Posted by Shira Cohen-Regev on April 30, 2008 under Israel history | 
My father’s story
My father was born and raised in Paris to Jewish-Polish immigrant parents. During World-War II he and his younger brother were sent to hide in a little village in France called Foulletourte. They had to keep their Jewish identity secret to avoid being taken by the Germans to the extermination Camps.
The local Priest made my father a choir boy in church to intensify his non-Jewish identity, but avoided giving him the sanctified bread in honor of his real religion. My father remembers that he actually wanted to taste the bread to be like everyone else. In a later visit to this village, we found out that this priest was a member of the French Resistance (a French movement which fought against the Nazi-German occupation) that was later captured and murdered by the Germans. Later on, my father’s Jewish identity was uncovered and he had to wear the yellow badge (טְלַאי צָהֹב) that was made mandatory by the Vichy regime in France to identify him as a Jew.
One day, the German police arrived and took my father, his brother, and some other Jewish children to a transit camp, not far from Paris – Drancy.
Only lately, it was uncovered that the informant was the French woman who was in charge of the kids. Her son was a very good friend of my father. Drancy was a camp that used to hold Jews(יְהוּדִים) who were later deported to the extermination camps(מַחֲנוֹת הַשְׁמָדָה) . The conditions in this camp were not human – my father was hungry all the time but shared the little food he had with his brother.
One of the women at the camp suggested that he should ask the German commander of the camp to release him and his brother because his mother died and his father was a prisoner-of-war and he was the only one to take care of his younger brother. He remembers waiting in a very long line to speak to the commander. Eventually he entered an enormous room. The room was the size of a whole floor. In a lower floor, sixty people lived in the same amount of space. The commander sat at the far end of the room, and the distance between the door and the commander seemed endless to the eye of my nine-year old father. With much courage, he approached the authority and explained his situation. To his surprise, few days later, he was released from the camp together with his brother and some other children. 65,000-80,000 Jews were deported from Drancy, of these, more than 63,000 were murdered including 6,000 children. My father was more than lucky.
But his troubles were yet to be ended. He was sent to an orphanage in the part of Paris that was occupied by the Germans. This was better than the camp, but it was important to move to the unoccupied zone. One day, an acquaintance of the family let him know that he will help my father and his brother escape into the unoccupied zone. He had to keep it in secret from his friends and his 5-year-old talkative brother. Eventually, they escaped to a Metro station and met their helper. Now, it was important to get rid of the yellow badge, but after taking it off his coat, the unfaded Star-of-David fabric was very clear and could reveal his Jewish identity. He went to the bathroom and smeared his coat to cover the unfaded area. Eventually, they arrived at Marseille that was at the unoccupied zone of France.
When I think about the level of responsibility my father had to carry as a nine-year-old and the fact that I do not allow my own nine-year-old son to cross the street by himself, I feel very proud of my father. Moreover, I feel compassionate to this little boy that had to carry so much on his little shoulders. In-spite of his difficult life condition, the uncertainty, and the parent role he had to take at such a young age, he was later able to create an emotional good relationships and a healthy family of his own. My seven-year-old daughter told me today, after studying about the Holocaust in school, “If Saba wouldn’t have survived the camps, we weren’t alive, and that’s not good.”
Remembering the Children of the Holocaust
The French children, who survived the Holocaust, always felt that they didn’t suffer enough to consider themselves as Holocaust survivors(נִצּוֹלִים) . Only at 1993, the Israeli Association of Children who were Hidden in France during the Holocaust – “Aloumim” – עֲלוּמִים was established to remember and document the memories of these children and to support the survivors.
Today is the Remembrance Day for the Holocaust and Heroism – We must not forget!
Posted by Shira Cohen-Regev on April 23, 2008 under Holidays |
Is there a “right” Seder?
On Saturday night my family gathered around the table to celebrate Pesach. The dining table was extended, the white tablecloth spread on, the Pesach plate was presented, and the wine waited to be poured. We all sat around the table – the three generations of the family and began reading the Haggadah, following the customs and clarifying some of the symbolic meanings of what we read and sang. Each person read a part of the Haggadah and I felt very proud as my first-grade-daughter read so fluently.
What strikes me most are the different versions of the songs sang around similar tables around the world. As a child, we celebrated the Seder mostly with my aunt’s family – they had wonderful melodies to the Haggadah songs and I adopted those melodies as the “right” ones. Whenever I heard different versions, I thought that they were simply wrong. As I grew up, I realized that there are no “right” melodies, but I still feel the best with the songs I heard and sang as a child.
Later on in my life, when we lived in the US, we were invited to celebrate the Seder with friends of ours. They are a wonderful funny family with grown-up children, but there were not familiar with the Haggadah songs. Fortunately, we felt comfortable enough to share with them our songs. Our little Israeli family added some “pilpel” (pepper=פִּלְפֵּל) into that Seder with songs and Israeli tradition. These friends of ours later admitted that they had never had such a wonderful and joyful Seder before.
In another American Seder at our temporary home in Pittsburgh, we gathered an eclectic group of friends – Israelis, Jewish, and some acquaintances who never participated in a Seder before. We put a collection of white tablecloths on a ping-pong table and had a unique Seder. When it was time to sing, each one sang a different tune of the same song. Each one of us felt s/he sang the “right” tune. On my opinion, my “right” ,melodies sound the best…
Last year, I wanted to experience again the “right” Seder here, in Israel. I invited my aunt and her “tribe” and my brother’s family and dad. Throughout the years we became quite many. Again, we spread a collection of white tablecloths on a collection of tables and had all the “right” songs, and the “right” tasty food. It felt so “right”! Childhood memories are stronger than we tend to realize.
