76

A Bathroom

What do you see in this picture? A bathroom, a small cabinet, a marble top, a sink and a mirror. Is that all? I knew it. I knew that you would not see the two months we spent with a broken cabinet, shattered marble top, exposed bricks and rotten pipes. Yes, the broken pipes, they were the cause of it all.

This began when we discovered a wet spot in the place where the wall and ceiling meet. For the first few days we didn't pay any attention to it, of course. But the stain grew. We looked at it, silently pleading. We measured it with our eyes every evening. We hoped it would get smaller and disappear of itself. But, of course, it grew and grew. The paint on the wall started to fall off and showed signs of mold. And then we realized that there was no alternative and we got in touch with the "shiputznik", our handyman-plumber.

He looked in silence and then asked for a ladder. He climbed to the roof, remained there briefly and came down with news: "You are lucky. Maybe I'll be able to exchange the rusty pipe with a new one without breaking the marble counter and the wall". And, indeed, we were lucky. He took out the pipe, put a new one in its place, and we rejoiced in our good fortune.

But a few days later a spot of moisture began to expand between the ceiling and the wall in the shower on the first floor, which is below the bathroom. We called the shiputznick. Again he looked and was silent. And then he said: "Bring an insurance adjuster, this time it's something serious." Why? Because the problem is the connection of the pipe that was fitted with the pipe that goes down to the first floor, and this connection is exactly behind the cabinet. It has to be taken apart, and the wall behind it has to be opened. And also take into account a new marble counter top, because yours is full of cracks and fissures and as soon as we pull it away from the wall it will break.

And so it was. The cabinet was dismantled, the marble broke and the wall was opened. But at least the pipes were fixed. The insurance adjuster came, took pictures and authorized the work. But then, when we thought that all was behind us, the plumber came up with this: now we leave the walls in the bathroom open and wait at least a month. Only then, when we are certain that there are no more leakages, we'll close everything. The insurance guy approved the idea. And thus began the longest month that lasted a month and a half, and the bathroom remained like a building site.

All's well that ends well. The episode is behind us. The above picture, that seems so ordinary to you, is a picture of great happiness. Finally we have a new marble top, a sink with running water and a mirror! Simple everyday things that became for a month objects of longing, and their return to us seemed the restoration of the world order, or at least our little world.

75

A Seven Year Old Child Walking in the Snow

I write quickly, from memory. I just now returned from Kibbutz Mishmarot. There Zigi told his story. A story that begins with a seven year old child walking in the snow to his death. Budapest. 1945. The child's father had been taken to forced labor and froze to death. His mother was caught and sent to Auschwitz. She will not return. He does not as yet know that. He stays very close to his big brother. Nine years old. Listens intently to every word of his brother. They are walking with all the children of the orphanage. Leading them is a group of young members of the "Arrow Cross" armed with rifles. They are on their way to a bridge over the Danube. There the young "Arrow Cross" will fire on them and they'll fall into the river.

Suddenly an Allies plane appears in the sky and drops an illuminating bomb. It hits the electricity wires of the Tram and a large fire breaks out. Many people flee. Among them some of the orphanage children and most of the "Arrow Cross" youths. Seventy little children remain as well as a red-headed "Arrow Cross" adolescent. It turns out that he is a Jew. He takes the children back to the orphanage.

The legs of the two brothers are frozen. They cannot walk. One day a Russian soldier appears in the orphanage with a loaf of bread. The war is over. Liberation. The children are taken to a hospital. Two toes are cut off of Zigi's foot. There is no food in the hospital and the feet do not heal. An aunt who survived comes daily and brings a little food. That saved the lives of the two brothers. They return to the orphanage.

The year is 1948. A shaliach from Israel convinces the brothers that there is no point in waiting for their mother any longer. They join a group that will go to Israel via France. They reach an immigrants camp near Haifa. One day Sasha Ariel (the father of Meir Ariel) from Mishmarot comes there. He gives the children an arithmetic test. Zigi knows the multiplication tables by heart. He is accepted. Aged twelve he begins a new life in Mishmarot.

74 Passover – 'wandering in the desert'

Every year during the Passover vacation and before the evening of the Seder we children went 'wandering in the desert'. All of us were divided into tribes. We would paint ourselves flags of the Israel tribes, put keffiyehs on our heads, provide ourselves with military water flasks hanging on wide military belts and set out to 'wander in the desert', that is to say, through fields and orchards to the hidden valley. There we would set up a scout camp with tents, tables and towers, bake matzos and spend the day there until darkness fell.

Here we are seen about to start on our way, the children of 'Sela' and 'Shachaf'. Apparently I am the one holding the flag. It is difficult for me to identify myself in this picture, but there is no reason for it to be in my album if I do not appear in it and the only possible child is the one that holds the flag. To the left of me is Shlomit, and on the right is Ronit, and then Ygeal and Neomi. Next to me and slightly behind is Hagit, and the tall child behind the others is Yair.

There was fierce competition between the tribes to have the most beautiful flag. Pride was taken in marching straighter and singing louder, in preparing the most successful show and in building the highest tower. We are tribe Yehuda, if I succeeded in making out correctly the faded flag in the picture.

Up to this day has this tradition been kept up in the Kibbutzim. Not long ago when in Kibbutz Hatzor, I saw a picture of Ronit, who died this year, leading a group of little children that she worked with, on such a 'wandering in the desert'.

The flag poles were long, straight branches cut from Eucalyptus trees that also served us for scout structures in our improvised camp. Two flags are fluttering high above us.