Among the Reeds

by Tammy Bottner

  When the British inherited control of this area in 1919 there were already stirrings between the local Jewish and Arab populations, each of which lay claim to the territory as their ancestral homeland, and both of which wanted independent rule.

  The Jewish Zionist movement was burgeoning in Europe, founded by Theodor Hertzl, a journalist from Vienna. He and his followers, responding to centuries of anti-Semitic persecution, were determined to create a Jewish homeland. As the movement took hold, thousands of Jews in the Diaspora seized upon the idea of a Jewish state in the ancient land of Israel, where Jews could live in safety and dignity. In the late nineteenth century European Jews began emigrating to Palestine, purchasing land and establishing Jewish settlements and kibbutzim. The Palestinian Arab community, threatened by this Jewish influx, established the Arab National Congress, which supported the rights of Arabs to self-rule.

  Britain, caught uncomfortably between the two groups, tried to placate them by promising both sides what they wanted. In 1914, the British promised the Arabs independent rule in exchange for military support against the Ottomans. But after the war the British issued the Balfour Declaration, promising the Jewish people an independent Jewish state. Clearly these two promises were contradictory. In the ensuing decades relations deteriorated between Jews, Arabs, and the British who ruled them.

  In 1929 the Jewish Agency was established, led by Chaim Weitzman. This agency was created in response to a decision made by the League of Nations (the predecessor to the United Nations), calling for representatives of Jews from around the world to assist in the creation of a Jewish state.

  In 1936 the Arabs staged a revolt in Palestine, which lasted for three years. The Arab Revolt was aimed at the British rulers and the Jewish locals, through general strikes as well as violent incursions. The aim was to oust the British and regain autonomy. In response, Neville Chamberlain, the British prime minister, issued the White Paper of 1939, which attempted to placate the Arabs. The White Paper stated that Palestinian support would be required for the formation of any Jewish state in the region. And, crucially, it limited Jewish immigration to 15,000 annually for the next five years, and placed restrictions on Jews’ rights to buy land from the Arabs. The immigration restriction’s timing was particularly troubling as Hitler was ascending to power and Jews in Europe were facing ever more dangerous times.

  But then World War Two began and British attentions were drawn elsewhere. The Arab Palestinians, led by Grand Mufti Husseini, sided with the Germans and Italians during the war. Husseini, in fact, met personally with Hitler, and is said to have been given a tour of Auschwitz. The Jewish population, on the other hand, served in the British army and loyally fought in Europe against the Germans.

  Much to their dismay, at the conclusion of the war, the British, exhausted by war but responsible for the areas they had colonized, faced several areas of turmoil within their empire. One of those was in Palestine. The Nazi Holocaust had wiped out six million Jews in Europe. The survivors of the camps and ghettos were displaced refugees, many of whom longed to resettle in the land of Israel and work toward the formation of an independent Jewish state. Many of these people, homeless, were housed in refugee camps all over Europe, many even in Germany, which was particularly intolerable. International outrage put pressure on the British to allow these Jews entry into the Palestinian mandate. But at the same time, Arab leaders, vehemently resistant to the establishment of a Jewish state, put pressure on Britain to resist this decision.

  The White Paper of 1939 had set up quotas for Jewish immigration into the country. Britain was faced with the choice between implementing this law, turning away illegal ships carrying Jewish refugees from Europe, or warring with the local Palestinian Arabs and the other Arab countries in the Middle East. My family was among the refugees caught in this international tug-of-war.

  For several years Britain opted to enforce the Jewish immigration quotas. Desperate Jews, however, continued to stream toward the land of Israel, crowding onto barely seaworthy ships in European ports and crossing the Mediterranean. Intercepting these illegal ships, the British then had to decide what to do with all the Jewish refugees.

