A MUSICAL JOURNEY

 

How it all began....

Piano lessons and learning to play the recorder (flute) were part of my musical upbringing. From the coupons my mother saved, she was able to afford seasonal tickets to classical concerts in the Amsterdam “Concert Gebouw” (Concert Hall). Some of those beautiful musical pieces gave me goosepimples.

During high school I no longer had time for piano lessons, but it is like riding a bike – once you’ve learned how to do it, you’ll never forget. You may get a bit rusty, but it will soon come back the moment your fingers touch the keys.

After moving to Israel, I missed having a piano. Too expensive (and not enough room) to buy one, we opted for a simple keyboard. At least, it was something, but after a while I got frustrated for not being able to play the whole scale of the music. We made someone very happy with the instrument.

Then I tried to teach myself to play the guitar – classical at first but
ending with playing only the chords. That was great, until a tendon in my left hand began to protest, and that was the end of regular guitar playing.

It always surprised me how people could concentrate on their work while being surrounded by music. Not me – it was always either – or. Depending on my mood, I loved to listen to a range of genres – from classical to easy listening to opera. I never have been able to put my finger on why New Age music makes me restless, but I think it’s the spirits behind it that my soul protests against.

Until my third burn-out, peaceful, melodious melodies often soothed my tired body and soul. That deep valley turned into the ‘quiet’ years, because my overloaded nerve system could not handle any music. 

Things gradually began to change for the better when one of our Dutch guests turned out to be a great guitar player. Singing together was so wonderful, it made me so happy! We sang to our hearts desire for an hour in the evening. However, thanks to all that adrenaline coursing through my veins, I lay awake for hours before finally falling asleep. Needing my rest to be able to function during the day, the only option for me was to join them during the afternoons, and no longer in the evenings.

One of my tasks as ‘media director’ (sounds more than it is) in our church is to prepare the Sunday songs for the worship team, find sheet music if necessary and try to learn a new song beforehand.

It was a wonderful moment when I realized that the joy of music was returning to my heart and soul. God had been at work without me realizing it. And there was more to come!

A Famous Sycamore Tree

The sycamore (Hebrew: shikma; Gr. Sycomoros)  - is derived from the root shin, kuf, mem - meaning to restore, regenerate, reestablish.

Because of its resemblance to the fig-tree, and leaves like those of the mulberry, the tree is called the fig-mulberry (Ficus sycomorus). Most people know the sycamore as the ‘Acer pseudo platanus’, a maple species often called a plane-tree. The clustered fruits look like small figs; they are sweet, but not as good as the true fig.

Sycamore trees were of high economic and cultural significance in the Near East. In ancient times the tree was known as the "fig of Pharaoh," and Egypt as "the land where the sycamore tree blooms."

The Egyptians considered its shadow as a delight. With its wood they built coffins for the mummies as the sycamore fig is one of the few trees in the region to obtain a girth great enough for this use. The wood of the sycamore was held in relatively higher esteem than its fruit. It was used extensively in building and wherever long and stout beams were needed.

The sycamore is not endemic to the Land of Israel and during Bible times it mainly grew in the Shephelah (coastal plain).

“I was a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees.” Amos 7:14 The word“dresser” should have been tr. “cultivator.” While the sheep were grazing, shepherds often tended the sycamore trees by puncturing the fruit with the point of a knife - otherwise the fruit would be inedible.

"The tree's yield is extremely prolific, but only when iron hooks are used to make incisions in the fruit, which otherwise does nor ripen. When this is done the fruit is picked three days later, while another fig forms beneath it; the tree thus has seven crops of very juicy figs in a single summer.” Pliny the Elder, Natural History - Books XIII Trees.

Once widespread in Israel in Biblical times, its value was so great that David appointed for them in his kingdom a special overseer, (1 Chronicles 27:28): " Baal-Hanan the Gederite was in charge of the olive and sycamore-fig trees in the western foothills."

During the time of King Solomon (I Kings. 10:27) " The king made silver as common in Jerusalem as stones, and cedar as plentiful as sycamore-fig trees in the foothills."

In the Bible, despite their different properties, the sycamore tree is often accompanied by the olive tree. The olive tree, symbolizing reproduction, can survive many days without water and be easily transplanted. While drying out quickly, the sycamore tree symbolizes regeneration. Wind uncovered roots will grow even deeper into the ground, clinging solidly to it; if the sand covers its branches, they transform themselves into roots giving rise to new trees.

In Israel, the trees grow mainly in the coastal plain and Jordan Valley. The Sycamore flowers and produces fruit during the hot summer months. A single tree may produce up to six crops in one year. Figs found on the tree during the winter months are few and develop slowly.  

