Chapter 6 Where to Begin?

N othing could have prepared me for the moment following my mother's confession at my bedside that autumn day. In one brief outpouring, she told me what I was yearning to know for years: Where I was born, under what name, and the name of my biological mother. She'd kept the secret inside her for 27 years, and now she'd finally set it free. I rolled the names over and over on my tongue, my thoughts scattering in all directions.

My parents looked at me cautiously, and gathered themselves together. No words could define the weight that was lifted from me as the facts shot out of my mother's mouth and into my ears. We remained silent together for a long time, experiencing a different atmosphere, a new situation. Not knowing my birth identity all those years had created an intense longing inside me. The information ignited my curiosity. I knew I was going to take responsibility for the coming phase of my life; I would leave no stone unturned until I uncovered my exact origins. I rose to a sitting position, went to my parents, and hugged them for a long time.

My mother cried softly, murmuring that she was sorry she hadn't told me earlier. My father said they would always be by my side, no matter what I decided to do. All three of us were relieved. What made her tell me? Maybe she felt pity and compassion when she saw me confined to bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy. Maybe she felt sorry for herself, having wanted a child her whole life and not being able to have one, or maybe she finally felt that our relationship was strong enough. Or had she listened to the story about the boy Todd and his parents that illustrated the uncompromising covenant between parent and child from the moment of birth? Was it simply my determination to know that had worn her down until she realized it was her duty to give me the details of my past? Whatever the case, I knew now that the conditions were ripe, and that a new chapter in my life was about to begin.

The agonizing bed rest pregnancy finally ended with the quick, easy birth of Shahar in the spring of 1976. Joy filled our home. Most of my attention was on my family, my work, and my further training in movement and dance studies at the Kibbutz College of Education in Tel Aviv. It seemed that I needed a break to absorb the news, internalize it, and think and plan how to start with the few details I had. The first real progress in the search took place only after a year had gone by, at Dubi's initiative. He would occasionally travel to Austria and Germany to bring himself up to date professionally for work. Often he would go together with Itzik Bar-Noach, a machinery agent for "Cincinnati," an Austrian company that supplied equipment to Plassim. On one of their joint trips, Dubi decided to share my story with Bar-Noach and ask his advice on where to begin the search.

Bar-Noach, who speaks several languages, including German, introduced Dubi to his lawyer friend Dr. Friedrich, who was intrigued by the story. Without hesitation, he offered his help and promised that he would use his expertise and connections in order to uncover more details about my origins. The Austrian believed that with the data in my possession – the name of my biological mother, my date of birth and country of birth – it would be possible to locate my birth certificate. He requested an official letter from me authorizing him to search for the birth certificate and further information about my mother. The days following my sending the letter ? until I got an answer from him ? dragged on and on. Every day I would go down to the kibbutz mail room on the ground floor of the "new" dining room. The mail room was inside the Technical Secretariat, which was the real heart of the kibbutz. If you wanted to know what was new, who was looking for whom, if there were any new announcements, and what changed from day to day – or from yesterday to today – that was the place. The mail room became a magnet for me. Every day after work in the movement studio, I would go to check my mailbox.

Less than two weeks had gone by when on February 24 th I spotted an envelope addressed to me with an airmail sticker from Vienna. With trembling hands, I took the envelope and stepped outside into a wintry February day. Instead of placing the newspaper and mail in my bag and hurrying to my room on the hill for a midday rest, I sat down on the square stone surface in the covered entryway of the dining room. I didn't feel the cold. I had difficulty finding the edge of the envelope so I could open it without damaging the papers it was packed with inside. I went back into the dining room, carefully slit open the envelope with a knife and went back down to my quiet corner outside in the square. It was 2:30 in the afternoon ? nap time at the kibbutz. Utter silence, and not a soul in sight. With my stomach churning, my hands shaking, and my heart aflutter with excitement, I removed two sheets of paper ? one a printed letter and the other a document. Both were in German. I quickly scanned the document, which was in two columns: On the left were headings in small letters, and on the right were names and dates. My eyes scoured the lines, trying to decipher any familiar word. I recognized the name Franziska Lewi (Syten), my date of birth, the name Helena, and another, unknown name: Eugenius Lewinski.