  Their solution was to create internment camps on the island of Cyprus, also under British rule. Cyprus is about 300 miles northwest of Israel, an arid island approximately eighty miles long. Eventually thirty-nine ships carrying a total of over fifty thousand desperate people were intercepted and rerouted to Cyprus after World War Two. There, impromptu tent villages surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by armed soldiers housed the refugees. Eventually more camps were built, some with tents, others with long crude barracks covered by semi-circular tin roofs. Some of the Jewish refugees, many of whom had survived the Nazi killing camps in Europe, were to spend several more years as prisoners of the British army in Cyprus.

  At the peak of this period there were nine camps in Cyprus, located at two sites fifty miles apart. One was in Karalos, near Famagusta; the other was at Dekhelia, near Larnaca. Nathan was housed in Camp 68 in the Dekhelia area. While no atrocities were committed in these camps – unlike in those of Europe – the inmates were prisoners nonetheless. They were housed in rude barracks surrounded by barbed-wire fences. Food and water shortages, lack of hygienic facilities, lack of heat or cooling, and above all, lack of dignity, were the norm.

  The situation was particularly excruciating for those who had survived Nazi concentration camps, as Shoshana had. One can only imagine the despair they felt at once again being imprisoned, once again living in a camp, once again seeing towers with armed guards preventing their escape. These internment camps were in use from 1946 until 1949, when the last prisoners were finally allowed to leave for the newly established state, Israel. Nathan, as a young fit male of fighting age, was one of the last to be released from the camps. He didn't arrive in Israel until eight months after it was declared an independent state.

  When World War Two came to an end, the British, financially and emotionally spent and less inclined toward colonial rule, turned the decision of what to do in Palestine over to the newly formed United Nations. The UN met on November 29, 1947, and, in a historic vote, decided to partition Palestine into a Jewish state (Israel) and an Arab state (Trans-Jordan). This resolution, number 181, called for the city of Jerusalem to be an international zone. Resolution 181 called for the progressive withdrawal of the British from the area.

  The resolution was accepted by the Jews but rejected by the Arabs. Even as Jews danced around bonfires and celebrated in the streets, outraged Arabs prepared to fight, and war broke out almost immediately. The Jews called the subsequent war, which lasted well into 1948, the War for Independence. The Arabs called it the Catastrophe. Nevertheless, on May 14, 1948, as the British finally withdrew from the country, David Ben-Gurion, head of the Jewish Agency, proclaimed the creation of the Jewish State of Israel. After two thousand years without a homeland, after six years of Nazi atrocities, and despite universal Arab opposition, the Jews finally had a country of their own.

  In the twenty-first century it has become mainstream to criticize Israel. And, certainly, it is a country with a lot of problems. But Israel is a tiny nation-state, only a few miles wide in some spots, and it is the only place in the world that guarantees that another Holocaust will not happen to the Jewish people. Every Jew in the world is welcome to resettle in Israel. The value of this safety net is, hopefully, evident after reading about the events that took place in Europe in the last century.

  Moreover, I would argue that it is hypocritical of Europeans and Americans to voice outrage about territorial disputes in a tiny country most know very little about. For one thing, European nations themselves have a pretty checkered history. Many colonized the developing world and shamelessly exploited the natural resources in each country, and did so until fairly recently. When it was time to withdraw from its colonies, Europe handily carved up areas, renamed them, and reassigned inhabitants at will. An example of this is the partition of India by th
e British in 1948, the creation of Pakistan and Bangladesh, and the resettlement of millions of people. And let's not forget that the country now called the United States was, in fact, inhabited when the European settlers arrived a few centuries ago. The way the Native Americans were treated by the invaders, the way an entire continent of land was stolen from them, the way they were pushed to the brink of extinction, is a travesty that gets relatively little attention. My point is not to minimize the very real problems that exist in Israel, but to question the self-righteous judgment that often rains down on the state.

  Israel is not perfect. I would argue that no country is. But it is certainly not the world's great villain. It is a small and complicated place wrestling with the uneasy task of juggling the needs of many diverse people with conflicting agendas. But whatever it does, right or wrong, it is a unique haven for a people who desperately need one, and who have no other place that they can ultimately call their own. And for that alone Israel deserves the support of the world.