Chad Gadya חַד גַּדְיָא
At the end of that Seder there was a wonderful surprise. My sister-in-law, who was raised in a Kibbutz, organized the kids to act the final song of the Haggadah – “Chad-Gadya”. This song concludes the Seder and is written in Aramaic. My sister-in-law introduced the Kibbutz Hebrew version (written by Givon Uri).
The kids acted it out with home-made costumes and we could all follow the lightsome music and lyric. The kids could better understand the song and actually passed it on to this year’s Seder.
Chad-Gadya is a cumulative song (like many of the songs in the Haggadah) that tells about one little goat that father bought for two zuzim. The goat was eaten by the cat, that was bitten by the dog, that was beaten by the stick, that was burned by the fire, that was extinguished by the water, that was drank by the ox, that was killed by the slaughterer, that was slained by the Angel of death. The song concludes with the arrival of the Holy One, Blessed be He, who smitten the Angel of death.
There are many explanations of this song, its symbolism and relevance to the story of Passover. But I see it as a wonderful way of demonstrating the various “right” ways of the Seder.
A short search in the Internet revealed a countless versions sang (and videotaped) by different families in their Seders. Many poets translated it giving the song their own interpretations and actualizations, such as: Chava Alberstein , Nathan Alterman and Levin Kipnis.
This year, I was no longer looking for the “right” Seder. I came to realize that every Seder is right as long as we keep in mind the meaning of the Holiday that was mandated in the bible to recount the story of The Exodus. Every Seder is right as long as we feel free enough to accept what we were given and to pass it on.
The Hebrew Corner:
Here are the main characters of the Chad-Gadya song in Aramaic, Hebrew, and English:
Posted by Shira Cohen-Regev on April 15, 2008 under Holidays |
Ruthy’s story
One of the most significant aspects of Passover is liberty (חֵרוּת)and freedom (חֹפֶשׁ) . The biblical story tells us about the liberation of the people of Israel from their slavery in Egypt. The Haggadah tells us that “in every generation one must feel as though s/he personally had been rescued from Egypt”.
The personalization of this liberation became very real to my friend Ruthy. A year ago, just before Passover, she was diagnosed with Cancer (סַרְטָן). Instead of having the Seder at her place with her family, she found herself preparing for an operation. When singing
” עֲבָדִים הָיִינוּ / עַתָּה בְּנֵי חוֹרִין ” (We were slaves / Now we are free people),
Ruthy could more easily identify with a slave than with a free person. She felt a slave within her own body – a slave of this horrible disease called Cancer.
But Ruthy is a strong person with an optimistic view of life, and maybe Passover made her remember that she is a free woman and she can make her own decisions about her life; and she chose life – she chose to be healthy.
Ruthy was operated and began the chemotherapy treatment. As a person with free and open mind, she was able to accept it and express her feelings about it openly. She was able to continue being a mother and a wife and a friend having enough free space in her heart for herself and for the others. For her birthday, her older brother gave her an easel, some canvases and colors – she began paining – wonderful, colorful paintings drawn with a free hand by a free spirit. She saw the cancer as a turning point – time to think, to grow, to develop, to prepare for the wonderful life in front of her.
Now Ruthy is healthy – no cancer in her body – she is free, she feels free. She invited some of her girlfriends that were there for her through the advantageous moments of this year to celebrate her health and the beginning of a new healthy and free year of her life.
Ruthy gathered around her an amazing group of women from different stages of her life – from preschool and the youth movement, neighbors and mothers of her boys’ friends. She invited us all to celebrate with her in a spa, enjoying the togetherness and joy of friendship with the water reminding us the free flowing of life. She acknowledged the help she received from us and from her family during the last year. But, most of all, we acknowledged how much we adore the way she have handled and utilized life, how much we love her and the fact that we all gained insights into our own life thanks to Ruthy; our perspective about life, health and freedom has changed and we appreciate now even the simplest things that happen to us.
Before we left, Ruthy opened a bag full of stones (Made by Adi Arbel) and each of us was asked to think about the meaning of health to ourselves and to blindly choose a stone from the bag. Each stone had a word drawn on it. On my stone the word “יְצִירָה” (creativity) appeared, and this blog is one of my creative ways of expressing it.
What is the significance of Health to you?
| Courage |
אֹמֶץ |
|
Happiness, joy |
שִׂמְחָה |
| Creativity |
יְצִירָה |
|
Acceptance |
קַבָּלָה |
| Growth |
צְמִיחָה |
|
Liberation |
שִׁחְרוּר |
| Transition |
שִׁנּוּי |
|
Calmness |
רֹגַע |
| Love |
אַהֲבָה |
|
Attentiveness |
הַקְשָׁבָה |
חַג שָׂמֵחַ(Happy Holiday)
שִׁירָה
My father was born and raised in Paris to Jewish-Polish immigrant parents. During World-War II he and his younger brother were sent to hide in a little village in France called Foulletourte. They had to keep their Jewish identity secret to avoid being taken by the Germans to the extermination Camps.
One day, the German police arrived and took my father, his brother, and some other Jewish children to a transit camp, not far from Paris – Drancy.
The French children, who survived the Holocaust, always felt that they didn’t suffer enough to consider themselves as Holocaust survivors(נִצּוֹלִים) . Only at 1993, the Israeli Association of Children who were Hidden in France during the Holocaust – “Aloumim” – עֲלוּמִים was established to remember and document the memories of these children and to support the survivors.