At last, I knew! I was born "Helena" to father Eugenius and mother Franziska, in Bergen-Belsen, Germany. In the evening, after Nehemiah, Dubi's father, translated the letter for me, I realized what I had in my hands. Dr. Friedrich had sent the photocopy of my birth certificate that he'd received from the archives of the registry office in Bergen. The attached letter was written by an archive employee, a Mr. Reinhard, in these words: "These are the details of the infant born January 17, 1947, to mother Franziska Lewinska, in the district of Lohida (Landkris) Tsela in Germany." Reinhard added that according to the evidence, there was no proof of relinquishment or of giving the child up for adoption at birth. For the first time, I had a document confirming my birth identity. I noticed something else ? albeit symbolic ? that moved me very much. Exactly 29 years to the day had gone by since that morning in Haifa, where Hulda had hugged me for the very first time with tears of joy. I was now 30, and I'd received another identity, which was both new and old…

The road to my adoption that Hulda and Eliezer had traveled wasn't an easy one. It began with attempts and failures to conceive naturally and ended with the painful conclusion that they would be unable to have children. In their distress, they turned to the kibbutz institutions and asked for help in adopting a child. Years passed, with no balm for their yearning souls. With the end of World War II, a window of opportunity opened for them.

After the war, under the auspices of the Jewish Agency, emissaries of the National Kibbutz Movement were sent to Eastern Europe with the aim of locating children and teenaged "displaced persons" and bringing them to Eretz Israel. These children were taken in by kibbutzim, moshavim, and other places. The Youth Aliyah enterprise was founded even before the war, in 1932, by Recha Freier, who wanted to protect Jewish children from the evil winds blowing in Europe. Later, the organization was managed by Henrietta Szold, head of the Youth Aliyah Project at the Jewish Agency for Israel. After the war, the organization worked to save Jewish children who had been handed over by their parents during the war to monasteries and gentile families in villages and cities.

Some of the emissaries also arrived at the displaced persons camps where survivors were concentrated (mainly in Germany, Austria, and Italy). The emissaries worked in children's homes where there were orphaned children, or with children given over to their care with the goal of adoption in Israel. Their job was to provide for all the children's everyday needs, as well as give pedagogical advice for the children's education in the children's houses in the camps. Some of the women had an additional role – to bring children to Israel and give them over to adoptive families. I don't know if Hulda and Eliezer were given a choice, or if the match was coincidental. I assume that they knew in advance where I'd come from, and they may have seen my photo. Had they undergone any screening? Were they offered any recommendations? How long did they wait? I never got answers to these questions.

At the beginning of February, 1948, Huldah and Eliezer received a message from the kibbutz secretariat that the baby who was to be given to them for adoption would arrive by ship at Haifa Port on the 24th of that month, and they were asked to come and pick her up. They were overjoyed as well as a bit afraid, but more excited and stressed than frightened. In the days leading up to the baby's arrival, Hulda and Eliezer made every effort to be prepared. It wasn't foreseen that they would have private transportation in an armored car all the way to Haifa, and at the same time, in the north of the country, the war that the Arabs had begun against the Jewish settlement in Eretz Israel was already under way. Their friend Yona Gerstenfeld acted with determination and managed to get the use of an armored vehicle for two days. On the morning of the appointed day, Hulda took the package she had prepared and climbed into the vehicle that was laden with clothing, a blanket, and food for the baby. She sat next to Yona, a skilled driver. Eliezer wasn't on the exhilarating ride, as there was only one available seat in the car.