  Epilogue

  Survival

  Gertrude

  Gertrude spent the rest of her life in Israel. After the death of her second husband Shlomo Kliegsberg, whom her family adored, she married for the third time. Her third husband was ultra-religious and stern, an echo perhaps of her first husband. She lived to see her great-grandchildren thriving and free in the land of Israel. She passed away at the age of seventy-seven.

  Nathan and Shoshana

  Nathan and Shoshana also remained in Israel, both serving in the new Israeli army, the IDF. Nathan went on to have a career in the IDF. They had two sons, Arik and Ronnie, and at the time of writing are both still alive and well and enjoying their grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and many friends. Nathan continues the swimming habit his father instilled in him; he and Shoshana still swim for exercise every morning. At age eighty-nine Nathan is still sharp and his memory astounding.

  Inge and Hans

  Inge and Hans lived happily in Israel for the rest of their lives. Both now deceased, they are survived by their son Ami, four grandchildren, and several great-grandchildren. Ami, married to a lovely woman named Judith, is every bit as kind and sweet as his parents were.

  Irene

  Irene’s early childhood trauma caused a permanent rift between her and her parents, particularly between her and Melly. The two never got along. Irene recalls feeling like an outsider as a child, ruefully witnessing the love she saw her parents lavish on her brother Bobby.

  “I didn’t really have a childhood,” she remembers. “It wasn’t just the war. It was the constant moving, the different schools, the new countries all the time, the new languages. I never had continuity.” She was treated more as hired help than as a daughter. As a teenager she was expected to come straight home after school, clean the house, and cook for the family. She felt isolated, lonely, and very unhappy for the entire first two decades of her life. Her brother was the only one she felt close to.

  She never saw her “Namur family” again. It wasn’t until many decades later that she was able to find information about who exactly they were. By then her adopted parents had both died. Monsieur Bouchat, she was told, passed away holding a photograph of little Irene in his hand. He never got over the loss of the little girl he loved and whom he never saw again after her parents came to get her when she was two.

  When Irene was twenty, Bobby suggested his sister pay a visit to her family back in Israel, to get out of Ottawa and to escape her unhappiness at home for a while. Irene thought this was a splendid idea. She bought a ticket to Israel and spent a year living with Inge and Hans and their young son, Ami. This trip would be pivotal in her life. In fact, what started as a vacation became a permanent relocation.

  “That was the happiest year of my life”, Irene recalls. “Inge gave me all the love my mother never did. I felt completely welcome and I became one of the family. Ami became my little brother.” She actually had to share a bed with the then eleven-year-old Ami as there was nowhere else for her to sleep. But she was ecstatic. She tried to pay Inge and Hans back by lavishing gifts on Ami, and buying treats and delicacies to bring home on Shabbos.

  Shortly after arriving in Israel she met a young man named Shlomo Wechsler, a native of the country, a sabra. “Shlomo also gave me affection … he only gave me good things and love. He made me feel good. And his family too. They loved me. They became my family.” The two were married in 1963, remained in Israel, and had two children – a son, Ronnie, and a daughter, Nurit. They now have five grandchildren and are enjoying their retirement in a suburb of Tel Aviv.

  Melly and Genek

  Melly and Genek remained in their troubled marriage. Their love life was not the only area in which they were unmoored. For the rest of their lives they struggled to find a place to call home. Theirs was a nomadic life. After leaving Israel they lived for several years in Montreal, then moved to Ottawa, and eventually back to Israel. But, unable to find peace, they left again and repeated the entire moving sequence. At one point they even moved to western Canada, living in Calgary for a couple of years.

