Ettie beckoned me to her with a gesture of one of her small arthritic hands. From a manila envelope she pulled several sheets of music. At the top of the first page it read, "Kinder Symphonie". All four and a half feet of her struggled to look up at me from her hunched posture as I peered over her shoulder at Leopold Mozart's
Children's Symphony. I could tell that she was smiling. "You know, I can remember when I played this when I was a little girl. We were on the radio in Basel," she said looking out one of the small windows of her living room. Ettie has begun to plan a concert for all of the children in her family in an attempt to duplicate that experience for them.
Ettie’s husband passed away a number of years ago and she now lives in a small apartment within a short walking distance of Carmel Center, the cultural hub of Haifa. She spends the bulk of her time in her living room, which she closes off from the rest of the apartment in the winter allowing a small space heater to make the room comfortable. There are several chairs placed around a circular coffee table. Books, magazines and old pictures surround her. When I entered her apartment, my first impulse was to peruse the books but I had to wait until she went to get coffee and snacks to indulge myself. Her library is rather extensive, full of novels and poetry as well as books on travel, history, politics and science. I found at least five different languages on the shelves: English, French, Spanish, German and Hebrew. I noticed that she had a copy of
The Bridges of Madison County and told her that is where I am from. I remarked that it was a sad story and she looked at me incredulously. "I didn't think it was sad," she said. "It is better to have the memory of such a love than none at all," she added. How could I argue?
My friend Tucker and I were not her only visitors that night. A 15 year-old girl by the name of Siohban (pronounced shi-VAWN) came to spend the night. Siobhan's father spent much time in Ireland as a boy and if her name didn't give it away, her thick head of red hair confirmed at least part of her heritage. Ettie knew her parents before they were married and since Siobhan attends boarding school in Haifa she occasionally spends the night. The four of us huddled around the heater and helped ourselves to coffee and biscuits. Ettie brought out a pink toy dog she calls Lucy that sings and dances to Marilyn Monroe’s “I want to be loved by you.” Ettie’s short legs rested on a footstool placed close to the space heater. A cane hung casually on the handle of a desk drawer. We played an Israeli version of Go Fish then settled in to watch
Roman Holiday. Ettie wrapped a blanket around her legs for extra warmth and seemed sad when we finally left around midnight. On the way home, I realized that no one had mentioned the war even once. It just never came up.
This morning, there was an article about a young Gazan girl, Noor, who asked her father innocent questions about why life is the way it is in Gaza and why she had lost one of her friends in a bombing. Her father described all of the disappointment and bitterness that Noor would likely experience in her life. How can I describe to you my feelings for Ettie and Siobhan and the necessity and goodness of this country while simultaneously relating my outrage in stories like Noor's? I feel privileged to have come to know this place yet everyday I struggle to reconcile my feelings about it.
Looking out over the Negev
Winter beach scene
Tucker before Thanksgiving buffet
Tel Aviv art market at Christmas
Last day of Hebrew class
Miriam lighting the hanukiyah (Menora)
Christmas morning and our tree
Inter-faith Conference
Rotary Scholars at Inter-faith Conference