North By Northport

Musing in the Middle East..

Travel to the Middle East means being physically transported around half the globe, but is also emotionally and imaginatively transporting. An eight-day trip to Israel was planned to attend a dear friend’s wedding, but grew to include a celebration of healing, an exceptional authorial research experience, and a husband’s return to the site of seminal episodes in his life from 40 years ago.

What better way to celebrate one’s life-partner’s full recovery from a frightening, painful illness than to attend a joyous wedding, made more jubilant as it marked the reuniting of a family separated for three years by maddening immigration snafus. (see blog entry March 26, 2010).

Beautiful bride Yael

A journey into their world of religious orthodoxy in the land of their birth bore witness to the best that rigor, knowledge, ethics and tolerance have to offer. Rare indeed. Our first hours in the land of Israel are spent sharing the Sabbath with this family and taking in the beauty of Mediterranean Sea in wild winter weather. A lovely heart-shaped piece of beach glass will join the collection at the lake house in faraway Northport.

Sunset over the Mediterannean

The Beach north of Netanya

1969 was a tumultuous time for a nineteen year-old almost anywhere in America. One young man was in his second year of university and felt the need to broaden the context of his search for a life path and also to take the pulse of the new country that Israel had become after the Six Day War. He spent six months overseas in a series of life-changing experiences. Forty-three years later, en route to another destination in Israel, the sign of the kibbutz Regavim, where he had lived and worked, appeared along the roadside and an afternoon trip into personal history was launched.

Regavim

It was at Regavim that he met a young Hungarian artist, Ephraim, who had escaped Budapest (then behind the Iron Curtain) and was desperate to bring his girlfriend to join him. Her passport had been seized when she tried to leave Hungary. One thing led to another, and in the reckless enthusiasm of a 19 year-old’s romantic loyalty to a friend and to the fulfillment of dreams, the young American went to Budapest, staged a marriage to the girl, and because he had an American passport, she was allowed to leave the country and join her lover in Israel. Four decades, three children and two grandchildren later, the Hungarian couple were living on a hilltop near the artistic and spiritual center of Sfat. Now, the American man made an unplanned visit to Regavim; a poignant reminder of dreams realized and risks taken. The kibbutz is no longer much of a collective and life as it was in 1969 is pretty much gone.

Nira and the "Moms" of Regavim

One who is on a journey to meet a spouse’s former girlfriends and putative wives, had best acquire an attitude of adventure and interest, but not of imposing presence, so the Northport Muse sat back and enjoyed the meeting up with a woman and her pretty daughter who had watched out for that young kibbutz volunteer 40 years ago.

Gardens at Ramat Hanadiv

The next stop on this odyssey was a falafel stand in Pardes Hanna (our interpreter/cousin/guide/friend Shaul says it's the best falafel in Israel). We then toured the gardens at Ramat Hanadiv. Located at the southern end of the Carmel Mountains, between Zikhron Ya’akov and Binyamina these beautiful gardens were established by Baron Edmond Benjamin de Rothschild, of the French branch of the banking family, and his wife Adelaide. It is dedicated to sustainable management techniques, environmental education and research. It’s a very tranquil spot that marries European formal design with Mediterranean plants.

Zikhron Ya'akov is a charming town, which is one of the first Jewish settlements in the modern era, established in 1882 to honor Baron de Rothschild’s father Jacob. Rothschild funded the design and planning of the town as part of his commitment to the establishment of a Jewish homeland through economic development. We saw the house of Sara Aaronsohn, a member of a familial spy ring for the British during WWI. Her capture and torture by the Ottomans led to her suicide. The repeated instances of martyrdom and suicide have been strikingly prominent in this journey. The Aaronsohns, when they weren't spying, were apparently also instrumental in researching wheat varietals; everyone here apparently always has been into more than one life pursuit.

A writer completes a book; research filed, re-writing and editing finished, and pitching plan undertaken. Then the writer pays a visit to the remote setting for a number of scenes in the work, which was extensively researched from afar. Suddenly the reality of the true-life person upon whom a character is based comes to vivid life. The visit was to the kibbutz Yehiam to see the grave of the cousin whose life informed an important character in the novel. The intent was to get a sense of where he lived and died as a child immigrant and pioneer to Palestine in the early 1940s. The settlement meant so much to him. This I had learned as I translated his letters to his mother who remained in Germany. I felt his voice in the part of my novel that his life informed. Now I wanted to see and feel the place itself. And if his girlfriend from then was still alive, and the man she eventually married, who was also a good friend of his, then I wanted to speak with them.

