom sink, “Just like the duckies,” she would coo.

I remember the distinct

Illustrations by Marilyn Rose

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smell of Lustre-Creme shampoo, so rich and creamy as it was scooped out of the shiny white glass jar. On cool summer nights, we were allowed to go to sleep with wet hair — a cotton square tied babushka-style under our chins and a warm white towel protecting our pillows.

My next hair memory is first grade.

I am 5, and I have had my hair cut short — VERY short. Perhaps my mom thought it would make her life easier, or maybe she truly thought my pixie cut was becoming. All I remember is the feeling of humiliation as my first-grade teacher nicknamed me “Johnie-Joe.” My only consolation was that my male cousin and tormentor could no longer grab me by my ponytail and drag me around the room.

I never remember being given a choice as to how to wear my hair, but I do remember the frequent haircuts — sitting on telephone books in the enormous chair at the beauty shop, scratchy hair escaping down the back of my shirt in spite of the towel wrapped around my neck. I felt sheer terror when I was admonished, “Sit still…or your ear will get cut off!”

My mother always told me I had beautiful “natural curls” like her own — that she cut my hair short to show them off.

But even as she justified my close-cropped hair, she would reminisce about the long curly tresses of her girlhood that she wore well into young adulthood.

When I was 12, my eldest cousin brought his fiancée home to the Midwest to meet our family. She was a sleek, stylish New York woman who, in our minds, could have been a model. She wore her beautiful ashen, shoulder-length hair parted, with half tucked behind one ear and the other swept seductively over her eye. My three female cousins, all close to my own age, were blessed with straight hair, and they would run into their bedroom and comb each other’s hair to mimic her style while I watched enviously.

My next hair memory was in middle school. It was the ’60s. All the girls had long hair, hanging down to their waists like the actresses and folk-singers of the time. My hair

My hair was always a mass of frizz and had a mind of its own — no matter how much cool green Dippity-do I used. struggled to reach my shoulders, and I watched with envy as my sister, like my friends, rolled their hair up on empty frozen juice cans with large bobby pins to keep it straight. I resigned myself to trying to sleep in torturous “brush rollers” jabbed with pink plastic stickpins and wrapped in a triangle of loosely woven fabric netting to hold everything in place. It was futile. Those rollers always managed to escape during the night and end up all over the bed. I tried countless home remedies for my unruly hair, including a vinegar rinse that left me smelling like the pickle barrel of a delicatessen. My hair was always a mass of frizz and had a mind of its own — no matter how much cool green Dippity-do I used.

And in between all of these memories there is an echo of a constant refrain of my looking into the mirror at my own image and feeling that my hair was NEVER right.

In high school, I saved my money from waiting tables to have my hair chemically straightened. The smell of the procedure, more than mildly reminiscent of the scent of rotten eggs, lasted far longer than the effect of the treatment. The beautician assured me that it would last for months, but a week later my chemically limp hair was a frizzy mess once again.

There was one interlude, just before I graduated from high school, when my hair somehow matched the fashion of the day: Shag haircuts were in style. My mother, trying so hard to help soften my teenage angst about my appearance, sent me downtown to a fancy department store for a stylish cut. And I do remember a time of brief satisfaction with the curly mane that I saw when I looked into the mirror after that cut. It didn’t last long. As that fashion came and went, my hair seemed unable to keep up with the new looks in Seventeen magazine. I would grow my hair to shoulder length time and time again, only to find that I couldn’t manage it and would cut it off.

A photo from college — during the days of hippies and The Whole Earth Catalog — shows me with a tight frizzy bubble of hair around my head. Out of desperation, after all those years of trying to straighten it, I had my hair permed and used a pick to pull it out into a neat fro. The one stubborn straight patch in the front, with a mind of its own, gave me away — and the chemical perm mixed with the sun gave it a brassy, dry appearance.

When my kids were born, I chopped my hair off again, enjoying the cool breeze on the nape of my neck. It brought back memories of how my mom — no longer alive — used to kiss that spot when I was little, before she wrapped the towel around my hair to dry it.

After I was married, I remember sitting around my mother-in-law’s table as she pontificated that it was good my hair was short — that older women should not wear long hair. I bristled at such a statement, but it didn’t matter much since I had little time to worry about fashion.

With three little kids, expedience was the rule. And besides, I had finally found a hairdresser who I loved and trusted, and didn’t feel the dread when I looked into the mirror after a haircut.

During the next 20 years, photos show my hair remained close-cropped — when I am wearing it a bit longer it is often because I have not had the time to deal with it — and my husband and my children were certainly not proponents of change. As I peruse photos once again, I see one in which I am sporting a more stylish do: very close to my neck again, with the curly tresses left longer on top. I remember the day I had that cut done. My youngest son walked home from middle school. Entering my home office, he saw me from behind and immediately pronounced that I must be having a mid-life crisis. “Next,” he pronounced, “you will probably get pregnant and buy a Ferrari.”

That comment took place about seven years ago, but when I contemplate it, I realize how many times I questioned my looks and specifically my hair — how many times I looked to the reaction of others. I would ask my husband how he liked my new haircut. Did it really look SUMMER 2012

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♥ okay? The judgments that always seemed to live in my head often centered on my hair.

My mother was proud that into her late 50s she never colored her hair and had only a sprinkling of grey around her temples. I was in my 20s when I sprouted a few grey hairs. When my mother would spy those errant hairs she would surmise that I, like her own kid sister, would be prematurely grey in my mid-20s. “Or bald,” I remember muttering under my breath when she would pluck them from my head without warning. My mother was wrong, though she would not live long enough to know it.

