Cast a line to catch a Fisher

 New members of Beit Knesset Hanassi may recognize the dedication and effort that must have been made by others before they joined but, as time passes and the generations roll on, they may never get to meet those who made Hanassi what it is today, and will never know about their contribution to our community.  In the following article Dr Pessy Krausz offers an appreciation of one of our vintage old-timers, Joan Fisher (who donated the striking parochet in the main shul). Here;s what Pessy has to say:

The Joan Fisher Family Saga

If you took a fishing rod and cast a line with all your might, it might whizz its way via Warsaw, Kfar Chassidim, Melbourne, and Sydney—before taking a deep plunge and emerging in Jerusalem. Most specifically, in Jerusalem’s Beit Knesset Hanassi.

There, among many august matrons, sits our heroine—Laurel Joan Hadassah Fisher (née Marks), born 3 August 1927. She graces its front row while gently turning the 60-year-old pages of her Siddur/Chumash, bequeathed to her by her mother, Naomi. Just last Shabbat, Joan pointed it out to me proudly, saying, “Look at my mother’s beautiful handwriting!”

Photo: Joan (on the left) with Pessy Krausz

It was in this very Siddur that her husband Sam used to mark the place of the weekly Torah reading, slipping in notes for Joan and pointing out any parts that differed that week.

This same Sam—whose given names were Shalom Baruch—was named from the Prophets: Shalom and Baruch both appear in the Haftarah of Behar, which was read on the Shabbat following his birth in Warsaw in 1924. Little did this Polish-born babe know that when his father travelled to Australia to join cousins, not only would he miss his son's Brit, but it would be three years before he could amass enough funds to bring his wife and child to join him.

In the early 1930s, Sam’s mother turned to her husband and said, “The time has come for us to join your family in Eretz Yisrael.” Sam’s father came from a family of Yablone Chassidim, whose Rebbe had already told his disciples in the 1920s that their future lay in the Land of Israel. To that end, the Chassidim purchased land in what would later be known as Kfar Chassidim, nestled in the foothills of the Carmel mountain range.

In 1934, Sam and his parents arrived—coming first to Haifa, and then moving on to the Kfar. Sam added fluent Hebrew to his mother tongue of Yiddish. During that time, he wrote to his grandfather in Warsaw in beautiful Hebrew. Warren, who was present during my visit with Joan, shared that the family still has one of Sam’s original letters from Kfar Chassidim, dated 1937!

Photo: The parochet that Joan dedicated to Sam.

Life in Eretz Yisrael was difficult in those early days of Aliyah. Sadly, the economic conditions forced Sam’s father to return to Australia—once again, without the means to bring his wife and son along. During his father’s absence, young Shalom—who had already made Aliyah in 1934—celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, once again in his father’s absence.

Eventually, his father was able to send for his wife and, by then, two sons—Sam and his younger brother, Jack. They departed on the last ship through the Suez Canal around April 1939. Settled once again in Sydney, they welcomed a third son, Mark.

Joan’s own life became intertwined with Sam’s through a string of happenstances. She was the second in a family of five—she told me proudly, reeling off their names in order: Clarice, Joan, Leo, Harold, and Michael. As I sat, mesmerised by her tales of life in a modest suburb not far from Sydney, I had to remind myself to keep jotting down notes for Joan’s Hanassi Shul Profile—to which, fortunately, she agreed to contribute.

She told me that, growing up, the only other family on their street with five children was Catholic. There were some Jewish families, but, in her words, “they kept nothing.” Joan’s mother, by contrast, was punctilious in her observance—sending Joan across town on several buses to buy kosher meat. The kosher section had the hechsher on the main side of beef, and the butcher would cut her requested portion from that. On returning home, Joan would be met with her mother’s anxious question: “Where’s the kosher stamp?” And Joan would stammer her assurance, “Mummy, it was on the top of the beef, I promise!”

Why was it Joan who ran the errands, I wondered—especially since she had shared, rather despondently, that her older sister Clarice had a bicycle, and she did not. But then Warren proudly showed me a trophy his mother had won—a silver cup inscribed HPMPCC and Junior Joan Marks, 1938—when she was only 11 years old. What does HPMPCC stand for? Hurlstone Park Methodist Physical Culture Club. Duly impressed, our bubble was quickly burst by Joan’s ever-grounded perspective: “I was sent there because I was ungainly—not like Clarice—always knocking things over. Best of a bad lot!”