The Fortress at Yehiam

Roman tiles at Yehiam

Yehiam is the site of a fortress that dates back to the 11th century and the time of the Crusades; likely the foundations go back to the Romans. By the16th century, the entire area was under the rule of the Ottoman Empire that remained in control until World War I. When Jewish settlers started formulating the future state of Israel, Yehiam, with it's fortress and high vantage point looking from the Mediterranean and Nahariya to the west, and the Western Galilee to the east, was strategically important. It's in high hill country. The area is covered in green and a lush valley is fed by seasonal springs and what passes for a river in Israel (the Ga-aton River). Yehiam is well known for the Arab ambush of a Haganah convoy during the 1947-48 war, an event chillingly documented by Werner in a letter to his mother shortly before his own death.

Werner's (Avraham) grave at Yehiam with the original grave marker in front

It was dark when we got to Yehiam (Daylight is fleeting in Israel in winter; it gets dark before 5 PM) and we made ourselves some sandwiches and settled in for the night. Next morning dawned sunny windless, and we started to explore the kibbutz on a pathway that led from our guesthouse directly across the kibbutz toward the fields. Towering above us in the pine trees was the immense fortress, and as we turned to look down at the valley below, we saw the tiny cemetery that I recognized from family photos. The pines that were barely visible in the old picture are now huge. Our cousin Mira told me that it's tradition to plant pines in a graveyard here so that when the wind blows, the trees whisper to the people lying below. The little graveyard overlooks a beautiful valley; it's quite a magical spot, with the castle ruins above (my relative Werner lived on the grounds of the castle before the road to the settlement was built and materials for the first houses could be bought. The original pioneers all got tick-borne recurring fevers from sheep that Arab shepherds kept in the area. The gravesite had been improved since the old photos were taken. We later learned that the four people buried there had been declared heroes, and were granted special military status so that their graves were rebuilt and would be cared for in perpetuity. By 8:00 in the morning, the goal in coming to Yehiam had been accomplished, but the next hours were even more fulfilling as we inquired at the office about Hanna and Natan, the couple that knew Werner the best. We learned that Natan had died a year ago, but that Hanna was still alive but away for the day.

In the archives with Yoash and Mira at Yehiam

Yoash Tadmor, a resident who is in charge of the records for the kibbutz but who also works as an archivist at the Bet Lohamei HaGeta’ot, a history museum to honor the those that fought the Nazis spent the next hours facilitating our review of Werner’s file, and interviews with residents who had known Werner. Yoash had sent letters that were in Werner’s possession when he died, including letters in English and German. Unfortunately, the letters weren’t copied before they were sent. It’s likely that there are letters from Werner’s mother, the subject of my novel, so there’s more research to be done. The file on Werner also revealed that in 2002, 18 trees were planted in Werner's honor by the kibbutz near Mishmar HaEmek.

Yoash brought Rena Gal to the library to talk to us. She recalled that Werner was always into the economy of the kibbutz, and that he had suffered badly from relapsing fever. She said that Werner had a special sense of humor. He was part of a group of 15 young people that had come from the boarding school at Ben Shemen where many refugee children went and were trained to start settlements. At the time, there was no Jewish settlement between Nahariya and Sfat. It was "Judenrein".

We then talked to Abrashka; a man from Holland and the last of the Ben Shemens to be alive. He remembered Werner from Ben Shemen, because he loved to play with trains and Werner used to set them up for the younger kids. Abrashka said that Ben Shemen was expensive, but when the Italians bombed Tel Aviv, his parents had to send him out and that's where they sent him. This corroborates what I'd heard; that Ben Shemen was for the kids whose parents could afford to pay. Later I heard from Hanna that Werner’s and Hanna’s parents both paid extra so that other kids could go to Ben Shemen....

Abrashka was in charge of communications at Yehiam and so missed a lot of the action while he was being trained. He recalled that the members were first sent to Bvulot in Gaza to settle but then were sent back to Yehiam. One example of many of the way this loose decisioning got done all the time by the provisional government in pre-Israel Palestine. On a kind of ad hoc basis these young people followed orders with fervor for creating the state, no matter the hardship.

