by ILIL ARBEL
So we took the lemon tree to the citrus orchard of a good friend who knew how we felt about it. We planted it and prayed.
Weeks passed, one of us visiting every day, making sure the tree had all the water it needed. There seemed to be no change in the tree's condition. The leaves stayed yellow, and didn't get either better or worse. Summer came to an end and nothing happened.
In the meantime, despite our worry, we had a wonderful time this first summer. Our new friends introduced us to the fascinating, unique culture and every day brought some adventure or revelation. One day, our Sephardic friend Leah invited us to supper so we can experience their interesting cooking. She took us into the garden and picked a bunch of glowing orange flowers from the climbing squash. I assumed this would be the table decoration, but instead of looking for a vase she handed them to her mother in the kitchen. The mother washed the flowers with clean water, dipped them in batter, and started frying them right in front of our disbelieving eyes! The supper was absolutely delicious, but I don’t remember the other dishes. Eating these dainty flowers made me feel like a fairy from the Arabian Nights.
We registered at the tiny library and found to our joy that it had many Russian books, among other languages. We would be well supplied until our Hebrew improved. Of course we also borrowed Hebrew books, it was such fun.
We bathed in the warm Mediterranean and loved it; the sea was often green and calm, without a single wave, and gave off the scent of watermelon. By now I knew I had to carefully watch for sunburn with my white skin, and always wore big hats and some covering. Still, I no longer minded my looks so much since Ada, the great traveler and my best friend, had told me that red hair was so fashionable in Europe! Perhaps it was a good thing, I thought, that Mama did not let me keep my black hair after the trip from Egypt. It would have been awkward to suddenly change. And maybe I would really be very pretty some day and go to balls and parties? Ada and Feera said they were sure of it. At night, our friends took us to enchanted moonlit walks on the white dunes, with the air scented by the flowering wild jasmines; I found these walks utterly romantic and magical. Time passed quickly.
“Feera,” I said one day. “Let's go to the orchard and tell the lemon tree we are starting school again tomorrow.”
“It's autumn already,” said Feera. “Isn't it strange? Still so hot! Remember how cold it got this time of year in Siberia? You know, Ida, we may never see snow again.”
“Who cares? I like the white sand dunes much better. Besides, if you really want snow, it falls in Jerusalem every six or seven years, they tell me. Next time it happens, we can go.”
We went to the orchard and knelt by the lemon tree for the daily inspection. Something seemed different.
“Can this be true?” I whispered and looked at Feera. She saw it too. Her golden skin turned white, drained of blood. We both stared at a tiny, almost invisible green dot that appeared on the top of the little tree. “Come, let's go and get Mama and Papa,” she whispered back. “They must see this – this miracle – right away!”
***
Today, the beautiful, stately lemon tree still grows in the center of the orchard and gives the best of lemons every year. Young trees are regularly grown from its cuttings, flourish in numerous other orchards, and in turn provide more cuttings that grow into new trees. Through this endless succession, Sasha's lemon tree will live forever, as long as the sun shines on the state of Israel.
EPILOGUE
By Ilil Arbel
If you enjoyed the story of the Wissotzky family and developed some affection for them, you may perhaps wish to know a little about the family’s later years. They are no longer with us, but I am sure Ida would not object to this addition to our narrative. She always loved a happy ending.
***
As the girls matured, Israel of the thirties, forties, and fifties experienced financial austerity. There were no excesses of any kind, not even real luxury. And yet, despite war and trouble, it permitted a fascinating and unique way of life, where East and West freely mingled.
Riches meant little, while education and culture meant everything. Teachers of all levels were highly respected. Perhaps this was the result of so many pioneers belonging to the “Russian Intelligentsia” and later the arrival of the extremely well-educated German Jews. Naturally, you wanted to be comfortable, but being really rich would be slightly embarrassing. It cannot be denied that many people experienced real poverty at times, particularly on arrival to Israel. Well educated and carefully brought up young girls went to work as cleaning women. Older women came to the more affluent houses to do the laundry, a very hard job since washing machines did not exist. You sloshed your hands in the almost boiling water in a round pan made of zinc, and scrubbed every piece. Men took any type of menial job they could get, mostly in the construction of homes and roads. Both genders worked in factories, on the land, and in all the services. Poverty was hard, as it always is, but menial labor was not a source of humiliation in this slightly Utopian environment.
A famous anecdote recalls a philosophy professor who came to Israel with his wife, a teacher. She opened a thriving high school, but what kind of a job would be available to a professor of philosophy before the first university was created? Well, after much thought, Max decided to become a street sweeper. In those days, you did it with a straw broom, at night. What could be nicer for a philosopher? The job would gives him solitude, time to think, and would free at least part of his days for writing!
Hardly any fancy foods were available, but you could always have the best fruit and vegetables, fresh milk and other dairy foods, and beautifully baked bread. As human nature dictates, despite the availability of fresh produce, everyone adored the canned foods that were sometimes sent from America, if you were lucky enough to have relatives there. These canned goods were considered rather exotic. Children in particular loved the canned fruit, and marshmallows were thought a rare delight. Since many of your new friends came from every corner of the globe, the sheer number of cuisines that you could sample at their tables was amazing – and the variety defeated the austerity. Dining grew to be cosmopolitan. Little restaurants sprang everywhere, sharp Eastern spices mingling with the heavier scents of the East European cooking.