Now I am in my late 50s — almost the age that my mother was when she died. I, too, have just a sprinkling of grey hair. “I’ve earned these highlights,” I would tease my own, grown children. “You gave them to me.”

Almost 30 years after I was married, I faced another change in my life as my marriage ended. Perhaps in the beginning, the shock of my marital upset caused me to take less of an interest in my appearance, but somewhere along the way, I consciously started to let my short hair grow out once again.

It seemed fitting to mark the end of my marriage, like a Jewish mourner, by refraining from cutting my hair. As I noticed my hair getting longer, I realized an odd kind of symmetry. If traditional Jewish brides cut their hair at marriage, perhaps it made sense that a divorced woman should grow her hair. This time my hair got longer than it has ever been.

I colored it briefly. “Not to cover the grey, but just a rinse to restore your old color,” my hairdresser encouraged me, and I capitulated for my oldest son’s wedding. I think the only person that really noticed was my youngest son who spied the shampoo for color-treated hair in the shower and rolled his eyes loudly. The change was anything but radical, but I was self-conscious as it grew out. And something felt dishonest and unnatural about the even shade that stared back at me in the mirror.

When the grey surfaced again, I decided not to cover it. The next time I sat in the hairdresser’s chair for a trim, I said, “Highlight it! Don’t cover the grey, but add some highlights for interest!” When she was done, the result was subtle, but as the weeks went by and I spent time painting “en plein aire,” the sun seems to mix with my chemical highlights and add some of its own.

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Now my hair is long and free. It forms exuberant coils that surround my face, and I don’t try to match anyone else’s idea of style. The natural grey mixes with golden highlights given to me by the hairdresser and by the sun. I look in the mirror and I have a hard-won sense of satisfaction at the face that smiles back at me. I am trying harder to accept the gracious compliments I receive.

The other day, a young woman — one of my son’s friends — came up to me at shul and told me she loved my hair.

While secretly pleased, I tried to silence the familiar, critical voice in my head that questioned what she really meant.

Was she trying to tell me that something about my hair was wrong? Was I calling too much attention to myself? I pushed those thoughts out of my head as I thanked her, but she was still searching for more words.

“Your hair looks so… so… happy,” she blurted out, and we both broke into grins. After all those years of trying to tame my hair, I have finally accepted it. Like me, it has a will of its own. I realize I have “happy hair” and I like it.

Marilyn Rose is an artist, writer, illustrator, graphic designer and itinerant painter. She is currently working on a book of essays called “Vegetable Soup for My Soul.” Her paintings can be seen on her Web site, MarilynRoseArt.com.

Negev Diary

continued from page 8 explore the makhtesh by Jeep, razor (a small car), biking, hiking, rappelling and horseback (bar mitzvah and wedding packages are available). At the spa, I pamper myself with a salt and lavender body scrub. It’s a tough assignment, but someone has to do it.

Day 4: Ben-Gurion

I wake up before sunrise to take a photography walk in the sculpture park on the hotel grounds. A Stonehenge-type sculpture lends a prehistoric aura, a monument to the footsteps of primitive man.

Another sculpture mimics the contours of the flat-topped cliff, now silhouetted against the lightening sky. A few hardy shrubs sprout from rocky crevices, and sometimes an ibex emerges. As the sun rises, an ethereal sight unfolds: a sole gray cloud spreads like a pair of angel wings, creating a canopy above the sun’s perfect orb. At the edge of the man-made reflection pool, a single tire floats precipitously.

Breakfast surpasses expectations, even for Israeli buffets known for their sumptuousness. The pan-Mediterranean restaurant purchases ingredients from local kibbutzim and farms like Kornmehl. How do you choose from the assortment of local artisan cheeses and yogurts; from the palette of fresh salads and veggies in vibrant oranges, greens and reds; from warm breads, crisp crackers (my favorite are studded with black nigella seeds), fresh and dried fruit? (Answer: You sample a little of everything!) The open kitchen turns out omelets, puddings, mini-quiches, shakshuka, sweet ricotta baked in birds’ nest pastry, croissants and cheesecakes.

I have to laugh at a crock of porridge labeled “Semolina Mess!” Yes, good art does come from — and for — the belly.

Today is a day of tribute to Ben-Gurion. His signature bald pate and fluff of hair, intimidating brow and slight smile are molded into a huge stone bust at the entrance to the Ben-Gurion Archives in Sde Boker. The low-tech, modest archive — a research laboratory — holds thousands of files from 1900 to 1973 organized according to document type.

Letters, memos, telegrams, diaries, speeches, articles and correspondence

are stored in metal bookcases in handlabeled cardboard boxes. Sometimes a box contains a day, and sometimes, 12 years. (Most of the files in the archive are scanned and available on the Internet.) The archives are helping researchers examine deep philosophical inquiries about Israeliness, Jewishness, Zionism and the multifaceted contexts in which Israel exists.

As for Ben-Gurion the man, he knew his place in history. He made handwritten copies of letters before they were mailed, so both the letter and reply are preserved. He indexed the small pocket diaries that he filled with facts and data and had them typed while he was alive. But readers who might expect juicy entries will be disappointed.

Dec. 5, 1917: “At 11:30 in the morning I married a wife.” Ben-Gurion did show some emotion in his entry for May 14, 1948, the date of the declaration of the state. “1 pm. We author the text of the declaration.” “4 pm. And again I am a mourner among the joyful, as I was on November 29 [the day the U.N. accepted the partition plan].” Ben-Gurion knew the consequences of both historic decisions would entail bloodshed.