Miriam

That evening, we traveled to Amukka to meet with with Miriam and Ephraim, the couple that had been reunited in Israel 40 years ago as a result of the daring marriage in Budapest by the crazy 19 year old American. Amukka is in the hills outside of Sfat. It's a beautiful community of distinctive houses atop a nature preserve. It's claim to fame is a holy gravesite that people go to pray at to have their wishes for health, reproductive success etc. When we first got to the yurt-like house, Miriam gave us scarves to pray with and then tie to the trees outside and we drove to the shrine. It was full of ultraorthodox supplicants and we felt like heathens going in to gawk. We prayed nonetheless... why not?

Ephraim

Ephraim is a painter, artisan, guesthouse proprietor, gardener, and all-around eccentric with brilliant blue eyes and wild steely grey hair under a stocking cap. Miriam is a still-pretty woman who tries to keep the lid on Ephraim's continual "creative" pursuits. With Mira and Shaul's interpreting help we had a long interesting visit over many cups of lemon verbena and lemon geranium tea. We also had shots of Ephraim's plum liquor. Excellent. Barry and Miriam reminisced about the scary time in Budapest when they had to conduct a real marriage, but then have the rabbi sleep between them so that he could testify that it hadn’t been consummated. Meanwhile Ephraim and Barry played "do you remember when...." for an hour. The apparently continuous construction that constitutes this home is fascinating with all different materials and textures used to build and do the finish work, and on every imaginable surface, something interesting and artistic is displayed; a case of toy soldiers, drawings, photos, carved objects. In all, a poignant visit; as elsewhere, the worry here is for more economic stability.

Ephraim's metalwork gate

We drove back to Yehiam but not before stopping near Amukka at a Lebanese food restaurant. There were many plates of hummus, an amazing kebab with one large thin slice of meat wrapped around a long skewer, tons of vegetables including a marinated cauliflower; a delicious dinner.

Hanna's house

Then on another beautiful morning, I had a chance to interview Hanna. She had been Werner’s fiancé before his untimely death. She eventually married Natan, Werner’s close friend. Six years ago, Hanna had declined to communicate regarding events from 1948, and all the information had come via letter from her husband Natan. Now Natan was gone. Perhaps his death allowed her to speak. She was sharp, very facile in three languages, though she declined to talk in English. She spoke German to me, and Hebrew to Mira and Shaul and was very adept at keeping the languages straight. She lives in a relatively new house furnished with a combination of European classy furniture and comfortable recliner type pieces. In addition to the things I already knew about Werner's life she filled in the following.

Overlooking the valley from Yehiam

Hanna was sent to Ben Shemen when her father was assigned by the British to work in Nazareth, (an Arab town) and there was no school to go to there. Her father was an internist but became interested in infectious disease (particularly malaria) and in ophthalmology. (interesting that my book has him giving Werner glasses!) She went to her uncle in Jerusalem (also a doctor) to attend school for a year, but had to leave because he had his own child and they only lived in one room. She was then sent to Ben Shemen where she was lonely and miserable, and at the age of 8 or 9 felt like she'd lost her parents as had most of the other kids there. She also felt estranged from the other kids as they'd just come from Europe, looked and acted different and didn't know Hebrew, whereas her family had been in Israel since 1933. Her father had come out of interest rather than to escape Hitler or because he was a big Zionist. She met Werner and Natan and a man named Avery, and though she wasn't that close to them then, they all became intensely close when they were assigned to settle Yehiam.

They lived first in Kiryat Hayim near Haifa; there were no roads or fields or houses in Yehiam. Hanna trained as a nurse; she worked with Dr. Bentsheimer in Yehiam. Werner was in charge of building things, and Natan of supplies. Hanna steadfastly stayed away from speaking about her relationship to Werner. She did acknowledge that she was Werner's girlfriend. She did show us a wonderful slide show that her kids put together for Natan. It showed many pictures of the young people working to build the kibbutz including some pictures of Werner. Talking to her was delightful; she was intelligent and articulate and very witty. She asked a lot about Achim, the real-life German priest that informs a central character in the novel; clearly she is very fond of him. She even teased and imitated him perfectly!

Hanna

Our final minutes at Yehiam were spent in the memorial room, where the hand-calligraphied book with Werner's picture and his life information lies. An entire wall has photos of one beautiful young person after another, all young and vibrant, who died in the ambush of the convoy going to Yehiam. 100 robbed lives. Heartbreaking. The time at Yehiam revealed a microcosm of the story of this country’s creation, the struggle to live, the painful intractable conflicts.