The toy shops were often almost empty of merchandise – but the children spent most of their afternoons playing together in the yards and parks, running around in the fresh air, or going in groups to the beach. You could climb fences or trees, and gorge on the wild mulberries, guavas, and figs that grew everywhere. In other words, you learned to socialize instead of choosing to sit in front of a TV – which was not even allowed to exist in Israel until much, much later.
Books, original and translated, were everywhere – bookstores, research libraries, lending libraries, school libraries, and street stalls. You had to be careful with them since they were very expensive. In most libraries, repairing the books was a big part of the librarians’ job, and on the first day at school, every child was instructed to wrap the school-issued textbooks right away.
For the adults, social life blossomed – balls, parties, constant small gatherings. People dropped in on each other at any time to chat and drink coffee, and since many houses did not possess a telephone, without checking in advance. If your friends were not at home, you visited someone else, or strolled to the beach and sat in a café overlooking the water, where you were sure to meet some acquaintances, or make new friends. Many charming little bands from all over the world came to sing in these cafés, and people were exposed to popular music from places they had never heard about. You could hear the children of East European Jews singing the rousing songs of a Mariachi band, or little Yemenite children singing Hebrew songs that were set to the ponderous, though melodious, Russian music.
The theatre thrived, and some truly great actors graced the stage, performing both original and translated plays. The concert halls were always full, and musicians from every country came to perform to one of the most enthusiasti
c audiences in the world. Divas came to sing in the modest little opera house, defying the unsophisticated conditions.
Art flourished. It was strongly influenced by Professor Boris Schatz and his unique Arts and Crafts school Bezalel, founded in 1906. The school was named after the Biblical artist and craftsman Bezalel Ben Uri, the man who built the first Tabernacle. With this historically-oriented spirit, Schatz believed that arts and crafts were two sides of the same coin, and every student in his school had to study both. His romantic and innovative vision combined Hebrew, Zionist, and Jewish symbols, and the school included numerous departments. This innovative approach gained him the nickname “The Israeli William Morris.” Naturally, over the decades much of his vision underwent transformation, and many other artists continued to express their own unique vision.
Literature burst into new life. Great writers and poets produced works in Hebrew, a language that grew richer every day with the development of the nation. The new culture constantly added material to the millenniums of the Jewish commonwealth of learning and love of books.
People worked hard to make a living, but not in an overstressed, workaholic style. Life was balanced. For example, many people went to the beach for a brisk swim before starting work, thus beginning the day with a pleasurable, invigorating activity. Others went there after work was done, in the pleasant coolness of the sunset. At dusk, even after the hottest days, a fresh breeze blew in from the Mediterranean. Lunch was the main meal of the day, and then everyone had a siesta, a most intelligent habit in such hot weather. For two or three hours the stores were closed, offices emptied out, and the bustling streets turned suddenly silent under the scorching sun. Work resumed later in the cooler hours of the afternoon, the workers feeling refreshed rather than fatigued. After work, many people met friends at the outdoor cafés, and enjoyed the parade of people passing by before going home to a very simple supper.
Often, people gathered to listen to special programs on the radio together, many of the women bringing their needlework with them. Needlework was an extremely popular pastime. Special little stores sold you tablecloths to embroider, knitting and crochet supplies, and all sorts of exciting notions. There were no glossy craft magazines, but the owners could actually give you the knitting instructions, hand scribbled quite accurately on a piece of paper; a lost art in our world.
The one trouble that always loomed, always threatened, was war. The tragedy of losing loved ones could never be far away from anyone’s thoughts. The only saving grace was the wholeness of purpose that people felt in their lives. They traveled unthinkable distances because they finally had a country and a government for the first time in two thousand years, and they loved both. Certainly, the actions of the government were often criticized and questioned, but it was still their own. Isolated, surrounded by a huge number of enemies, people drew together. The fallen were heroes, not victims. The sacrifices were honored; the grief was shared.
Despite the constant war threat, economic hardship, and political trouble, people enjoyed their lives, their work, their families, and their friends. They had a dream that was not yet spoiled by harsh realities. And nothing in this world gives so much joy in life as an intact dream.
***
Dr. Avraham Wissotzky did not live a very long life. Having suffered from tuberculosis as a child, his weak lungs claimed him in his late fifties, but not before he contributed both professionally and personally to many lives. In addition to his successful career as a dentist in Tel-Aviv, he was a wonderful writer and published both fiction and non-fiction books. As I briefly mentioned in the introduction, I am currently translating into English two of his novels, Tel-Aviv and Green Flame, both telling the fascinating stories of pioneering families. Some day I plan to publish The Lemon Tree and these two novels together as a very special edition, which will be named The Aliya Trilogy.