Ben-Gurion uttered his famous vision for the Negev in 1935, when he visited the area as president of the Jewish Agency: “What’s missing,” he said, “are Jews and water.” His dream of populating the Negev with five million people is still far from reality (population in 2010: 627,000), but many of the scientific achievements he foresaw (like desalination) have come to fruition. He, himself, settled in Sde Boker (literally, Fields of Cowboys) shortly after the kibbutz was founded in 1952. Of the 18 founders, the oldest was 25. Ben-Gurion was already a 67-year-old grandfather. The kibbutz did not want him for political, practical and security reasons. But he persisted until they accepted his membership.

None of his three children and seven grandchildren ever lived in the Negev.

At his request, Ben-Gurion’s “hut” — the small house he lived in for 20 years until his death in 1973 — is open to the public. It showcases his personal background and his love of the Negev.

The living room is decorated with a large map of Israel; a copy of the Declaration of Independence; a fruit plate with a pic-

ture of the Israeli flag; a hanukkiah that plays “Hatikvah,” and other souvenirs and gifts. Ben-Gurion had three heroes, all of whom fought for freedom: Lincoln holds court in the living room; Gandhi looks out at a spartan bedroom (almost empty except for a cot and 50 books on a nightstand); a miniature of Michelangelo’s Moses stands on one of the bookcases in the study, crammed with 5,000 books in 9 languages on every subject except sports and cooking. Ben-Gurion’s glasses rest on his desk as he left them.

Ben-Gurion and his wife, Paula, are buried side by side in a simple plot overlooking the breathtaking Zin Canyon, south of Sde Boker. The graves are inscribed only with their names in Hebrew and three dates: birth, death and aliyah (1906). Ben-Gurion did not want elaborate eulogies or inscriptions. But one of the quotes that lines the walkway to his hut seems apt: “Wisdom goes with south. It is written, whoever seeks wisdom, south he shall go.”

Thousands of years ago, the 12 biblical spies set out to scout the land from this very spot: Midbar Zin, the wilderness of Zin. I imagine them hiding in the cliffs and canyons, wondering how to live in this craggy yet wondrous landscape, clambering up hills that resemble tents pitched on sandy rocks.

Though they returned with a cluster of grapes — tangible bounty of a land flowing with milk and honey — 10 of the spies also articulated a lack of faith that deterred their brethren from going forth. Ben-Gurion did not harbor that sense of powerlessness. The horizon, he believed, was the limit for human and national achievement.

Three young Israeli soldiers who head down the cement path toward the graves interrupt my reverie. Two carry guitars. They are on leave, these contemporary Israelites in the desert of their ancestors. I take picture after picture, captivated by the ancient lens and the modern one.

Rachel Musleah is a New York-based writer, author, singer and educator who presents programs on the Jews of India and Iraq. She wrote “Do-It-Yourself Judaism” in our spring 2012 issue. Visit her Web site: www.raheljewishIndia.com.

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Book The Arrogant Years: One Girl’s Search for Her Lost Youth, from Cairo to Brooklyn

By Lucette Lagnado New York: HarperCollins 416 pages, $25.99

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ucette Lagnado is the winner of the 2008 Sami Rohr Prize for her book The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit, which describes her family’s life and 1950’s exodus from Egypt, focusing on her father. She now has a follow-up memoir, The Arrogant Years, which appealingly entwines the story of three generations of women with the depiction of Jewish life in Egypt. I found The Arrogant Years as arresting as Jung Chang’s memorable Wild Swans, which deals with three generations of Chinese women. However, Lagnado’s focus is less on politics and more on recapturing the thriving Jewish community in Cairo and the circle of worshippers at the Shield of Young David, the Orthodox synagogue Lagnado attended in New York.

Lagnado starts her story in New York during her arrogant years, which she defines as “that period in a young woman’s life when she feels — and is — on top of the world.” The 10-year-old Lagnado’s ambition was to grow up to be like the secret agent Emma Peel in “The Avengers.” She was spirited and rebellious and wanted to challenge the rule that placed the females in her synagogue behind the mehitza. She came up with a ploy and persuaded some of the other girls to cooperate with her. They placed chairs outside the entrance to the women’s section, and over a period of time kept advancing their position until they were within the sight of the men — until the teenage boys and the men yelled at them to return. The cantor’s wife, a forbidding woman who considered Lagnado to be a bad influence, remained angry and silent. Later, 24

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the act of transcending the divider becomes a metaphor in the novel for escaping into the men’s world. We are intrigued by the girl who posed a threat to the chauvinistic traditions of the synagogue.

Lagnado shifts her story to Cairo in the 1920s and 1930s, when traditions and barriers were broken. In 1923, the leading feminist of Cairo tore off her veil at a train station. “Hoda’s friends who came to greet her were stunned by her action, but then they, too, yanked the veils from their faces and cast them aside in solidarity and, voila, a liberation movement was born among the least liberated women in the world.” The social changes that swept the country led to tolerance; Jews and Muslims and Christians mingled freely.

The Jews rose to the top in every sector, and some were given the titles “pasha” (the greatest honor) and “bey” (the second greatest honor) by the king. When Europe was swept up by anti-Semitism, Egypt embraced Jews.