The Golan Heights are arid hills; olive country and our destination was the Givat Yoav, where Eliezer Toister has his olive business. In one of the hundred coincidences and ironies of this roots trip Givat Yoav, turns out to be the very place where my husband stood guard with an AK 47 in 1969 for three weeks toward the end of his time in Israel. He remembered the ravine, the Arab village Afiq, which had been abandoned after the '67 War. That is where he saw the abandoned schoolhouse with the child's paper showing hangman with the word Jew and a Jew represented being hung. A country so defined by battles and ancient conflict set in such beauty!

Toister Olive Oil tasting room

Eliezer Toister produces Cold press olive oil done the right way with a nice little agritourism business on the side. He’s created a charming coffee and tasting shop; very Swiss in feel and everywhere are well-restored and framed family pictures. He's a 5th or 6th generation Israeli with his fore-bearers dating back to Chassids in Sfat, where they dealt in spices and dried foods from Lebanon. We heard his version of the stories of establishing orchards, being attacked by Arabs, restarting businesses etc. A discussion of whether the Golan will ever be given back ensued, with two Israelis saying "Never!" and one saying "Absolutely! Inevitable." Such a small dry piece of land with such intractable fights over land... and water. The Jordan River flows through and the Kinneret (the largest fresh water lake in Israel) is so pitifully small and shrinking, though it is lovely. I find myself wondering for the 100^th time; what if these countries all cooperated with each other and put their resources toward conservation, cooperative agricultural practices and commerce? Imagine....It seems the Israelis I spoke to have basically given up hoping for peace.

Gamla

After leaving Givat Yoav, we went to Gamla, site of an ancient Byzantine village that has been partially excavated. Jews inhabited this Masada –like town from the end of the second century BCE. It became a capitol and stronghold of the Golan area during the Judaen Civil war brought on by the wicked King Alexander Jannaeus. He was responsible for the terrible civil war that resulted in thousands of deaths. You don’t hear about the terrible Jewish kings in Sunday school… To add to the strife, the Romans laid siege to Gamla and its fate was, like Masada, devastating; again, fierce defense followed by suicides.

Dolmen at Gamla

We hiked the hills to a waterfall (at 51 meters, the highest waterfall in Israel) and along the way were ancient dolmens, the standing stones that were burial mounds for the residents of this area from 9,000 B.C.E to 2,000 B.C.E. Prehistoric bronze age magic, Jewish civil war, Roman conquest, all in a day’s hike in the cradle of civilization….The Griffon vultures resettled in this nature preserve were nesting in their caged sanctuary, so we only saw them perched from afar.

All along the way, we told stories; Swiss girlfriends, first loves and visits to Vancouver, missed opportunities for wealth, traced family connections, and shared memories of people long gone. The story of, Eliezer's wife stayed with me. At 50 she adopted a Ukrainian girl who turned out to have developmental problems. The parents have steadfastly nurtured the girl who has gone to school, writes rote stories in English about Little Red Riding hood and does beautiful art. Adoptions, divorces, lost loves, marriages, childlessness, conflicts. Timeless themes in a timeless countryside.

Bet Shean was our final destination. The old Roman town is being excavated and because the Romans had templates for their towns, this brought to mind the ruins in Merida, Spain (see Oct. 19, Portugal/Spain Odyssey). Here the Egyptians, Philistines, Canaanites and the Kings Saul, David and Solomon all figure into the known history of this strategic site at the nexus of the Jordan River and Jezreel valleys. Then came the Romans, the Byzantines, the Crusaders, the Ottomans right through to the British and Lawrence of Arabia. As is true so often in this country, the current living history repeats millennia of conquest, settlement, merging of cultures, innovation, catastrophe and another cycle of same.

Our Israeli adventure was bookended with a lovely farewell Shabbat dinner with our cousins and their wonderful children. A journey back in time, rekindling friendships, memories and feelings and furnishing new ones is the stuff of good travel.

Ephraim and Miriam's pond

The garden at Amukka

Plum brandy!

