My father
never had a burning desire to live in Israel. When, in !933, his mother knew
they needed to leave Germany, America was always their focus. Yes, she had two
sisters who had settled in Palestine but they were struggling. Her
brother-in-law, on the other hand, had come to The Golden Medina before
World War One. He made his fortune, had connections with a Congressman, and
managed to get my father into the United States in 1937 with one brother coming
six months later and the rest of the family coming after The Kristallnacht.
America
didn’t have a more loyal citizen than my father and he often said to me,
“America took me in when I had no place to go.” He believed that a good Jew
supported Israel financially but wasn’t even interested in visiting the Holy
Land. It was only in 1975, because my mother wanted it so badly, that he agreed
to a trip to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. It was a good vacation
but he probably had no intentions of making a return trip.
That changed
eleven years later when his only child, me, left the nation he had so much
gratitude to and Israel became my home. He retired a year later and he and my
mother came to see for themselves our new surroundings. At that time they were
in their sixties and it wasn’t an easy journey. Since they lived in the center
of America they couldn’t arrive in Israel without taking three, tiring flights.
Still, they came again and again, for four Bar Mitzvahs and several more times
just so they could see all their grandchildren at once.
After my
mother died my father came by himself for three weddings. And then, following
emergency surgery, the oncologist gave him two months to live. Thankfully, he
agreed to make Aliyah and come live with me. He arrived the day before Chanukah
and as the doctor’s two months stretched until almost a year, he merited
celebrating all the holidays with us.
By the time
Purim came around he had recovered from his surgery and was able to enjoy the
little schoolgirls who brought him mishloch manot. My father sat at a
seat of honor at our Pesach seder and it was thrilling to have four generations
at the table. Like every year the weeks between Pesach and Shavuot were marked
with special days, none more special than Israel Independence Day.
My father
declined to accompany us to the special, crowded prayers and dancing in the
evening and most certainly on the hike we took with family friends the
following morning, but in the afternoon he was very much a part of our potluck
Independence Day BBQ.
While by
himself he watched various documentaries and relived memories of the
establishment of the Jewish state in 1948. That was at a time before computers,
smart phones, and internet. Television was just becoming popular. Most people,
my father among them, heard David Ben Gurion’s proclamation of the State of
Israel on radio.
I can only
imagine what his feelings were then. What a dream-come-true for the Jewish
people to witness just three years after the death camps of Europe had been
liberated. Many wept as they listened to their radios. I’m certain my father
did because fifty-nine years later he had tears running down his face as he
described the interview between President Harry Truman, Prime Minister David
Ben Gurion, and haberdasher, Eddie Jacobson, he’d seen in one of the
documentaries.
My father,
also a haberdasher, knew Eddie Jacobson from going to sales markets together.
He knew the story well of how Eddie Jacobson had pleaded with Truman, his old
friend from Missouri, to recognize the fledging Jewish nation. As we know from
history Truman did as Eddie had asked.
In this
interview, according to my father, Harry Truman said something to the effect
that You two Jews made me to do it. I hadn’t seen the documentary and I
don’t even know if my father described it accurately but as I listened to him
tears ran down my face also. I was overcome with emotion thinking of the miracles
my father who had fled Nazi Germany, made a life for himself in America, and
was now living in The Promised Land, had seen.
This year,
as we celebrate Israel Independence Day, there will be no crowded prayer
services and dancing, no group hikes, nor any potluck BBQs. This year we will
celebrate with quiet prayers of thanksgiving and probably join in on some of
the many Zoom programs celebrating seventy-two years of one the biggest gifts
the Almighty ever gave the world. As we do so we’ll pray for an even bigger
gift, the end of the Corona plague and full redemption for all.
courtesy of Israel National News |
2 comments:
very nice, ester. yr father had a great zchut to spend his final year here in eretz yisrael and a great zchut to have a devoted daughter to love and take care of him. he seemed very pleased to be here surrounded by his daughter and son-in-law, grandkids and great grandkids...his legacy.
חג עצמאות בריא ושמח!
Thank you, Ariela. My father had a talent to see the cup half full and make the best of things. I know he missed his friends and life in Wichita but he never complained and concentrated on what he had here that was good.
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