We learn about the Jewish pasha who wielded the most influence over King Fouad and, later, his son King Farouk. The wife of the pasha, officially the lady-in-waiting to the queen, was Madame Alice Cattaui Pasha. There is a portrait of her in the book, looking regally at the camera. Madame Cattaui, one of the most powerful women in the city, took an interest in the Jewish schools. It was in the L’École Cattaui, where she was a benefactress, that she met Lagnado’s mother, Edith, a teacher at age 20. Madame Cattaui bestowed on Edith the key to the library in her residence, an honor the girl (who had read all of Proust by age 15) would cherish then and much later in life when she remembered her own arrogant years.

Edith had much to be proud of — she was beautiful and stylishly dressed, in-

telligent, a teacher, and she had access to the Villa Cattaui’s library. The pasha entrusted her with the important job of organizing a library for the school by selecting books that might be available only in Europe and America. Edith was the emotional support for her mother, Alexandra, who was an abandoned wife, reduced to begging money from her relatives. Edith also cared for her younger brother, since her mother had escaped from reality into a world of books and cinema. We don’t see Alexandra in her arrogant years. The sole snapshot of her in the memoir shows a tired-looking melancholic woman, whereas we see the shift in Edith from resplendence to a worn-out appearance through several pictures. Mother and daughter were close and spent much of their time together. Alexandra’s pride was her daughter.

Edith’s life seemed to take on a fairy tale quality when she wed a man who had it all outwardly — social status, money, a stylish mode of dressing. However, it soon became apparent that the marriage would be difficult for the bride, 22 years younger than her bridegroom. In addition to giving up her teaching job and the privilege of entry to the library, she had to live with her mother-in-law.

It wasn’t merely the objections of her husband that stopped Edith from having a job, but also the law in Egypt that made it impossible for most married women to work. Through her mother’s life, Lagnado shows us how marriage can frustrate a woman by prematurely ending her arrogant years.

The charmed existence of Jewish life in Cairo began to be threatened.

Mobs incinerated foreign quarters.

Lagnado laments the destruction of the department store, Shepheard’s, which epitomized the empire and was

the place where her father announced his engagement to her mother. Soon after the fires, the military, led

by General Muhammed Naguib, forced King Farouk to abdicate in 1952. The Jews lost their confidence since the king had been their protector. The reassurances of Naguib didn’t assuage their fears. The hostile attitude of the regime included policy changes that led to the arrest of Jewish leaders and elimination of the titles pasha and bey. Most Jews resettled in other countries.

Alexandra immigrated to Israel, where her son had gone years earlier.

Lagnado’s immediate family went to France, then to Brooklyn in 1964. She brings alive the people who worshipped at her synagogue and their culture. Her personality as a thinker and rebel is developed in those pages. Though she also writes about her siblings and her father, the spotlight is mainly Lagnado and her mother, who was “so convinced I had it in me to realize her dreams.” Every now and then she reminds us of her passion to be an agent like Emma Peel. Nor does she let us forget the divider that kept the females in their place.

Edith never recaptured her lost glory. However, the changed family circumstances and life in America enabled her to have a job in the Brooklyn Public Library, which let her indulge in her passion for books again.

Lagnado’s arrogant years ended tragically due to illness, leaving her unable to have any children, but she fulfilled her dream of becoming an Emma Peel of sorts through her work as an investigative reporter.

Concluding The Arrogant Years, Lagnado revisits the characters who peopled her memoir and even returns to Cairo and gives us sad glimpses of Madame Cattaui. Our emotions are

stoked the most at the end when she tries to reconnect to her dead mother. The last paragraph transmits her yearning to the reader very touchingly. “As I fingered each volume, I felt a need to remove them from the shelf and hold them. I kept asking myself: Was this a book Edith had purchased for the pasha’s library?

Was this a novel she had selected? Had she leafed through this collection? Had she enjoyed that anthology? Brushing over the soft leather jackets, I felt as if I were touching my mother’s hand, exactly as I had as a little girl when she would not let me go, she would not let me go.”

The Arrogant Years is brilliantly conceived and executed. Its 400 pages chronicling Lagnado’s Jewish heritage and personal and familial history make for a spellbinding read. She has depicted an era in Cairo that the world shouldn’t forget.

— Tara Menon

Ben-Gurion: A Political Life

By Shimon Peres with David Landau New York: Nextbook/Schocken 224 pages, $25.95

T

hroughout his life, Ben-Gurion often said, “We are a nation with a wealth of prophets but a dearth of statesmen,” Shimon Peres tells journalist David Landau in this intimate political biography of Israel’s first prime minister. As the youngest member of Ben-Gurion’s inner circle, Peres shares personal glimpses of the man who mentored him for more than three decades.

He also explains why Ben-Gurion is considered Israel’s first and greatest statesman.

This slim volume is surprisingly comprehensive in telling the story of

the Zionist movement in pre-state Israel and Ben-Gurion’s critical role in leading its fractious parties to statehood. “I truly believe that without Ben-Gurion, the State of Israel would not have come into being,” Peres asserts. As a 24-yearold delegate to the Zionist Congress held in Basel in 1946, Peres witnessed Ben-Gurion, then chairman of the Jewish Agency (the pre-state governing body of Palestinian Jews), taking two of his most historically significant stands: first, to establish an independent state “at once” — putting him in direct conflict with Chaim Weizmann, president of the World Zionist Organization, who still argued at this late date for a “gradualist” approach with Britain; and second, to accept a partition plan (a proposal to divide Mandatory Palestine into two states, for Jews and Arabs, recommended by the Peel Commission in 1937) — if it would result in immediate independence. His stand on partition evoked fierce opposition at both ends of the political spectrum, and even from some members of Mapai, his own Labor Zionist party.

It was clear to Ben-Gurion that the essential first step toward statehood was to force the British to leave Palestine.