Still, it was the elegant Clarice who unwittingly became the matchmaker. She was working in an office and had forgotten her lunch. It was Pesach, and their mother sent Joan to deliver it. Off she went on that fateful errand—and who should spot her but none other than—you’ve guessed it—Sam. He pursued his dream girl.

He must have seen the lifelong qualities Joan possessed, such as the compassion she showed by moving to Melbourne to live with her widowed grandmother. “She was all on her own, and there were many of us,” Joan explained. “Mind you, if a boyfriend came along she didn’t approve of, she’d come into the room waving her watch saying, ‘It’s time, don’t you think?’”

Indeed, it was time. Time for Sam.

Joan no doubt recognised in Sam a man who could swim above the tide of fate, fight for his values—and win the heart of the girl he loved. Since Sam’s hardworking father had missed both his Brit and his Bar Mitzvah, Sam worried he might miss his wedding, too. Thankfully, he was present and gave his blessing to Joan and his son. Not long afterward, sadly, he passed away at just 45.

Still, he lived to see the cork that Warren later showed me—pulled from the wedding’s celebratory champagne bottle, engraved with the initials SBCJ: Shalom Baruch – Laurel Joan, 3 May 1950.

Together, Joan and Sam created a warm, welcoming home. Their four children grew up with guests around the Shabbat table as a regular part of life. Sam became increasingly active in communal affairs—especially education and the Chevra Kadisha—with Joan by his side. A whizz-kid touch typist from business college, she typed Sam’s many speeches and often contributed to their content.

At their golden wedding celebration in Jerusalem, Sam openly expressed his appreciation of Joan for this and so much more.

And here’s a little secret! One summer, quite by chance, Joan and Sam, and Neville and I, found ourselves in St. Moritz. Joan’s beautifully served meals—cooked on the hotel balcony and set out on a pristine white cloth—put my own humble picnic-style efforts to shame!

Sam was totally dedicated to Chinuch—Jewish education—in the fullest sense. He championed Sydney’s Moriah College for decades, committed to its excellence in Jewish and Zionist values. In recognition, when the school moved to its new Queens Park campus, they named the main walkway after him: The Sam Fisher Walk (Sam’s own story is available here).

In addition to Chinuch, Sam served as Vice President of the Sydney Chevra Kadisha, frequently performing Taharot before funerals. He also served for years on the board—and as president—of Central Synagogue, Sydney’s largest.

It’s little wonder that each of their four children, one by one, made Aliyah. Yet when the first—Jeffrey—left for Israel, Joan cried buckets. When Jill made Aliyah—more buckets. When Warren went, she did not cry. Eventually, she turned to the youngest and asked, “Lindsay, when are you going?!”

The line was cast—and the golden fishing rod led Joan and Sam themselves to make Aliyah in December 1992. They continued their communal involvement with gusto.

Joan volunteered with the renowned Yad Sarah, faithfully driving Victoria—blind and nearly deaf—to weekly swimming sessions at Jerusalem’s Institute for the Blind for over 20 years. Even after Joan stopped, Victoria continued to call Warren each New Year with greetings for the family.

For 15 years, Joan also transferred the Hearing Clinic’s paper records to computer at Hadassah Hospital, Ein Karem—until one day, she saw the name of her own great-grandchild. She knew then her mission was complete.

Sam served as Gabbai for the Hanassi Shul morning minyan. Henry Israel, Shul president from 2014–2018, remembered Sam as a devoted and non-confrontational Gabbai who drew others in. He encouraged congregants to participate and personally urged Henry to layn (read the Torah). “He is much missed,” Henry said.

After 20 years of service to the community, Sam passed away on 1 April 2012.

Joan and Sam donated the beautiful Ner Tamid to Hanassi Shul. Later, Joan honoured Sam’s memory with the donation of a rich blue velvet Parochet set adorning the Aron Kodesh. She praised the late Moshe Loshinsky z”l, beloved Gabbai, for his tireless work ensuring its completion.

We look forward to celebrating Joan’s birthday soon—on 3 August 2025. Let us, among the four generations she and Sam nurtured, raise a glass to her unwavering compassion, dignity, and grace.

May she go from strength to strength—ad me'ah ke-esrim—until 120, as she was at 20.

LeChaim!

The Kotel is in our hands!

Our member Dr Pessy Krausz first came to Israel in 1958, making Aliyah in 1975. In this post she reminisces about her visits to Jerusalem over the decades.

