Monday, March 30, 2015


                         חג פסח שמח

The eight-day festival of Passover is celebrated in the early spring, from the 15th through the 22nd of the Hebrew month of Nissan. It commemorates the emancipation of the Israelites from slavery in ancient Egypt. 

After many decades of slavery to the Egyptian pharaohs,  God sent Moses to Pharaoh with the message to let his people go. But despite numerous warnings, Pharaoh refused to follow this  command. God brought upon Egypt ten devastating plagues.
At the stroke of midnight of 15 Nissan in the year 2448 from creation (1313 BCE), God sent the last of the ten plagues to the Egyptians, killing all their firstborn. While doing so, God spared the Children of Israel, “passing over” their homes—hence the name of the holiday. Pharaoh’s resistance was broken, and he chased his former slaves out of the land. The Israelites left in such a hurry, that the bread they baked as provisions for the way did not have time to rise. They began the trek to Mount Sinai and their birth as God’s chosen people.

In honoring this past during the whole week of Pessach, and at the Seder festive meal, only unleavened bread, called Matzah, is eaten.

The focal points of the Seder are:
  • Eating matzah.
  • Eating bitter herbs—to commemorate the bitter slavery endured by the Israelites.
  • Drinking four cups of wine or grape juice—a royal drink to celebrate the newfound freedom.
  • The recitation of the Haggadah, a liturgy that describes in detail the story of the Exodus from Egypt. 
This is, in short, the story of Pessach, taken from the Chabad website. Many customs are celebrated during this holiday and a lot of different foods are enjoyed. The whole family is joining together at the seder, and friends, and even strangers are welcomed. 

Tuesday, March 17, 2015


                                            Zvi March 2013

Today is election day in Israel, in a state that exists only for 67 years.

One day 1943 in Berlin, it was the 27th of February exactly, a 16 year old Jewish boy, named Heinz Zvi Abrahamson, came home from his work as a forced laborer for the German armaments industry. He found the apartment of his family in the Zehdenickerstrasse sealed. A Christian neighbor told him his parents had been taken by the Gestapo and were waiting for him at the Synagogue in the Levetzowstrasse, which had been converted into a transit camp by the Nazis. In an instant he knew he had to come to a decision. It was clear to him that joining his parents would mean certain death. He chose to go underground and to fight for his life. According to the later found documents of the Gestapo, his parents were sent some days after it to Ausschwitz and murdered there. Zvi came to Israel in 1948, at the age of 20, without his own family, but with a new one, one that had adopted him already in his terrible last years in Germany. Times later he married, he has two daughters and a son. As of today he has 9 wonderful grandchildren.

I met Zvi more than 30 years later, after I married my Israeli husband and came to live here. Zvi's wife Esther is my husbands cousin, their mothers were sisters. I was, together with my daughters, lovingly integrated in Zvi's family, they became my family. We celebrated many holidays together, barbeques, birthdays and other family events. Zvi never talked very much about his youth in Nazi Germany.

 Zvi and my granddaughter Yasmin, Passover April 2010

About three years ago he brought to our home a large folder to look at. He had written his story. He had told it in his mother language German and he asked us to read it. There were many many pages. I started reading. His story was so sad that I was often in tears and half way through I stopped and turned the folder over to my husband. He sat with it for some evenings till he finished reading it. To make it short, after a while it turned out that I did some editing of the book in German, and later my husband translated it into Hebrew. 

Zvi has had already a difficult childhood in Berlin. Born in 1927 he soon was a witness to and a sufferer of the changes that happened to the Jewish community after the Nazis came to power. The family succeeded in getting Zvi's younger sister Betty in 1939 via England out of Berlin to Australia. After Zvi went into illegality at the young age of 16, his life changed from bad to worse so dramatically that I wonder how he survived at all. In his memoirs he tells about the challenges of hiding from the authorities, from the Gestapo, from their spies, and how often he almost not escaped danger. He tells of freezing cold winters, not being able to keep warm, not having enough clothes, no shelter. He speaks of sleeping in houses destroyed by bombs, in demolished cellars, in abandoned garden huts. How hard it was to find food, he never had enough to eat. He narrates about the loneliness, the sadness, the despair, the longing for his family.  No possibility to shower or to wash. Never being able to be sure whom to trust and whom to fear. He tells how he was caught twice, beaten almost to death, losing his teeth in the act, rescued in the last moment by sheer force of chance. But he also tells about good people helping. About finding friends, people who were in the same misery. About being adopted and integrated into a new family, getting a brother, Gad, and a sister Mirjam. I met Gad, and Mirjam I remember very well from Passover celebrations in Eshter's and Zvi's home. They both have passed away since.