Britain had ignored the recommendations of the Peel Commission when it adopted the 1939 “White Paper” as its official policy, severely restricting Jewish immigration to Palestine before and during World War II. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Britain continued to blockade its ports to prevent ships filled with survivors from entering.

In response, Ben-Gurion ordered the Haganah (the military defense organization of Jewish Palestine) to launch an armed uprising against the British.

Their mission was sabotage — cutting railroad lines, damaging British ships, and blowing up bridges linking Palestine to neighboring countries. One month later, he created the Hebrew SUMMER 2012

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BOOK REVIEWS Resistance Movement (forerunner of the Israel Defense Forces), inviting Etzel and Lehi, the other two Zionist fighting forces, to join “on the condition that they accept a unified command and total discipline.” Ben-Gurion insisted on this condition because he firmly opposed Lehi’s terror tactics. He regarded Lehi’s murder of Lord Moyne in 1944 and Etzel’s bombing of British headquarters at the King David Hotel in 1946 as severely damaging to the Zionist cause.

Even during Israel’s 1948 war with five invading Arab armies, Ben-Gurion would not countenance independent militias. Just four weeks after Israel’s declaration of statehood, Etzel’s leader, Menachem Begin, attempted to land the Altalena, a ship purchased by Etzel and carrying weapons specifically intended for Etzel troops. Although Israel badly needed these arms, Ben-Gurion declared: “There are not going to be two states and there are not going to be two armies,” and ordered the IDF to resist the Altalena’s landing. A skirmish on the beach in Tel Aviv led to the bombardment of the ship, which resulted in 19 deaths. This incident of Jews fighting Jews remains a painful memory for Israelis, but Peres maintains, “If BenGurion had not faced down Etzel and disbanded the Palmach [an elite unit of the Haganah with a separate command structure], we would have had a seriously compromised state right from the start.”

Ultimately, the Arab states did not accept the United Nations Partition Plan passed in 1947, and Israel’s boundaries were determined by the war that followed. Nevertheless, Peres praises BenGurion’s decision to accept partition to create a Jewish state as “an historical act of political wisdom.” Ben-Gurion also had to defend territorial compromises made in the armistice agreements brokered by a U.N.-appointed commission, which ended the war of 1948. “We want a Jewish state, even if not in the whole country,” he argued at the first meeting of the new Knesset. “We believe that the creation of the state, albeit on less than Greater Israel, was the greatest act 26

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in Jewish history since ancient times. The criterion by which to judge these armistice agreements is whether they are better than no agreements, not whether they are better than a miracle.” (In these agreements, Israel wound up with 50 percent more land than in the original Partition Plan, but Jerusalem became a divided city and the West Bank was annexed by Jordan.)

In praising Ben-Gurion’s pragmatism as a state-builder, particularly his decision to accept partition, Peres brings Ben-Gurion’s legacy to bear on the current political conflict in Israel — namely, between those who insist that the West Bank is part of the Jewish people’s biblical inheritance and would not give it up for a Palestinian state, and those who would support a two-state solution in order to keep Israel a Jewish and democratic state and avoid ruling over a Palestinian majority.

While the relevance of Ben-Gurion’s decisions is clear for the contemporary Israeli debate on these issues — as Peres repeatedly points out — unmentioned and hovering in the background is the current Palestinian campaign in the U.N. for statehood. At this critical juncture, are the Palestinians ready for a two-state solution? Will Palestinian leaders emerge who put the needs of their people first and accept compromises to solve them? Will they crack down on terrorists and extremist factions that reject coexistence with Israel? Will there be statesmen among them with the courage and conscience of a Ben-Gurion to lead them to statehood?

— BonnyV. Fetterman

Love and Shame and Love

by Peter Orner Boston: Little Brown and Company 440 pages, $24.99

N

ow I want to read Peter Orner’s other books, especially his Esther Stories.

What this book is about isn’t easy to say. It’s the story of three genera-

tions of Jews in Chicago — the Popper family. It’s a family album, collaged together in what feels like a random way. It’s a novel about what we do and don’t remember, about history, about how we live deeply in the past — and about how the lives of each one of us is interconnected, episodic, irrational and, in the end, supremely mysterious.

Orner’s writing is episodic, which for some reason that I don’t understand is entirely out of favor in the world of literature. I love it. The author doesn’t care how long his chapters are. Some are very short, less than a page. Their titles are unexpected, and so is the rhythm of the prose.

Alexander Popper is our hero and anti-hero. Some reviewers have compared this novel to Saul Bellow, but Orner and his Popper don’t have the I-Know-Everything quality of Bellow’s men. Popper is humble. Popper is imperfect. He’s befuddled, a schlemiel.

Popper falls in love with Kat, one of the best characters I’ve ever read. She is disarmingly honest. She tells Popper what she thinks and is free from the usual emotional constraints. Kat is so good that the reader knows right away that the relationship can’t work. Still, we’re happy to meet her. As is Popper.

They even have a baby, Ella.

Here’s a whole chapter, titled “ELLA”: “Kat telling him on the phone about waking up with Ella, and he heard nothing after that, only waking up with Ella, and still holding the phone he went to the kitchen and pressed a fork into the veins of his wrist. She sleeps like a holdup victim with her hands over her head. It’s like she’s practicing to get mugged…

Popper?”

There’s Alexander Popper’s paternal grandfather, Seymour. We meet him in the chapter called “In the Driveway”: “Seymour was finally forced to sell. His company had been losing money for years. It wasn’t a big company, but it wasn’t a small one either, and it had made him rich, for a time. The story

Aylon

continued from page 13 of how it unraveled is convoluted, and every time Popper used to ask about it, he’d get a different version.”