Dr. Wissotzky continued to be a wonderful father and grandfather, and his grandchildren benefited greatly from his wondrous storytelling, complete with his curious ability to draw pictures of Aesop’s Fables with his arms around the children as they sat on his lap. His dental office was a place of magic for them, full of interesting and absorbing old objects, including a fascinating real human skull that never failed to scare them a little. You can see this skull in the photograph, standing in its place of honor on the cabinet.
Hadassa Wissotzky lived to her mid-seventies. She battled with cancer in her fifties, and – quite an amazing feat in those days – won this battle. She healed and lived on, until eventually she was claimed by pneumonia. Hadassa continued to be a tower of strength, a councilor, and a friend to all who knew her. A practical, highly intelligent, and utterly charming woman, she was the center and the core of her family and of a large group of loyal and loving friends. Hadassa never lost her green thumb, her love of good cooking, and her talent for intricate crafts; she had done her best to generously teach her skills to anyone who was interested. As a grandmother she simply had no equal.
Feera grew up to be as lovely and intelligent as a young woman as she was during her childhood. She studied business in London, and there she met her future husband. Moshé Mishory was studying to be a veterinarian, but Hadassa objected to the profession, on the strange and funny grounds that it would make him smell like horse manure! In a more serious vein, and practical as ever, she suggested to Moshé, “why not switch to dentistry, and then work with Avraham?” It seemed like a good plan and Moshé switched fields. He never regretted it and indeed became a successful and well-respected dentist. Dr. Mishory was a most cultured and well-educated man, with a deep interest in history and archaeology. Feera and Moshé had two boys. As was customary in those happy, family-oriented days, the Wissotzky and Mishory families shared a huge multigenerational home, a place full of joy, fun, and learning.
And now to our heroine, Ida. Old Ivan Petrovich’s prophecy came true – she grew up to become a celebrated beauty. People traveled from other towns just to see the flaming-haired, green-eyed, ivory-skinned young woman, who was also intelligent, musical, and artistic. She was widely painted and sculptured by well-respected Israeli artists. Ida’s dream of balls and parties came true – the Wissotzky sisters were immensely popular during this very social era in Israel.
In the Gymnasia Herzlia Ida received an exceptionally good education, since many of the teachers there were scholars of high standing who had escaped persecution in other countries. In addition to the regular course of studies, she developed great interest in art and design, and studied music and languages. She inherited her father’s talent for storytelling, but specialized in the oral rather than the written medium. During her school days she developed friendships that lasted a lifetime. Amazingly, some of them were with the same little girls she met during her first year in school. You can see the photographs of some of these girls as they grew up to become stylish young women.
When she graduated from the Gymnasia Herzlia, Ida worked for a while as her father’s dental assistant and decided she liked the profession. She traveled to the University of Nancy in France, which had a good dental program, and very soon was the center of a large and cheerful group of friends. It should be noted that one of the first things she did in Nancy, just after getting an apartment, was to rent a piano which had to be hauled up to the fifth floor. Living without a piano seemed inconceivable.
One of the most appealing anecdotes regarding her unusual beauty and charm occurred in Nancy. It happened at the most unexpected setting of a large Zionist gathering where a very great man, Ze’ev (Vladimir) Jabotinsky, came to give a lecture and participate in a banquette.
In America, Jabotinsky was probably best known for his script (based on his own novel Samson) for the famous movie Samson and Delilah. However, he was a towering figure in Zionism and was quite revered. He was also a prolific writer. One of his more romantic and fanciful books, The Five, was autobiographical. The heroine, a rather magnificent red-haired young woman named Marusia, was a most alluring charac
ter, if somewhat overly romanticized. It was not a secret that Jabotinsky was thoroughly in love with her in his younger days and her identity was hotly speculated upon by his readers without success. The tale was made even more heart wrenching since Marusia dies in the book during a horrible fire, occurring when the wide and flowing sleeves of her elegant negligee catch fire as she cooks breakfast for her children. Sacrificing herself to save her children, she dies and leaves broken hearts all around her. Many readers sobbed over this book.
As Ida entered the banquette room with a group of Zionist friends, Jabotinsky was already seated at the table. He raised his head to see the newcomers, and suddenly stood on his feet, seemingly struck by the proverbial lightning. Everyone watched as he gazed at Ida for a long moment and whispered “Marusia . . .” He took some time to recover sufficiently to start the lecture, and Ida’s friends never let her forget this interesting little triumph.
Later on at Nancy University, when she was twenty-two, Ida met her future husband, Dr. Leibek (Arieh) Rosenfeld. A dentist and an oral surgeon, he was only twenty-eight years old, and already was promoted to the high position of the head of a clinic at the dental department. Leibek, a very handsome, dark-haired young man with warm brown eyes, was a cosmopolitan, sophisticated individual, highly intelligent and blessed with a wonderful sense of humor. He was born and raised in Poland, where he received an exceptional education and was fluent in various languages. His uncle sent him to study dentistry, and Leibek planned to return to Poland and join his uncle’s dental office. However, after he and Ida were engaged, he soon went to Israel to meet her parents, and fell in love with the beautiful country, the warm water of the Mediterranean, the little white houses among the dunes, and the tiny though sophisticated city of Tel-Aviv. He refused to leave.