Debbie Morgenstern

In 1963, our life, in a small town in Rhode island came to an end; we had to move, make  a new start, and a complete change; the idea was to move back to NY, look for a flat, and work. The children were five and one and an idea started to percolate: if we have to move and start all over again, why to NY? We talked it over, talked some more, and a decision was made to go and start a new life in Israel. Somehow, it was as easy as that. Our families were informed and laughed hysterically. “Those spoiled children will be back within a year”, they all said, and helped us pack.
We arrived at Ben Gurion airport on that hot August day, to an instant family of fifty. I had no idea that we had so much family living here. Tired, bewildered, we were encircled by them all, looked over, and then ignored, everybody talking at once, deciding who would take us where, and invite us when, and I wanted to grab my kids and return to the plane. Finally, the oldest member of the clans 'shushed' everybody down, dictated who was to do what. We and our belongings were packed into some sort of a transport and before we knew it, we were climbing to a third floor borrowed apartment on the main street of Tel Aviv, Dizengoff. Welcome to Israel.
It was Friday afternoon, and it was very hot. We were all alone and felt lost. The 'head' of our little unit went in search of some food. There was a small supermarket open in the "Kikar" we were told by a neighbor. In all this squabbling at the airport, none of the 50 relatives awaiting us, had thought of inviting us for dinner that night. Somehow we managed, and finally, the children asleep, the day came to an end and I fell into bed thinking of this new country, which terrified me. What did I get ourselves into, I wondered, crying myself to sleep.
On Sunday morning, our 5-year old had to start school; I did not speak Hebrew, knew the name of the school, but told the driver beit knesset instead of beit sefer. We saw quite a bit of TA that morning, but finally found the school. It was tough going for all of us. I sat in that school yard in view of my son for two weeks until he gave me permission to leave.
That very first Sunday as we returned from school, I smelled bread baking; I have never smelled that before, fresh bread from the oven in America? I went hunting with my 'nose' and bought a huge loaf of hot-from-the-oven bread. Climbing up the three flights back to "our" home, with one kid under my arm, the other trotting beside me clutching that bread, I laughed for the first time. The smell of that bread overcame all my fears, my dread of this new strange country, its strange people and I suddenly knew that we would make it.
And make it we did, as I am writing this in 2009, and we are still here. But, it was rough, tough and nearly impossible. The 'Master' went off each morning to find work, find a life he could face and deal with. Every day he met with people who told him: American? NO job! YOU all go home! No good Israeli believed that this young couple would stay. I think that this very negative attitude, MADE us stay. "Dafka" came into my vocabulary very early in our life here and dafka because everybody just KNEW that we would go back we stayed.

I was in charge of getting our home together. Our lift finally arrived and we were able to move into our apartment; but getting it organized and 'together' was a major frustration.$ Every worker knew better what I wanted and where I wanted it. With no Hebrew on my part, and no English on theirs, I am surprised that we never came to blows. I did win one war though; the painters were Polish, they had no idea that I spoke the language, and I really was talked about most of the time by them both. Their main peeve was: “when will this ‘----’ make us some coffee? Did she finally get some cake?” Of course, I always found something else to do first. One day my mother came in and asked me something in Polish, and without thinking, I answered; the crash from the other room told me that they both fell off the ladders. I went running in: “the 'amerikanka' speaks Polish”, they were both muttering to each other, on the floor covered with paint.

We brought two air-conditioners with us; the fellow who came to put them up, wanted to know why two?. He could not understand why we could not be all in one place at the same time. "Sell one," was his advice, "you get lots of money for it here". I told him to put both in; we argued for days...he finally was told by his boss to do what he was told. He did, still grumbling about the wasteful Americans.

We moved from nine rooms 'there' into three 'here'. I knew space would be at a premium, so we brought bunk beds for the kids, and a washing machine with a dryer, which fitted the same way: on top of each other. The bunk beds proved to be no problem, but then when I asked for somebody to come and hook up the machines, “somebody with English”, I begged, the 'fun' started. The chappy who turned up looked baffled at the two machines and asked, " Why you need two machines?" I explained to him that one was a dryer. Why? he wanted to know. "We have lots of sunshine in this country; no need for machine", and he ran off; came back smiling; "you have small porch in back; put there second machine, with nice cover, you have table." I insisted he put one on top of the other; he refused. And finally he used his best shot; NOT in Israel. I blew up. "But, you have NEVER seen one of those IN Israel," I yelled at him - he stormed out. I got somebody else and got the same results. Finally a third fellow decided that the only way it would work in Israel was to build a scaffolding over the washing machine and place the dryer on top of that - and yes, I let him do it. By then I needed the machines. Thirty years later, I went to buy a new washing machine and was asked, “why not buy this wonderful unit of wash and dry machines, stacked one on top of the other?”
Of course we had a few, very few 'light moments’. We brought a huge carpet for the living room area; it weighed a ton. When the "experts" came to polish the floors, (yes they were ALL  'experts') they decided in their great wisdom to hang the carpet on the railing of the terrace. “Too heavy to go and fly," they said grinning at me. That night I woke up, saw the carpet hanging, came back from the kitchen no carpet. I ran out and there it was: 10 flights down on the ground. Now, what to do; neither one of us could shlep it back up and as this was Israel and we were told that there was no need to lock up our apartment when we were out, I decided to leave it where it was, and get the 'experts' to bring it back in the morning. But in the morning it was gone. We went, of course, to the police and reported a flying carpet. I think they are still laughing. No, we never got it back, it’s still flying.
We managed; sometimes it was total bedlam, most of the time total frustration. People seemed to be trying to make life difficult for "this-new-one", as if it wasn’t difficult enough. We got used to it, gave back as much as we got, got the flat organized, the kids happily settled, and the ‘Master’ working...we even got Vivian, who was brought home one day, found sitting on the street in front of the PO. Yes, that was the way you found your household help in those days. She came in daily, became a member of our family, and we were honored guests at her wedding - but that is another story.

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About the author

Debbie Morgenstern

Debbie Morgenstern was born in Poland, educated in New Zealand; and is an American who came to live in Israel with her husband and family. She never worked in her profession but instead volunteered in...
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