Those were tense times. The War of Independence, which began in response to the UN General Assembly's resolution to partition the Land of Israel (November 29, 1947), was being waged in full force. The Arabs' goal was to cripple the Jewish settlement and disrupt the lives of its residents. They cut off towns and agricultural settlements from food and weapons supplies, and they damaged transportation, electricity, and the water infrastructure. The Haifa and Tel Aviv ports were subjected to attacks as well. In the Jezreel Valley there had been many years of susceptibility to damage to Jewish fields and property perpetrated by Arab gangs. Most of the Arab villages in the vicinity were situated on mountain ranges and hills, and had a strategic advantage to control the highways. The road to Haifa was known to be particularly dangerous, and attacks there had claimed many victims since the outbreak of hostilities. The Arabs could unexpectedly ambush any moving target, particularly near Haifa, that had both Jew and Arab residents.

Hulda was apprehensive during the whole journey. Yonah tried to keep a conversation going and spiced things up with sarcasm mixed with his characteristic sense of humor. They'd become good friends since Hulda arrived at the kibbutz. Near Ramat Yishai they found themselves stuck in a convoy of cars that weren't moving. British soldiers lined the sides of the road. Hulda was nervous, afraid that they would be late for the meeting. Yona's inquisitive, assertive nature prompted him to get out of the vehicle to find out the reason for the delay. He learned that just before they arrived, shots were fired at the road, and an intensive search was being carried out in the area. No one could say when the checkpoint would open and the cars could start moving again. This news was too much for Hulda to take. She looked frantically at her watch and realized that they would be late. She asked Yona if there was some way to get around the checkpoint, and when the answer was no, she sat down on the side of the road, wiping away her tears. Yonah approached her, stroked her head gently and said not to worry, it would be unthinkable that someone would take the baby away before she could get there. She calmed down a bit, took out a few sandwiches, a bottle of water and some fruit. Yona sat down next to her and thanked her for the refreshments.

Three hours went by…the sun was about to set in the west when they heard a sharp whistle. In the distance a policeman was directing the traffic towards the finally re-opened checkpoint. They were only halfway to Haifa and would arrive after dark. Hulda had an anxiety attack and was tormented with worry. What if we don't find the baby? What will happen if there is no one in the port's offices when we get there? What if someone else takes her? The slowly moving traffic added to her extreme tension. Only when they caught sight of the minaret of the mosque that heralds the entry to the lower city of Haifa was she able to breathe a sigh of relief.

At the entrance to the port she showed the guards the official letter she had received from the Jewish Agency. The guards moved the barrier aside and showed them how to reach the waiting room. Yona didn't have time to come to a full stop before Hulda jumped out. Silence greeted her. She opened door after door and found no one and nothing. Behind the third door was a woman who asked her name. As soon as she identified herself, she couldn't hold back any longer and cried out, "Where's my baby?"

Seeing her distress, the woman answered, "We didn't know what happened to you so we sent the companions with the girl to spend the night at the nearest hotel – at the Agency's expense," she answered apologetically. She handed Hulda a piece of paper with the address of the hotel written on it, and suggested that she hurry there to receive the baby.

Hulda left quickly, found Yona, who was waiting by the car, and gave him the note. "Go there as fast as you can. I told you I wouldn't find her if we were late! Now get me to the hotel! We have to find her and see who is with her and if she's being taken care of!" she said in obvious anguish.

Upon entering the hotel, she noticed a group of men and women who were in the middle of a heated argument that was accompanied by loud, angry voices. When she got closer, she was able to pick up words and fragments of sentences. From what she heard, she understood that it was an argument about monetary payment ? such as who offered to pay more, and who had the right to take the child. As soon as Hulda realized what was happening, she didn't hesitate and made her way while pushing everyone out of the way, until she stood in front of the person at whom the shouts were directed. At the center of the commotion in the hotel lobby sat a young man. His palms rested on his knees, his straight elbows supporting his upright back; his posture exuded strength and determination in front of the crowd that surrounded him in a buzzing ring like a swarm of disturbed bees. His eyes were closed, his facial muscles were tight, and he shook his head to the right and to the left ? a negative sign.

Hulda touched his shoulder and at the same time pulled out the summons letter from her pocket. She waved it at him with her raised hand and called out, "Which of you has proof ? in writing ? that the girl belongs to him and that he can come and take her? Aren't you ashamed to try to buy a baby girl who doesn't belong to you?" Then she turned towards the person sitting on the chair and asked, "Who are you?"