The story goes back and forth and back again in time. Not in the usual the-years-mount-up way. Not sequential either. The years just fall together in no discernable order. Past, present and future are given equal due.

There are the love letters from 1945, short self-contained chapters — a whole story in a few sentences — written by Seymour, who joined the Navy against his wife’s wishes. He was 39 and it was the end of the war. He seems to love Bernice but not understand her.

Anyway, he’s a soldier and she’s his safe haven. She’s the one he tells things to.

After a love letter, the next chapter might be now or 1975. The narrator doesn’t worry about the reader holding onto many stories, which belong together yet stand apart. Orner is such a good writer, graceful and easy, moving easily between decades, between characters and ideas — comic and sorrowful. The reader feels full confidence in the unusual narrative license as years quickly move back and forth — and people, too. In their fragments of conversation, they reveal themselves, their secret shames, their lies, their disappointments, their hungers.

Near the end of the book, Popper, now in his early 30s, is standing on a street corner. He hasn’t evolved. He’s had no big Aha moment. He lives and he knows. He stands next to a woman he hasn’t seen in years. She’d been extremely imposing once. He observes, “The years have ground the Rosencrantzes down to a more Popperish size.”

Here’s a section from the middle of the book that could also be the ending. It’s a one-page chapter called “The Guest Room”: “They’d never had many guests. A closed-door room in a house of closed doors. Two closets, one locked. This is where the silver is kept.

Always the threat that no matter how much a part of the family the help, they still one day might be tempted to run off with the silver.”

— Esther Cohen

with a proclamation — Aylon’s frequent way of getting messages across verbally along with the visual. Here, she respectfully asks that women be permitted to judge and give testimony, and she petitions for an apology to all females who weren’t allowed to judge — and whose judgments will never be known — because they weren’t men. “In this way, all women will be honored and God will be honored,” she notes. (See Aylon’s Web site, www.heleneaylon.com for a look at the other installations and more of her work.)

Aylon tells me that her most recent official work of art is the minimalist “Eternal Light,” a metal rectangle with a pink neon dash in the center. It “sums up my whole career,” she observes. She has taken away everything else. This is the essence.

Does this mean she has come to some conclusions? No. As she writes in her memoir, “I cannot come to any conclusion.” She tries to “keep my balance, holding paradoxes, waiting to see what will happen,” as in her “Paintings That Change.” But, she adds, “Judaism remains a constant.”

What’s next? I ask Aylon, as I know she will not just wait for things to happen. The artist says she’s thinking about a return to process painting and wants to “deal with civilization, with where did we go wrong with nature and civilization, about the intersection and explosion of the two.” She blames patriarchy — no surprise.

I

t’s Passover. Aylon and I are sitting in her loft eating matzo and cantaloupe. She has just returned from Princeton where her “Conservadox” son held a seder (her son is Nathaniel Fisch, director of the Program in Plasma Physics and professor of astrophysical sciences at Princeton University, and her daughter is the drama therapy pioneer Renée Emunah). She remarks that many physicists are Orthodox Jews. I tell her about the two seders I attended — both argumentative, provocative, questioning and yet also traditional. Which brings us to the endless conversation about God. I, too, have my God issues, but growing

up in a progressive Jewish atmosphere, I have not had to wrestle with it the way an Orthodox Jewish woman might. Aylon’s “Beit Din” was supposed to be the finale, she notes with humor, but she is “still not finished with God.” I understand, though I carry fewer peckels.

Aylon directs me to a series of photographs she did in 2010, titled “Self-Portrait: The Unmentionable.”

Text from the Bible and other Jewish sources are projected on Aylon’s face.

In one, the holiest name for God, the unpronounceable Hashem, appears on her forehead. The four Hebrew letters of the Name — YHVH — translate to past, was; present, is; future, will be.

She says: “I realized this is eternity. God is eternity, whatever that is.”

Truth is what Aylon seeks. “And Godliness — not the limited and unevolved hierarchal God of the Bible.”

She has studied Kabbala, she explains, “where God is everywhere and everything, and there is no end — Ein Sof.” Reviewing her years of wrestling with Judaism and her changing sense of the human concept of God, she has written: “The truth shall make you free, and I must not shrug off the discomforts.

That is the gain. Of course, ignorance is bliss, and I can never attain that sense of joyous confidence that faith inspires.

I can say thank you [to God], but I find it difficult to say please, thinking that my plea will be answered. How can anyone think that after the Holocaust?”

She tells me: “There’s a thirst for spiritual elevation and the Torah does not quench this thirst. Some passages make us flinch and squirm and we had better seek a rationale. The music can stir the spirit to rise. The wisdom and elasticity of the Kabbala can touch that same chord. The word Matronita takes away the stigma of an ‘old lady’ and now that same person can be considered an elder woman from whom others seek guidance.

A Matronita can write proclamations. We can all aspire to grow into Matronitas.”

So when will I be a Matronita? I ask Aylon. Maybe at 65, she tells me. We laugh. My future foremother is a hard act to follow.

Judith A. Sokoloff is the editor of Na’amat Woman. She is also a ceramic artist.

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ALICE ELEANOR HOWARD

N

a’amat

USA mourns the passing of former national president Alice Eleanor Howard.

She brought great verve, dedication and enthusiasm to her role as president from 2004 to 2007.

Her commitment to Israel was unwavering through her support of many organizations, but Na’amat was her love, and she took much pleasure in working toward its goals of providing social services for women, children and families in Israel.

