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A Letter from My Mother
My Mother had been in Israel to attend Jerusalem University since June 23, 1959. She never mailed this letter, I found it in a box of her papers as I’m packing up to vacate my apartment for renovations. At this time she is living in a dorm on campus (Hebrew University in Jerusalem).
Thursday, December 1, 1959
Yom Sheeshe,
Too many people had the same idea as I did tonight – get a good hot bath and go to bed to keep warm. As a result, students began using the water as soon as it was lukewarm, so that it never got hot, so everyone had cool showers. “Ah, my dear little hot water bottle, I never dreamed I would become so fond of you.” I might tell you here, that in addition to flannel pajamas, I sleep in the part wool pink long johns I bought you in Rochester, to wear under your ski pants, though you seldom did. And a heavy wool sweater and my wool bathrobe. Okay, occasionally I do think of something other than the temperature of my hands and feet. Today was my “short” day at school. My first class was at 10 a.m. so I stayed in bed until 9 to keep warm.
My class was “Introduction to Archeology” with Professor Yadin. Next class is in “Prehistoric Archeology” with Professor Stekelis, which I think I am going to drop because of language difficulty. Professor Stekelis is a brilliant man and one of the world’s best in his field. He was in charge of the excavation at Beit Oren on Mt. Carmel near Haifa which I visited last month when I went to Nazareth. The skeleton of the man buried 10,000 years ago, which I watched him uncover then, is now on display in the Archeological Museum in Jerusalem. He told us today (translated to me of course) that some of his more religious diggers became angry and quit the excavation before the job was finished. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” they stormed at him, “How can you say this man was buried 10,000 years ago when God hadn’t even created the world then?”
After class I rushed into town to visit the hair dresser. You don’t dare be late for an appointment or someone will take your place. The beauty salons are crowded, which seems a little amazing at times when I think of the low standard of wages and the high cost of living here. But women with hardly a change of dress will keep regular appointments at the beauty shop. It’s due partly, I suppose, to the fact that hot water in the home is a luxury few can afford. But more than this, a woman who shampoos her own hair loses prestige just as does the woman who washes her own clothes or mops her own floors. In comparison to American prices, those in the Israeli beauty salon are very low, and the quality of work is excellent. David, my operator, received his training in Paris and I must admit he does more for my hair than any operator I ever had in the states.
So here I am tonight with my Parisian hairdo, bundled in bed with a hot water bottle. If I were in Tel Aviv perhaps I’d be sipping Espresso with friends in one of the smart sidewalk cafes. But I’m in Jerusalem where most people are in bed by 10. The highlight of my social life is going to tea with Mr. Cohana, the director of the museum. All the stores, shops and offices close here from 1-3 every day, and everyone takes a siesta. About 4:30-5:30 the English custom of “tea time” prevails. After my hair was done I spent another grueling two hours with my Hebrew tutor, then went by the museum to take a look at the skeleton from Beit Oren, and Mr. Cohana as usual, took me to tea.
Liala tov,
Mom
Go for it, sometimes the finds are wonderful, others not so much.
At least not anyone with any authority or a long reach…
As I get older, I find there are ever-lengthening parts of the year when I never think of anything other than the temperature of my hands and feet . . .
In this respect, your Mom was a girl after my own heart.
My apologies Kay for invading your thread with some nonsense that has been on my mind. The bulk of the letter is a beautiful remembrance that captivated me for many reasons. And I do not wish to blemish that with my intellectual vanity.
God Bless Kay.
No apologies necessary, I love talking about my mom and her achievements. However, I am not as knowledgeable, and don’t understand a lot of what she wrote, even tho I’ve read it. You are probably up on her knowledge level, and I didn’t respond to you because I don’t know enough about the subject to do so. If you come to the MT meet up I’ll let you read the manuscript, but it will someday be published, I just don’t know how to get it copyrighted. I haven’t yet found the letters of the several publishers who wanted to publish it when she got to the Union Theological Seminary in NYC. It won’t be published as a thesis though.
I’m sure @claire @jon @garymcvey and @arahant can help you on the many options you have for copyrighting!
That was really mean!
Kay — what a treasure. More, more, please.
When I arrived in Israel in February 1980, the siesta was still very much in effect. I think it ended just a few years later when Israel was beginning to move away from the last remnants of socialist ideology (good riddance!). I recall some discussion about making a 5-day work week, and the government’s sour response was that it would only mean that people would go shopping. It also took me awhile to get used to working on Sundays.
And yes, Jerusalem (and elsewhere) can be quite cold in the winter.
In my family we still hug our hot water bottles in deep December.
Thoughtless would be a better word, he just had no use for anything not practical.
Here in Montana we hug our down blankets supplemented with an electric one. If the electricity goes off, no way to heat anything, just add more quilts and wool long johns.