"My wife and I brought the babies with us ? one blonde and one with dark hair. The black-haired baby was handed over to her parents, but you didn't come. We waited until the evening and didn't know what to do with her..."

Hulda didn't let him finish his sentence and snapped at him, "Where is she? Bring her to me. N ow!"

The man got up and she began to follow him. Behind her, the commotion continued even more fiercely. Huldah stopped for a moment, turned around, and shouted, "If you don't all get out of here, I'll call the police!" Her voice was menacing, authoritative, and convincing. The tension that had been building up in her all day finally erupted when she realized what was happening. She had been waiting for that moment for years and wouldn't let it slip away.

The continued delay seemed to put the couple in an unplanned, stressful, anxious situation. The rumor that there was an unwanted baby girl in the hotel spread throughout the city, and many couples flocked to the hotel, hoping to try their luck and take her in. The man went up the stairs and Hulda followed him, trying to calm herself from the shocking scene. The noise from downstairs died down and the hotel's corridor was quiet. The man stopped in front of one of the doors and opened it; Hulda hurried in after him, ignored the woman sitting by the bed, and went straight to the sleeping baby. She bent down and looked into the baby's face, lifted a tip of the hat, and a curl of light-colored hair fell over the baby's forehead. A happy smile spread over her face because she knew: It was her baby! Hulda wrapped her in the blanket she'd brought from the kibbutz and adopted her into her heart. Tears ran down her cheeks, and a thrill, the likes of which she had never before felt, shot through her body. At the age of 37, Huldah Rosenfeld née Steinbach finally became a mother.

The woman got up, walked over to Hulda, and handed her a sealed envelope. "Leah Laufer from the Agency, the caregiver who brought the baby, asked us to give it to you."

Hulda took the letter, turned, and left the room with the baby in her arms. In the meantime, the couples waiting in the lobby had dispersed. Huldah found Yona, who greeted her with a wide smile. Next, they went to Hulda's relatives: Shunio Graf, her cousin from Yaroslav and his wife Ella, a pediatrician. Ella greeted them with love and warmth and asked them to sit down to dinner. Hulda gently put the baby down on the sofa. She couldn't take her eyes off her and kept on stroking her hair. When she woke up, the baby eagerly gulped down the bottle of milk that Ella had prepared; her big eyes opened and she looked at Hulda for the first time. Happiness and tenderness enveloped the new mother, as she skillfully and confidently bathed the baby in the tub.

Dr. Ella conducted a meticulous examination of the baby girl: length, head circumference, weight, pulse; she also listened to her lungs, tested her reflexes by tapping a rubber hammer on her joints, checked her throat and tonsils...and pronounced the girl to be in excellent condition. "Everything is normal and you can make a toast," Ella told them.

Ella and Shunio's son, 11-year-old Giora, joined them at the table. Giora asked my mother, "Who is she? What's her name?"

"This is my new daughter, and her name is Helena," Hulda replied proudly.

"What kind of name is Helena? When was she born?" Giora continued to make it difficult. "She was born on January 17 th ," Hulda answered. "Then why Helena? She should be called Ilana after ‘Ilan' (Hebrew for ‘tree'), because she was born close to the 15 th of Shvat, the new year of the trees," he stated with conviction.

Together with her daughter Elana, Hulda arrived in Merhavia the following morning. In Hulda's absence, Lushka, the babysitter ? with her customary conscientiousness ? had readied the parents' room. She brought a small iron bed and diapers, clothing, bottles, and everything else needed to take care of the baby. Eliezer didn't go to work that day and kept busy in the garden, waiting impatiently for his wife to arrive with the baby. The house was clean and tidy, a vase of fresh flowers was on the table, and next to it was a cake specially baked for the occasion. Everyone knew that Eliezer and Huldah were going to be parents from that day on. The kibbutz decided to deviate from the rigid, accepted procedure and allow the parents and the baby an intimate reception in their room for a month. The meeting was exciting, and quite a few tears flowed down their cheeks during the first three-way hug. It was love at first sight.