President

continued from page 3 tance of a pro-active approach to women’s health issues.

The Women’s Health Care Center in Karmiel offers vital post-surgery counseling and therapy regarding reentering the workforce, the impact of a major illness on the entire family, and combating recovery depression and anxieties concerning the ability to lead a normal life again.

From our e-mail blasts and articles in Na’amat Woman, which you can read online, you have received information about our advocacy in the United States on behalf of women and children.

The national board of Na’amat USA is committed to active participation in addressing pending legislation that would curtail rights that we, as women, thought were our personal decisions concerning health and well being. Unfortunately, the “War on Women” is being fought on many fronts, both personal and public.

Israeli women are also facing similar concerns. Several months ago, Na’amat Israel responded to a plea from women living in areas where ultra-Orthodox communities try to enforce women and girls to retreat from the public sphere.

They have demanded that women and girls — who were “only” Modern Orthodox — accept extremist dress codes, and refuse to allow all women, non-religious and haredi, to sit (or stand) anywhere except in the back of the bus.

Large numbers of Na’amat Israel members responded to the plea and took to the streets — and buses — to 28

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SUMMER 2012

Alice was president of Natanya club and San Fernando Valley Council, and served as Na’amat USA’s Western Area coordinator before becoming national president.

We express our heartfelt condolences to her husband, Leo Howard; her daughter, Jane Howard Blitz; her sons, Alan and Scott; her daughterin-law, Marcy; and her grandchildren and greatgrandchildren.

She will be greatly missed.

support the general female population’s right to ride on public buses without restrictions.

As members of Na’amat USA we help to provide many services for Israeli society in an ever-expanding range of programs and services based on the current needs in Israel.

And now we have moved into some new and challenging areas in the United States: Our national Membership Department is installing a new computer program that will allow us to modernize our dues billing, personalize membership communications, and allow us to take innovative approaches for membership recruitment and donations.

Our national spokesperson Mayim Bialik has encouraged the general public to support Na’amat USA through her video and blog. Her interest in the programs that Na’amat supports has helped to increase traffic to our Web site.

Na’amat USA is currently on Facebook, Linkedin and Twitter, all sites that have led to more connections. With the improved Web site, our award-winning magazine is getting more attention and readers. An example: The striking cover of the winter 2011/2012 issue featuring women comic artists has appeared on other Web sites, bringing us more links and accolades.

Our Small Projects Program has been very successful, providing a way for clubs and councils to make a “personal connection” with Na’amat Israel programs and facilities, and to help meet fund-raising quotas on the local level.

The Circle of Love campaign was

reinvigorated just before Passover.

It’s a wonderful way for members and friends to make new or additional contributions for the children in Na’amat’s multipurpose centers.

Our efforts to solicit donations online — through our redesigned Web site — has also seen a good response, not just from our members, but also from the community at large; the site has also generated new memberships.

Please remember to make sure that your club and/or council send e-mail addresses of members, family and friends to the national office so that they can be included in our e-mail blasts.

The public relations that we are doing now through all types of social media and methods of communication are wonderful and rewarding, but we must not forget the personal connections. It was a personal connection that spurred the formation of our organization through the lifeline of water — and the flow of caring and concern for Israel continues to enrich and sustain that lifeline today.

Each new method, each experience, each life we touch adds to the success of Na’amat USA and Na’amat Israel. What would our founders recognize in the scope and work of Na’amat today? They would, I’m sure, indeed see a miracle.

Thank you for all you do to make this miracle continue to blossom throughout Israel. May you go from strength to strength in this new fiscal year!

AROUND THE COUNTRY √ National board member Marcia J. Weiss, left, is installed as president of Pittsburgh Council

by Judy Kornblith Kobell, outgoing president.

π Mazal and Or clubs of South Florida Council hosted a 28th Anniversary Luncheon, which honored the lives of Edith Castoriano, Ruth Gold, Anita Karl, Sala Lewis, Basia Lederman, Annie Rotter and Ann Rosenheck — all Holocaust survivors. Guest speaker Stanley Aaron Lebovic, author of Black Is a Color, spoke about his father, also a survivor. From left: Anabel Peicher, council president Raquel Rub, Sala Lewis, Edith Castoriano, Ruth Gold, Anita Karl, Basia Lederman, Annie Rotter and event chair Fanny Yohai.

Washington Council holds ® its Annual Spiritual Adoption Luncheon, featuring guest speaker Debbie Troy Stewart, Eastern Area coordinator. Cantor Lisa Levine provided the entertainment, singing Ladino and Yiddish songs.

From left: Debbie Troy Stewart, council president Ruth Reid, Trudy Stone, Beth Troy, Eastern Area administrator Ange Nadel.

π At the recent Esther Goldsmith club (Lakewood, New Jersey) Child Care Scholarship Luncheon, life member Irma Komar (right) won the raffle prize: a beautiful Bedouin needlepoint. Next to her is club president and national board member Debbie Troy Stewart.

πPalm Beach Council celebrates Na’amat USA’s 86th anniversary with a festive luncheon. A large crowd came to hear national president Elizabeth Raider give an update on Na’amat Israel activities. Entertainment by Cantor Manny Silver rounded out the exciting program. From left: Joyce Schildkraut, event co-chair; Rhoda Birnbaum, council president; Elizabeth Raider; Shirley Marshak, event co-chair; and Raena Zucker, council fund-raising vice president.