  While living in Canada, Genek was able to pursue his career in the fur business, first in Montreal and then in Ottawa. Melly was his business partner. She made contacts, delivered furs, and kept the books. Eventually Bobby was enlisted to help with the driving errands for the business, as Genek never did learn to drive. Bobby traveled all over Quebec to pick up and deliver goods. He was only thirteen years old when he started driving, many years before he was legally eligible to get his license. In Ottawa, the couple owned a successful fur store called Elite Furs. But they gave up this store to relocate back to Israel in the mid-1960s, following Bobby, who had already moved back. Maybe they never got over the guilt of abandoning their boy, or their desire to make it up to him. Where he went, they followed.

  Over the years Melly became overweight and developed diabetes, high blood pressure, and arthritis. She started smoking cigarettes, a habit she was never able to kick. Although not formally diagnosed, she suffered from depression. She never seemed depressed when I was around her, though. She came alive when my parents, my sister, and I came to visit.

  When she was sixty-four she suffered a major heart attack. Irene flew back from Israel to see her mother. It was during this final visit that Melly finally apologized for the way she had treated Irene as a child. Bobby begged his mother to find the strength to live, but she was weakening. She held on until her beloved sister Inge arrived from Israel, and then died in Inge’s arms. Ironically, Melly’s final wish was to be buried in Israel, the country she had been unable to find peace in during her lifetime. Bobby transported her body to Israel and arranged for the burial to happen there.

  Although, at sixty-four, she died very young by today’s standards, I was already twenty-two when my grandmother passed away. So I knew her well. To me she seemed like an accomplished, sophisticated, loving, and fascinating grandmother. She lavished my sister and I with presents every Rosh Hashanah and Passover. She prepared elaborate meals and knit us beautiful sweaters. She was intelligent, sensitive, and wise, with a wry smile and a kind heart. I don’t recall seeing her sad exactly, but pensive and fretful, yes. What was clear was that she adored us. I realize now there were not many things she considered precious in her life, but her granddaughters, my sister and I, were certainly that.

  My grandfather Genek adored us too and, moreover, he made us laugh. He even made Melly laugh at times. He was a wise-cracking, fun-loving jokester. His humor was wrapped up in his Yiddish roots, full of colorful one-liners and idioms that defy translation. Everything was a bit of a joke to Genek. He never stopped repeating his favorite lines, some of which have become family sayings in my home. It's better to throw in than to throw out, my husband and I joke when we tuck into leftovers. And whenever I cook with garlic, I give an inner chuckle, thinking about my Saba’s chortling repetition – if you eat garlic every day for a hundred years, you will live a long time.

  After Melly’s
death in 1986 Genek was at a loss. He moved back to Israel again, and remained there for the rest of his life. Despite his problematic relationship with Irene, he asked her to quit her job so she could keep house and cook for him. Although she refused, Irene did help take care of him for the rest of his life.

  As he got older Genek’s mind deteriorated. He found himself perseverating about what had happened during the war. As he slipped into dementia he was tormented by memories of losing his family, recalling little of his recent life, but having all-too-clear memories of what the Nazis had done when he was young. He died in 1997 at the age of eighty-six.

  Bobby

  My father (called Al by everyone other than his family of origin) went to high school in Montreal, and then attended engineering college in Ottawa. When he was nineteen he met the love his life, young Rosalee Segal, and the two became an item. They were married two years later and produced a daughter, me, a year after that. But Dad was to emulate the restlessness that was his parents’ lifestyle.

  My parents left Ottawa only a few months after my birth, leaving my mother’s family behind, and starting what would become the long search for the right place to call home. They lived briefly in Puerto Rico, then Chicago, before moving to Israel in 1966. My sister Sharon was born there a couple of months after we arrived.

  We lived in Israel for six years. I went to school there, became fluent in Hebrew, learning how to read and write it well before I did English. My dad served in the IDF, a bit of an ordeal as he was several years older than the rest – almost all eighteen-year-old boys – and had a family at home. But he went through the six-week basic training and then served in the Reserves as all Israeli men did. I remember him kissing me goodbye before he left for basic training, and I recall crying and crying, heartbroken that my foreign-looking uniform-clad daddy was going off to be a soldier. I was terrified.