Our nascent State had not even reached its first decade when an excited groom, Neville/Yaacov, flew his bride (me!) on a visit – my first, his one of several – to Israel.  Hiring a small car, we drove to Jerusalem along the winding road from what was then Lod airport. I found difficulty containing my excitement. I was travelling to the city of my prayers and hopes of more than 2,000 years. 

Dusk was falling as we passed the petrol station on our left. Swerving round the bend to our right I strained my eyes to see the city of my dreams. Would these dusty roads with small houses lead to the glorious huge buildings I’d imagined? Continuing further, my tremulous voice asked, 

 “When will we reach Jerusalem?” 

Proudly came the response: “This is It! Soon we’ll find the hotel we’ve booked and rest before sight-seeing in the morning.” 

The city was in darkness. Homes already shuttered at 9 pm. We came to a stop in front of the well-established King’s Hotel. Small bulbs lit the corridors, there was no kettle in the room, but at least a bed was a bed! So that’s how the Jerusalem of my prayers had been cut down to size – and so had my hopes and dreams. 

But what a difference ten years can make when we visited in 1967 – exactly six days after the miraculous Six Day War. This time we came with our three small sons, Shimon (9), Dov (7) and Daniel (4). We would be making our way to witness for ourselves the retaining wall of our Holy Temple – The Kotel – which Rav Shlomo Goren, on finally reaching it with brave Israeli troops, declared in his rousing Hebrew accent– "The Kotel Ma'aravi is in our hands" – upon which he blew the Shofar and recited the Hebrew blessing Shehecheyanu (“He who has given us life”). Then on reaching the Temple Mount he repeated the ceremony. For those who would like to access the historic event, Google הר הבית בידינו

We were also to tour and explore towns that were now accessible. The city of Hebron with the Cave of Machpelah which once again Jews, and indeed people of all faiths, could reach—and also Bethlehem, recorded in the Book of Ruth which opens with a famine in Beit Lechem (meaning “House of Bread”), a town that originally belonged to the tribe of Judah but had been under Jordanian control until the Six-Day War, when it was captured by Israel. 

However, next day’s sight-seeing began in Jerusalem itself when we visited our cousin, Shula, who had made Aliyah and worked in Jerusalem’s Barclays Bank. Reaching this imposing building, built in 1930 and situated on Jaffa Road and Allenby Square, we saw that its granite facade was pockmarked – a telling remnant of the bullets fired from Jordan. These marks are still visible to this day, 58 years later. 

We greeted our pioneer cousin excitedly. She left her desk and led us to the window from which we could see "No-Man's Land”. This strip of land had existed as a buffer zone between the Israeli-controlled West Jerusalem and the Jordanian-controlled East Jerusalem from 1948 until 1967.

In this picture, no-man’s land was where we see the street with the car. It contained small tents. Goats occupied the place of glory, while squatting Arabs found space alongside them. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” we asked her, having freshly arrived from the safety of Great Britain’s northern town of Sheffield. 

“No! Why should I be?” 

“Well, you’re a stone’s throw from those Arabs – a potential enemy -  aren’t you?” 

“They’re harmless, need all their energy to take care of the chickens sharing their tents. It is a sort of boundary, although thanks to the miracle of the Six Day War we can now circumvent the area and make our way to our Old City.” 

We said our goodbyes with a shared drink of cooling water. The Old City was indeed our next port of call. We made our way on foot – past the Cinematheque down the winding Maale HaShalom Street and descended through the Valley of Hinnom. Heartbreaking little wooden sticks with names of our brave soldiers were placed at intervals on the roadside where they had fallen in courageously ensuring the Kotel would be in our hands.  

But was it? Arriving under the glorious blue skies, we proceeded towards it with great expectations and our small prayer books. Easing our way through the narrow alleyways, which at that time led to the Kotel, our historic encounter was rudely interrupted by Arab lads high up on the walls above us, pelting us with pebbles and shouts. Beating a hasty retreat from “our” Kotel which did not appear to be entirely in our hands, we wound our way back, somewhat disheartened, easing our feelings somewhat with a little refreshment we’d brought with us.   

Fast forward to eight years later, when 1975 saw our family make its own personal leap of faith. Aliyah! And we were in time for our youngest son’s barmitzvah which was celebrated  - at the Kotel! By then the narrow alleyways had been replaced by a broad plaza. The walls above were protected by our very own soldiers. We were blessed to have four generations present. How my parents wondered at the miracle which their own parents, who had succumbed to the Nazi’s dastardly annihilation program, must surely have been sharing from above. They would have shared joy as we marked 58 years since the re-unification of Jerusalem – Yom Yerushalyim. No doubt they would also have shared the pain that Israel’s age of innocence – if ever there was one – did not last long. Doubtless they too would have joined in our heartfelt prayers to release our remaining hostages who, at this time of writing, have now exceeded a harrowing 600 days of The Swords of Iron War. 