These days Zvi is in Germany, in Berlin. He is accompanied by his daughter Merav and her husband. A TV crew welcomed them at the airport and a documentary is being filmed about Zvi's life in Nazi Berlin. They visit the old places. Here is the house where he last lived, Zehdenickerstrasse 2. He even went into the apartment, the nice dwellers living there today agreed to it. It was warm and cozy there and I remember how he tells in the book that during his childhood it was difficult to heat the flat in winter.

For my German readers here is the first paragraph of Zvi's story:

"Es ist einer der letzten heißen Sommertage im September 2010. Mit meiner Frau Esther sitze ich am einzigen Ort in unserem Haus, an dem wir die Hitze ertragen können, auf der Terrasse. Seit zwölf Jahren leben wir in Ra’anana, einem Vorort von Tel Aviv. Von der Terrasse aus können wir fast bis zum Meer blicken. Am Abend genießen wir von hier aus den Sonnenuntergang. Hier draussen feiern wir auch am juedischen Neujahrstag unser jaehrliches Familienfest. Die ganze Familie, die im Laufe der letzten Jahre auf zwei Generationen und 34 Personen herangewachsen ist findet sich zusammen.
Meine Familiengeschichte fing mit meiner Einwanderung in Israel im Jahre 1948 an. Zusammen mit der Familie Beck kam ich, zwanzig Jahre alt und alleinstehend nach Israel. Das Ehepaar Beck hatte mich nach dem Krieg in ihre Familie aufgenommen. Die einzige Überlebende aus meiner unmittelbaren leiblichen Familie war meine Schwester Betty. Sie konnte 1939 als kleines Maedchen nach Australien auswandern.
Als wir vor 62 Jahren nach Israel kamen, hatten wir nichts. Die Nazis hatten in den Jahren 1938 bis 1945 das ganze Vermoegen der Juden in Deutschland beschlagnahmt und damit derenVernichtung und Ermordung in Europa finanziert.
Meine Frau Esther wurde in Bagdad geboren. Sie war mit ihrer Familie aus dem Irak nach Israel eingewandert. Daher sind wir eine gemischte Familie, aus dem Orient und aus Europa, vereint in Israel. Das Land wurde zum Schmelztiegel für Juden aus über 70 Ländern.
Heute bin ich umgeben von meinen Kindern und Enkeln und kann erstmals über meine Vergangenheit sprechen. Dagegen habe ich mich lange Zeit gesträubt. Ich hatte bei meiner Hochzeit im Jahr 1968 meinen Geburtsnamen „Abrahamsohn“ in „Aviram“ geändert. Ich wollte mit der Vergangenheit abschließen, all die schrecklichen Erlebnisse und Erfahrungen hinter mir lassen und mir ein neues Leben aufbauen. Mein geänderter Name sollte mir dabei helfen den Weg in die Ehe und die Zukunft zu ebnen. Doch ich merkte, dass ich meine Vergangenheit nicht so einfach wie eine Jacke ablegen konnte, sondern, dass ich sie mein Leben lang mit mir herumtragen würde.  Wie sollte ich mit dieser  schweren Last der Erinnerungen umgehen?"

The memories of Zvi Aviram will be published soon, both in German and in Hebrew, and who knows, maybe they will be translated one day into English as well. A movie is planned too, and there will be this TV documentary. Zvi is 88 years old, good looking, energetic and healthy. We love you my friend, and we wish you many more good years here in Israel among all your dear ones. We wish that you will see the fruit of your efforts making your story known, to your children and grandchildren and to the world.


