This new story by our guest author, Nurit Henig, is quite  different from our usual material.  A respectable, dignified and intelligent  older person is telling a story his great-grandfather passed on to him, and  which he wishes to pass on to new generations. Most appropriate for Personal  Histories, you would say. Except… something here is a little  strange…

                                 The  EYE
                       An  Imaginary Autobiography
 
                                                                Nurit Henig

This is what my great-grandfather told me when I was a  child.

For many months the EYE hovered over the city, without eyelashes, without eyelids, dry  and lusterless. Never shutting, never winking.
Someone said that at midnight he saw it shed a tear, but  there was no other evidence, so we denied the rumor.
It was the size of an Arctic winter cloud with its edges  fading away. It would mean nothing to someone who had never visited the North  Pole, but we identified it immediately.

When it first appeared above the roof we expected the  grey rain, silvery and warm, like the rain that surprised us in the previous few  years.
But then its color changed into poisonous blue-green, and  finally it stopped above the tower – in the middle of the  square.
We knew we had to get rid of it before disaster  struck.
But there was no chance of “Strong Wind” or “Unexpected  Storm” or “Radioactive Rain” that would blow it to shreds.
You could not be sure of anything, so we decided to try  other ways.

Dear Readers,

I have a wonderful new story from Nurit Henig; I am so thrilled to have another contribution from such a wonderfur author. This story is so utterly visual, so unusual, and so touching, and it relates the mother/daughter experience during hard times in such a positive and uplifting way, I find it quite unique. Enjoy!

                                                                   THE MIRROR
                                                                       By Nurit Henig

Mother looks at her  face in the round mirror.
She moves to the  side, disappears, and then comes back to me, inspecting, moving forward,  backwards. She smoothes one cheek back, straightens it, and then the other, as  if she was kneading, in soft plasticine, a face she promised would soon be  beautiful. 
 
The apartment is  always crowded with people and children, sounds and noises inside and out.  During summer our street is buzzing with human voices, on the sidewalks, the  road, in the backyards; coachmen are crying their wares, neighbors chat from  balcony to balcony. The houses are white, three stories high, and their roofs  white with laundry. Noontime in Tel Aviv is hot and humid, only in the evening  you can enjoy the western breeze as it comes from the  sea.

Warning -- this gripping story is not for the faint of heart... but I am happy to announce that I have persuaded Nurit Henig to send us a wonderful  new posting for Personal Histories. 


                                                 THE MOTHER OF THE DREAMS
                                                                     By Nurit Henig

Her childhood  has not been more miserable than other children’s, except for the dreams that  she remembers to this day, as she listens to her own children’s dreams and is  unable to tell them about hers.

She remembers  broken images, where she is abandoned, lost, coming home to a locked door,  losing her book bag or being severely scolded by her teacher. Then in high  school, during puberty, she died and was resurrected almost every night, until  she was afraid to fall asleep. But the worst nightmare was “The Operating Room  Dream” which appeared one night and stayed with her for years.

This is the Hebrew version of Nurit Henig's new story about the life and thoughts of a child during a war. I think it is universal to all children and all wars... and very beautifully written.  Please wee the previous entry to read the English version! It's a little different from my usual postings in the way it was formatted, but this is because the site keeps arguing with me that it does not understand Hebrew, and I had to trick it by seeing it as a picture...

I am happy to post a second story by Nurit Henig (see her biography on the story "Yuda'le" below). Not only I find it an extremely well-writting story, but it is a powerful, universal account of a child's life and thoughts during war. 

                            
                         Children’s Games: A War Story
                                         By Nurit Henig
                                               

The three of us, Nili, Koby, and I, sat on our sand hill  which the truck dumped on the sidewalk.

The hill wasn’t only ours, it belonged to all the  residents on the street, who filled sacks to protect the shelters’ doors from  the air blast, but we turned it into a playground, and no one had the leisure to  chase us away. It happened a little after Passover, and after I had celebrated  my seventh birthday. 