“He entered Jericho and was passing through.  And behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was small in stature.  So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was about to pass that way.” Luke 19:1-4 ESV

Even though Jericho was known in the Bible as “the city of palm trees” (Deuteronomy 34:3), Zacchaeus preferred to climb the evergreen’s thick trunk and hide between the leathery leaves. He thought nobody noticed, until the Lord Jesus looked up!

Today, Zacchaeus’ Sycamore Tree stands at a major intersection in Jericho. According to local tradition, the more than 2,000 years old tree stands in the same setting as the Biblical sycamore tree.

In ancient Israel, sycamore was eaten mostly by the poor who could not afford the more expensive fruits. Over the years, the fruit of the sycamore has lost its importance. Other high-quality fruit trees have come into the region, and the sycamores are now gradually disappearing. Except, of course, for Zacchaeus’ famous tree in Jericho.

Text and pictures: copyright: 2021 Petra van der Zande

 

 

In Memory of Esther, Margalit and Tzafuna

Today, April 28, 2020 is Yom HaZikaron‎ (lit. 'Memorial Day'), or Yom HaZikaron LeHalalei Ma'arakhot Yisrael ul'Nifge'ei Pe'ulot HaEivah‎, (lit. 'Memorial Day for the Fallen Soldiers of Israel and Victims of Terrorism').

Each year, Memorial Day is marked each year on the 4th of the Hebrew month of Iyar, always one day before Independence Day, emphasizing and symbolizing the connection between the fallen and their devotion, and with the establishment of the State of Israel. On this day, deceased fallen soldiers, members of the Israeli Police, the General Security Service, the Mossad and victims of terror are honored. Since 1860 (when Jews first began to live outside the walls of Jerusalem’s Old City) until today, 23,786 civilians and soldiers have perished.

When I came across the website: https://honorisraelsfallen.com I searched for someone who had fallen in 1948. Coming across the name of a young woman who had been massacred during the Hadassah Mt. Scopus convoy, I remembered a chapter in the book, Broken Silence, which I had published for two sisters: Betty Bausch and Liesje Auerbach.

Liesje was born in Amsterdam, Netherlands. From the Nazi Westerbork camp she was deported to Bergen-Belsen. In July 1944 she was part of the Bergen-Belsen transport that came to British Mandate Palestine in exchange for German Templar women. In September 1944, even though she hardly spoke Hebrew, Liesje continued her nurses training in Jerusalem’s Mount Scopus hospital. This is what she wrote to her sister in the Netherlands, who survived the war in hiding:

On May 14, 1948, the State of Israel was born and on the same day the neighbouring Arab nations declared war.  All hell broke loose. The ten-minute drive to the hospital on Mt. Scopus passed through the Arab quarter of Sheikh Jarrah.  Cars travelling to the hospital were often attacked by the inhabitants of the village, while the British authorities stood idly by.  After several such incidents it was decided to only travel to and from the hospital in armoured vehicles.  The arrangement made with medical personnel, which was accepted unanimously, was that each member of staff would work in the hospital for three weeks straight, and then spend a week in Jerusalem.  We continued this way for several months. 

At the end of my week off duty I tidied and cleaned my rented room and returned to the hospital for my next three-week shift. 

On Monday, 12 April 1948, it was once again time to return to Mt. Scopus.  At the pick-up point I was told that the day before mines were discovered along the route.  This had prevented the convoy from leaving Jerusalem.  As the earlier convoy was to be taken up Mt. Scopus first, we were told to come back the next day.

My friend Cyota, who recently confided to me that she was expecting a baby, was overjoyed at the chance of spending another day at home with her husband.  But I had nothing to do in my empty room, with nothing left to eat. 

I remained with those who were waiting.  One of the drivers, who knew me well (I looked after his wife when she delivered their third child) promised that if there was room in the convoy, he would make sure I got in. 

At the last moment he pushed me into a corner in the back of his truck.  It was a short ride to the top, only a few kilometers. I breathed a sigh of relief when I found myself once again safe and sound on the grounds of the hospital compound.

The next day, Tuesday April 13th, at nine in the morning, the personnel expectantly waited to be released from duty by the new shift.  But no cars arrived.  Hearing the salvo of machine guns and explosions we ran to the balconies.  The road was deserted, and columns of smoke rose in the distance.  While the convoy was attacked there was nothing we could do but pray that the British would come to their aid.  All the vehicles were burned.  Most of the people in the convoy perished - professors, doctors, nurses and many others – 78 in all.

Among the dead were three girls from my class -

 Esther, Tzafuna and Margalit. 

To this day I mourn for my friends and all the others murdered in this convoy.  May their memory be eternally blessed.

