Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day, was this past week. The elders of our community remember when the modern state of Israel was born, but I do not. I have never known a time when “Next Year in Jerusalem’ was more hope than possibility. This is one of the many blessings of my life. I would like to express my gratitude to my ancestors who helped make this happen.
I last saw my grandfather Max when I was four years old. I remember sitting on his lap as he sang old Yiddish songs, especially Oifen Pripitchik. As a child I did not know much of his story – it was much later that I found out that after immigrating to America he had volunteered for the Jewish Regiment of the British Army and fought to capture Palestine from the Ottoman Empire. I wish I knew more about this chapter of his life.I only have a few photographs of him in uniform. On a side note, a few decades ago an old friend from Camp Swig hired me to restore some old family photos, one of which was a picture of that same regiment that I have tucked away in a box somewhere.
I do know more about my father’s part in the saga of Israel. In 1941 he left Michigan State College to volunteer to fight the Nazis. He failed the physical due to flat feet but was admitted as a medic. He was in the invasions of North Africa, Italy and Germany.
After the war he came home briefly, but then went to Israel as a member of the Haganah. He was on the Altalena when it was blown up in Tel Aviv harbor, and swam to shore with only a typewriter. People make strange choices when they are facing death. I remember hearing about the siege of Jerusalem with nothing to eat but olives. I heard tales of the ‘Air Force’ which dropped seltzer bottles from Piper Cubs to terrorize the enemy. At one point as a Medical Officer, they had to abandon a field hospital that was under attack. His friend, Nat Cashman, volunteered to stay and comfort the wounded, and was killed. I am named after this hero.
When it was over, and Israel was finally a reality, he stayed a year or two more and was part of Operation Magic Carpet, repatriating Yemeni Jews. My father returned to Brooklyn and married my mother. They had planned to make Aliyah, but my sister was born, and then I was and eventually we ended up in El Cerrito.
I have not been to Israel, but it is on the list, hopefully within the next three or four years. I have a tradition to uphold. I will go as a tourist however, not as a warrior. Thanks to what was done for me.
From the President – April 30, 2020
May 1, 2020 by tbhrich •
Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day, was this past week. The elders of our community remember when the modern state of Israel was born, but I do not. I have never known a time when “Next Year in Jerusalem’ was more hope than possibility. This is one of the many blessings of my life. I would like to express my gratitude to my ancestors who helped make this happen.
I last saw my grandfather Max when I was four years old. I remember sitting on his lap as he sang old Yiddish songs, especially Oifen Pripitchik. As a child I did not know much of his story – it was much later that I found out that after immigrating to America he had volunteered for the Jewish Regiment of the British Army and fought to capture Palestine from the Ottoman Empire. I wish I knew more about this chapter of his life.I only have a few photographs of him in uniform. On a side note, a few decades ago an old friend from Camp Swig hired me to restore some old family photos, one of which was a picture of that same regiment that I have tucked away in a box somewhere.
I do know more about my father’s part in the saga of Israel. In 1941 he left Michigan State College to volunteer to fight the Nazis. He failed the physical due to flat feet but was admitted as a medic. He was in the invasions of North Africa, Italy and Germany.
After the war he came home briefly, but then went to Israel as a member of the Haganah. He was on the Altalena when it was blown up in Tel Aviv harbor, and swam to shore with only a typewriter. People make strange choices when they are facing death. I remember hearing about the siege of Jerusalem with nothing to eat but olives. I heard tales of the ‘Air Force’ which dropped seltzer bottles from Piper Cubs to terrorize the enemy. At one point as a Medical Officer, they had to abandon a field hospital that was under attack. His friend, Nat Cashman, volunteered to stay and comfort the wounded, and was killed. I am named after this hero.
When it was over, and Israel was finally a reality, he stayed a year or two more and was part of Operation Magic Carpet, repatriating Yemeni Jews. My father returned to Brooklyn and married my mother. They had planned to make Aliyah, but my sister was born, and then I was and eventually we ended up in El Cerrito.
I have not been to Israel, but it is on the list, hopefully within the next three or four years. I have a tradition to uphold. I will go as a tourist however, not as a warrior. Thanks to what was done for me.
We are what we do