Flora at Yehiam

Eliezer's olive oil

Sunset in Netanya

Almond tree in bloom at Gamla

Ben She'an

There are times in a life when against received wisdom, we take ourselves away from responsibilities and entanglements and into a challenge of our own choosing because it simply feels like we must. We feel depleted. We’ve lost our internal compass. Our bodily tuning is off. What’s needed is a cosmic course correction out of our daily lives. If we are very lucky, the means and opportunity to embark on such a voyage align with a willingness of those in our lives to let us go.

decorative plaque, Cordoba

Thus did the Northport Muse bring her sluggish body and tired heart to sunny Portugal and Spain for a 16-day odyssey that began with a 10-day bicycle trip from Lisbon to Grenada and ended with a family visit in Madrid and Barcelona. Travel to find oneself is a cliché, but using one’s body to propel a bicycle through countryside studded with Roman ruins, olive groves, sheep and cattle, castles, Celtic standing stones and medieval towns with stories from the ages does hone the muscles and oxygenate the spirit.

Arraiolos

Day one, October 16, was the shakedown ride with introductions of the 10 cyclists and 3 guides, fitting of bikes and an easy 14 miles from Arraiolos to Evora. Arraiolos is a small town north of Lisbon that is known for its long history of artisanship in the making of needle pointed carpets. At 300 Euros/square meter, it's more expensive than most house construction. Pedro, Luis, and Jorge are our guides; young, knowledgeable, avid cyclists, and fine looking. They ride with us, tell us about the towns and regions, their history, culture and flora, and then deliver our luggage to our rooms, order our dinners, (banquets really) and otherwise see to it that we enjoy our adventure. I am introduced Andy (On-dee), my roommate; we are the two “singles” of the 10 riders. Andy is from Austin Tx, where she works as a corporate trainer and recruiter in the IT department at National Instruments, a global company that produces technical testing devices. She has just spent two weeks in Hungary doing training for her company.

Our ride is dry...ancient structures popping up in fields with sheep, cows and horses and burned out grass. Evora, a world heritage site has an architecturally hodgepodge cathedral dating back to pre-Roman times, and a Roman ruin that some believe honors the goddess Diana. It comes to me that I wish this to be true. Diana was a warrior goddess and it is the warrior inside that I’ve come to reclaim.

Roman Temple to Diana; Evora

View from Cathedral Roof-Evora

There’s a Moorish influence here as elsewhere all across the Iberian Peninsula. I will come to understand and appreciate the depth of that influence. Evora has more churches than one can count, including the chapel of bones; built entirely from human skeletal remains, a grisly reminder that our time on earth is limited and we are obliged to make it worthwhile. Tempus fugit, carpe diem etc.

A buffet lunch and wonderful dinner featured garbanzo and black-eyed pea salads, cod and swordfish-like fish and lamb dishes; all traditional and delicious.

Tasty lunch in Evora

Evora is a center of cork growing and production. Cork is made into everything; hats, belts, bracelets, ties eve n. The flavor of Portugal is mellow, warm, tasty, low drama yet complex. The exploration of the new world is still its finest hour; 400 years ago. The tug of war between Moorish and Christian influence is embedded in the national character, with Christianity the poor victor. Jorge tells us that the Portuguese invited the Crusaders to stop by and get rid of the Moors on their way to Jerusalem: shocking but interesting.

Day 2- October 17. Evora - Estremoz - Alter do Chao

Estremoz, as promised, is a lovely little medieval town surrounded by vineyards and famous for its many white marble quarries that supplied the stone for Evora's Roman temple as well as its 13th-century Cathedral. Portugal is the world's second leading exporter of marble and it is this same crystalline rock that appears in many of the region's cobblestone-patterned squares, sculptures, monuments and fountains. Prominent in the town is an outsize marble statue of Santa Isabella; a queen of Portugal who devoted her life to the poor. King Dinis and his Queen Isabel lived in the early 14th century. The king disapproved of Isabela’s giving alms to the poor, so she hid the bread she was carrying for them in the folds of her skirt. When the suspicious king asked her to show him what she was carrying, the bread had miraculously turned into white roses. The marble statue of the queen now stands on the castle terrace. There is a simple timeless beauty to the obelisk shaped work of art and her face reminds me instantly of a young friend at home whose name is: Isobel! Uncanny.

Santa Isabel- Estremoz

North By Northport

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Independent publishing!

Sunday, February 26, 2012

For Love of a February Birthday

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Muse in the Middle East

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

WCC and young writer Nicole Bednarski big winners!

WCC Journalists Win 29 Awards in State Contest

Monday, November 7, 2011

Portugal/Spain Odyssey

Followers

Blog Archive

About Me