******************
Thus, last night (at the start of Memorial Day, we remembered these three women: 

The following information is from the website: www.honorisraelsfallen.com

Esther (Cyota) Appelbaum

Daughter of Tova and Yosef, was born on June 25, 1922 in the city of Khotin, in the region of Bessarabia, Romania. In her parents’ home, she was educated in a Zionist spirit and from her childhood she longed for the country. After graduating from the General Gymnasium in the city of Czernowitz, she made every effort to immigrate to Israel, and in March 1944 she left her city of residence and immigrated to Eretz Israel. She spent six months studying absorption and settlement difficulties, and finally decided to start studying at the Hadassah nursing school on Mount Scopus in Jerusalem. She loved the profession she chose and after graduating she continued to work as a registered nurse at Hadassah Hospital in Jerusalem. Even after her marriage she continued to work there. With great love she offered her help to the sick, and in this work, she saw a duty of respect for herself. The road to Mount Scopus passed through the Arab neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah and upon the outbreak of the war the movement was allowed to mount convoys secured by the British army. 

On the morning of April 13, 1948, a convoy left for Mount Scopus, after the British promised that the road was open and safe.  The convoy encountered an Arab ambush in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood and hundreds of Arabs hurled heavy gunfire at it. Some of the vehicles managed to get out and return, but two buses, an ambulance and an escort vehicle were ambushed. For many hours the convoy members fought and tried to prevent the Arabs from approaching the vehicles. Fire from our positions in the city and Mount Scopus, as well as armored vehicles sent to the area, failed to help the convoy. 

British military forces in the area did not intervene and did nothing to help, despite appeals to them. 

In the afternoon, the Arabs managed to set fire to two buses on their passengers, and only late in the evening did the British intervene and rescue the survivors from the trapped vehicles( 78 of the 112 passengers were killed and 24 injured). 

Esther was brought to rest in a mass grave in the Sanhedria cemetery in Jerusalem. 

Many of the victims had been either stripped naked, mutilated and beheaded by the Arab mobs or were too badly burned to be identified. 

Margalit Ben Shalom, the first Yemenite nurse in Hadassah, was born on June 23, 1926 in Jerusalem to Sarah and David. The father was blind, and the mother had poor eyesight.  Her parents had studied in the famous Blind Institute, where her father later taught.  They had a shop on Ben Yehuda Street where they sold handmade items made by students in the Institute.  Margalit was beautiful, full of the joy of life, and very much loved. 

Margalit attended the Hebrew Gymnasium Rehavia in Jerusalem and after finishing the seventh grade she moved to the Hadassah nursing school. In her youth she belonged to the Scouts and was a member of the Haganah. She loved the art of ballet and playing the violin.

In September 1947 Margalit began working as a registered nurse the Hadassah Hospital on Mt. Scopus, Jerusalem. Her patients admired her for her devoted care and her big smile that always hung on her lips as she entered the hospital rooms. When the War of Independence began, she tirelessly worked in the hospital, even gave up her vacation days for taking care of the wounded.

Margalit was murdered on April 13, 1948 in the same convoy as Esther Appelbaum. She was laid to rest in the cemetery in Sanhedria in Jerusalem.

Tzafuna (Tzipa) Ashbel

Daughter of Hannah and Dov (a professor at the Hebrew University), was born on the last day of Passover in Poland (during her mother’s visit to her parents’ home). When she was 18 months old she returned with her mother to Eretz Israel and grew up in Jerusalem. After completing her studies at Ein-Hahoresh and Ma’aleh Hahamisha, she returned to Jerusalem and entered the Hadassah Nursing School on Mount Scopus.

Tzafuna continued to work with heart and soul at the hospital as a registered nurse.

Ben Yehuda Street bombing Febr. 22, 1948 

On February 22, 1948, three British Army trucks led by an armoured car driven by Arab irregulars and British deserters exploded on Ben Yehuda Street, killing from 49 to 58 civilians and injuring from 140 to 200 people.

The building in which Tzafuna rented a room was badly damaged, but she managed to get out unhurt and began treating the wounded.

Less than two months later, Tzafuna was murdered in the Hadassah Convoy on April 13 and laid to rest in a mass grave in the Sanhedria cemetery.

  

*********************************************

Further reading:

Ben Yehuda Street bombing

Hadassah Convoy Massacre

https://honorisraelsfallen.com/fallen/appelbaum-esther-cyota/

https://honorisraelsfallen.com/fallen/ben-shalom-margalit/

https://honorisraelsfallen.com/fallen/ashbal-tzafuna-tzipa/

YouTube video about the Hadassah Convoy massacre (the upbeat music they used for this documentary is inappropriate – I think).

https://youtu.be/O8-QSt7IcXk