π At the national board meeting in May, vice president Gail Simpson encouraged members to put their club and council photos on the Na’amat USA’s Facebook page. On the right is president Elizabeth Raider.

π Long Island/Queens Council held its annual feminist Passover seder.

From left, seated: Trudy Sinn, Marsha Jafee, Carol Knecht and Linda Biderman; standing: Leslie Berlin, Nadine Simon, Barbara Adler, Florence Lefkowitz, Eleanor Blackman, Rhonda Eisenstadt, Judy Schanker, Laura Smith, Tal Ourian, Maddy Berger and Shelly Tivin.

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Welcome to the New Life Members of NA’AMAT USA

Wish Your Friends and Family

EASTERN AREA Elaine Kitchner Brooklyn, N.Y. Karen Roberts DeWitt, N.Y.

With Na’amat USA New Year Cards

MIDWEST AREA Sharon Kolesky Northbrook, Ill. Marilyn Myers Orange Village, Ohio

WESTERN AREA Lois Joseph Las Vegas, Nev. Nadolyn Karchmer Las Vegas, Nev. Merle Mitzmacher Las Vegas, Nev. Pauline Newland Valencia, Calif.

FRIENDS Yosef Haim, Beverly Hills, Calif.

Rubin Hekmat, Los Angeles, Calif.

Leonard Skolnik, Beachwood, Ohio

“Shana Tova” It’s not too early to order our lovely, made-in-Israel New Year cards for 5773.

The inside message reads: May the year bring you the blessing of health, happiness and prosperity in a world of peace.

Please place your order through your council office. Non-council clubs may order through tribute card chairwomen or presidents.

Order now, before our limited quantity runs out.

Circle of Love Donors NA’AMAT USA wholeheartedly thanks the following who have joined our Circle of Love, providing scholarships for needy Israeli children to attend a NA’AMAT multipurpose day care center.

One ($2,000) or More In Memory of Shoshi Grad and Blessing Sivitz Jeannette Roth Samuel Sayward June and Bernard Sperling Chellie and Yankee Wilensky Others Rita Berman Miriam Brillman Dallas Jewish Community Foundation Pamela B. Delgado Oscar Epstein Sophie Fisch Harriet Green Judy & Andrew Green Jan Gurvitch Sybil Lieberman Marcia M. Markowitz Marcia Pevsner Jean Puttler Karen Rosen Esther P. Sardas Blanche Sohn Bernice Weinstein Ruth Weiss Evelyn Zebker

30

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SUMMER 2012

NA’AMAT USA would love to be in touch with you!

Go to www.naamat.org/email and sign up to receive special newsletters and the latest information via e-mail or send your e-mail address to naamat@naamat.org.

Na’amat USA values your privacy. Your e-mail address will never be sold or provided to an outside party.

NA’AMAT USA is counting on YOU.

Please pay your annual dues TODAY -- only $36.

Or become a Life Member and never pay dues again -- $250.

You are Invited to Join the NA’AMAT USA

Circle of Love A child’s future is in your hands! That child needs our Circle of Love to be nurtured and set on the road to a happy and productive life.

Each Circle of Love provides a scholarship for an at-risk child to attend one of Na’amat’s multipurpose centers.

These centers provide not only quality education, but also psychological and special needs services — all in a loving environment, 12 hours a day.

A single donation of $2,000 completes a circle.

Ten people, each donating $200, will also create a circle.

Donors’ names will be inscribed on the Circle of Love wall in Israel and appear in Na’amat Woman magazine.

With your help, the Circle of Love will be never-ending.

Please contact the national office for additional information.

Phone: 212-563-5222; e-mail: naamat@naamat.org; Web site: www.naamat.org.

To All Annual Members: YOU CAN WIN A LIFE MEMBERSHIP! Name

Pay your 2012-2013 dues of $36 by October 1, 2012, and your name will be entered in a drawing for a life membership.

The winner’s name will be announced in the fall issue of Na’amat Woman.

Address

City/State/Zip

Council/Club E-mail

Phone

Charge to my credit card. American Express Card #

Visa

MasterCard Exp. Date

Signature

Or make check payable to Na’amat USA, 505 Eighth Avenue, Suite 2302, New York, NY 10018.

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31

Connect With the Women and Youth of Israel.

Join Na’amat USA! The largest women’s organization in Israel, Na’amat works to improve the status of women and provides educational and social services for women, children, teenagers and families.

A Voice for Women and Children — A Voice for Israel.

With 300,000 members — Jewish, Arab and Druze women — and 30 branches, Na’amat provides a huge social service network throughout all of Israel.

DAY CARE for 18,000

children, infants through preschoolers, including 25 MULTIPURPOSE centers for at-risk children

agricultural boarding schools, vocational training classes for adult Jewish women and women in the Arab and Druze communities

Thirty LEGAL AID BUREAUS provide

women with legal advice and representation for issues relating to employment, divorce, marriage, single parenting and aging

Glickman Center for the Preven­tion and Treatment of Domestic Violence and a

shelter for battered women

Community centers and women’s clubs throughout the entire country Fighting for the advancement of women so they can be full and equal

participants in the social, economic and political spheres of Israeli society

SCHOLARSHIPS for women to pursue higher

education

Assisting in the social integration and education of new immigrants Five Women’s rights centers provide legal, financial and family counseling; mediation, workshops and support groups For more information, please contact NA’AMAT USA, 505 Eighth Avenue, Suite 2302 New York, N.Y. 10018 Phone: 212-563-5222 Web site: www.naamat.org

Photos by Judith A. Sokoloff

Eighteen

TECHNOLOGICal high schools, two