Mother thought I was too old to play in the sand, but  there were no games in the little room we occupied on the third floor, except a  box of Pick-Up Sticks, dominoes, two packs of cards the grownups used for  playing Gin Rummy, and also an old chess set Father used to open when he was  home, but he was at the wars for a long time. It was late afternoon on Friday so  we knew we would have to separate any minute, since it was almost the  Sabbath.

I am thrilled to post a new personal history from Israel! The story is generously  given to us by a distinguished lecturer and scriptwriter, Dr. Yitzchak  Enav-Winehouse. Enjoy! And please leave many nice comments since I hope to persuade Dr. Enav-Winehouse to send us more...

                             WHO ARE YOU, TEACHER?
                                                Yitzchak Enav-Winehouse
 
Ever since I can remember myself, I have taught much but  learnt so much more from my teaching. It all began a long, long time ago and in  another country. I was then no more than a naive, twelve year old and there,  wide-eyed in front of me were the “Kovshim,” the youngest age group in what is  now the legendary Zionist youth movement of Hashomer Hatzair. The clubhousewas  situated in the working class district of Hackney, the very heartland of  Cockney London. These were kids who came from homes, like my own, where the  only book to be found was a “sidur” or prayer book. They, like myself,  would learn, in a movement which seethed  with intellectual activity, of the worth and intoxication of reading. 

I am delighted to post a very nice review that was sent to me by Dr. Yitzchak Enav (Winehouse), a noted lecturer  and scriptwriter. 

"I just found your delightful story: a lovely variation on Hamletian indecision and its devastating consequences. It has something very Jewish rather than Israeli  about its tone. Yudale's procrastinations remind me of the Yeshiva Bochar  dithering between two interpretations of a text, or the wondrous piece of  dithering on the part of the protagonist in the film Chinese Take-Away.  Terrific stuff!! Send me more ! Publish!"

 
 


 

Hi, everyone. I am delighted to post a personal history story  from Israel! I am putting it first in the English translation, and then in the  original language, Hebrew. Please scroll down to see this version, and forgive me for the imperfections in the formating of the Hebrew version-- the site is not used to it and it is fighting me tooth and claw. The story is generously given to us by Nurit Henig. 

Nurit was born in Tel Aviv, and was raised in a  neighborhood that represented a microcosm of Israeli society in all its  complexity. She served in the Israeli Air Force, and then went to the University  of Tel Aviv for a degree in literature and theatre studies. After completing her  studies, she acted on the stage of the Ohel Theater, one of the first theaters  to be founded in Israel, and stayed with it until Ohel was closed a couple of  years later. At this point, Nurit started working for the distinguished Israeli  Educational Television as a director of children’s programming. Later she
advanced to the position of a producer and an editor. During this time, Nurit  enhanced her education by attending the highly regarded Sam  Spiegel Film and Television School in Jerusalem where she studied  scriptwriting.

                                        Yuda’le

                                                                       By Nurit Henig

In the morning, when Yuda’le was informed that his  mother’s condition deteriorated and he must prepare himself for the worst, he  became terrified of the thought that his life was about to be changed beyond  recognition. Since his retirement, he spent every day with his aging mother at  the Healing Home for the Elderly. He had no wife and children; he had abandoned  his only hobby, repairing old radio sets, a long time ago. Staying with his  mother the entire day saved him from the need – to live.

Following retirement, after settling his mother at the  home for the elderly, Yuda’le could have reorganized his life as he wished. For the first time, their small, crowded apartment was his alone, and he could do  with it, and with his life, anything he could think of. However he could not  clarify to himself what he actually fancied. His old friends either played with  their grandchildren or passed away. The television supplied him with the news  once a day; for more than that he found no time. He did not go to weddings; only  to funerals of his few friends which he did not dare to miss.

Some things take longer than expected, but finally I do  have good news on the personal histories front. I have received a fantastic  personal history story from a wonderful writer in Israel. I am currently  translating it into English, and it will soon be put on the site. I am hoping to  place it in the original Hebrew as well as in English, because the language the  author has used is beautiful and I don’t want it lost to us; I am sure some of  the readers of this site speak and read Hebrew, too. I will present the author’s  name and a short biography when I place the story on the site, and I hope to  see many comments – since I would love to receive more of her beautiful  work, and your comments may persuade her to send it!