Zwölf Jahre lang waren wir in Deutschland von einer sich immer ausgeprägter entwickelnden Terrorherrschaft bedroht. Von meinem sechsten Lebensjahr an, musste ich mich vor Feinden schützen, die mich ständig umgaben. Unser Familien- und Gesellschaftsleben war während der Naziherrschaft von der Terrormaschine geprägt, die uns niemals in Ruhe ließ und uns vernichten wollte. Die Verfolgung erreichte den Höhepunkt mit der systematischen fabrikmäßigen Ermordung des europäischen Judentums. Während ein Teil der deutschen Juden noch rechtzeitig aus Deutschland auswandern konnten, bevor der Terror die schlimmsten Ausmaße annahm, gelang das mir und meinen Freunden nicht. Nur durch unsere eigene Initiative, durch Zufälle, Glück, und oft die uneigennuetzige Hilfe von Christen, gelang es uns diese Zeit durchzustehen."

All the photos in Berlin by Merav and Moti Krispil.

Monday, March 9, 2015


                              Oss and Yaron
          Larnaca - Cyprus - 24th of February 2015 
                             A very happy day

Wednesday, March 4, 2015


HaBonim is maybe the most beautiful beach in Israel. It is composed of a rugged shoreline, with sculpted rocks, and ridges and platforms of kurkar, the fossilized sand dunes which are native to the land. And there is the blue Mediterranean, spreading to the horizon, endless and forever...

This coastal Nature Reserve is a true soul soother, a filler of the heart, a gift for the senses.
It is located at the base of the Carmel mountains, stretching from Kibbutz HaBonim to Moshav Dor. Walking routes pass through a very unique natural world with fantastic sites. Inlets with rising rocks of calcareous sandstone, their tops flattened and leveled down to flats, abraded by the constant crashing of the waves, alternate with little bays, some filled with millions of shells. The trails are pleasant and easy to hike, and provide stunning views, winding past small pools and blue lagoons edged with fine sand.

To be there is a treat all year around, but winter and spring bring forward a great variety of plants and wildflowers along this shore, and that has been the reason for our visit some days ago. While strolling we met the lovely purple irises, we saw the ground dotted with white and pink and blue and yellow, and we enjoyed it. 

But we came for the tulips. Yes there is a flower hill and at this time of the year it belongs mostly to the tulips and provides a stunning and fantastic show of flaming red. Thousands of exquisite short, firm and strong tulips are blooming above the sea. It is like an explosion of gorgeousness. Their bold crimson color, together with the blue/turquoise/green of the sea, the azure sky and the soft light hue of the sand cause a striking sight.

A salty wind was blowing that day. Only the sound of the waves invaded the stillness, except for an occasional shriek of a sea gull. Taking all the goodness in felt like hiding away from daily reality, like magic, hm, yes like happiness pure.

There is much more to explore at this wonderful strip of coastline, breathtaking sunsets included. Bathing and swimming is prohibited at the reserve, but there is a public beach to enjoy only a short distance away.

P.S. And then I painted it...


Photos by Uri Eshkar.

Sunday, March 1, 2015


So it is two weeks after the opening and the excitement has calmed down. My husband took the above photo yesterday during a quiet hour at the gallery.

This painting is called "Time flows" and there are the eyes for "Watch" and the hands for "Touch" and the lips for "Talk" and the notes for "Listen" and the heart for "Feel". There are the fish and the hands and the eyes and the blue color against the evil eye. There are the clocks ticking and the river of time flowing. There are European towns and trees and Mediterranean towns and trees, palm trees, yes. There is silver and gold for the glitters of life, red and orange for joy, and greens for calm and quiet. There are the stars and a dose of yellow for hope. It is a painting without sadness.

Many people came to visit. Of course my whole family was there and almost all of my friends. My oldest guest was 98 year old Ruth Dayan, who did us the honor of a lovely speech, and was very much welcomed by everyone.

My husband said kind words about me and my art which made me blush. I sold two paintings at the opening and one yesterday.

                       "Going to the Game"

It was a good day. People liked my paintings, they talked about the colorfulness and the humorous images. They asked me about meanings and had explanations by themselves. They smiled a lot and I liked that. I think I will go on painting... :-)

                 "The Heart Messenger" (very important task)

The manager of the gallery, Michal Shibolet, and the curator, Dorit Talmon, did a great job in organizing the event, advertising, and arranging the paintings in a pleasing manner. I am very thankful to them.

The exhibition will be open till March 14.

Photographs as always by my husband Uri Eshkar.

All images are my copyright, please do not use without asking permission.