Our resilient Jerusalemites nevertheless celebrated this year’s Jerusalem Day last week on Sunday 25 May 2025/5785 by holding parades with thousands of all ages singing “Am Yisrael Chai – The People of Israel Lives!”  Dancing jubilantly, with flags unfurled, despite the heat they marched to the Kotel. Some entering the Old City through the Dung Gate, while others through the Lions' Gate. 

We are blessed. The Kotel is indeed in our hands. We will evermore sing Am Yisrael Chai – The people of Israel shall live forever!”

A Brivele der Mamen

The Hanassi Blog does not usually carry reports on what happens at our weekly se’udah shelishit—but last week’s was different. It was sponsored by Geoffrey Gilbert in memory of his mother, for whom he has yahrzeit this week, and Geoffrey’s words so touched Pessy Krausz that she sat down after Shabbat and wrote her recollection of Geoffrey’s words. We share them with you here: 

Many readers may have heard the Yiddish song A Brivele der Mamen (A Little Letter to Mama) written in 1938, describing a mother’s pain when her son, who left Poland for America, forgets to write a letter to the mother he left behind. Last Shabbat, when Geoffrey Gilbert, who together with his wife Judy, sponsored se’udah shelishit, the very reverse was true. 

In his usual low-key gentle tones Geoffrey proceeded to explain about his grandma, who lived to the remarkable age of 103; she only visited Israel once in her life but returned to England with a small bag of its holy soil which she requested to be buried with her. He then told us of his mother, who came to be in their family home in London for the last 20 years of her life until she passed on aged 97. 

With a small gesture Geoffrey opened the ruby red Chumash in front of him, drawing out a pure white page. You could hear the proverbial pin drop as he unfolded it, explaining that throughout the years his mother, and in his lifetime his father also, had read the weekly portion from it. It was to her dear son that she entrusted this precious volume in the knowledge that he would treasure and use it too. 

Geoffrey’s mother’s words created a lump in our throats—but more was to come. Geoffrey had dedicated this evening not only to the memory of his beloved mother, but to the one who had so lovingly looked after his mother throughout those years. His wife Judy! It seems that Geoffrey’s mother also appreciated Judy—and enjoyed playing her part in looking after their children and feeding them: he might get a phone call to his surgery and, when this skilled orthodontist was told “Your mother is on the phone!”, being a most devoted son, he would take the call, only to be told “Geoffrey, it’s pasta night. Take Judy out!” 

Ending with his thoughts on this week’s Torah portion, Geoffrey focused on the word “Achuzah” (אחוזה, a special portion), as Israel is described. He mentioned how, if we are not deserving, the land will throw us out. On the other hand. we must strive to be worthy of it and cherish it. Obviously both Geoffrey (Gershon Yitzchak) and Judy (Gittel) have done just that. Though neither like to be in the spotlight, they have lit up the Hanassi community with their thoughtful sponsorships and by running events on many occasions, not least by being among those who created a memorable Shul breakfast celebration to mark Israel's 77th birthday. 

Mother would have been proud of both of you! Her memory is indeed for a blessing. 

If you’ve not heard A Brivele der Mamen, you can listen to it here. 

Cry, the Beloved

 To mark Yom HaShoah, we are reproducing here the latest published work of our dear member, poet and author Pessy Krausz. The relevance of this poem to Yom HaShoah is self-explanatory. 

CRY, THE BELOVED

Grandfather Berel last seen thrown off a bus

limping after it at the Polish-German border

forgot his velvet bag with Tefillin for daily prayer

the leather box on his brow with strings attached

He and grandma Malka – though strung along

to Holocaust's killing machine – arise from its fiery furnace

embrace fledgling Kfir and little/big brother Ariel

don't cry on Mama Shiri's lap snatched from Nir Oz

Yarden, husband, father October 7th survivor of the Bibas family

my heartstrings with yours entwine – our history

dictates we not be taken hostage to a brutal past

but prompts us bravely to sing a different tune

"Cry, the Beloved" was first published in ESRA Magazine, just before Pesach. You can find the original here.

Old age isn't what you think it is

We devotees of Beit Knesset Hanassi are not unfamiliar with comments made by outsiders--and occasionally even by ourselves--about our shul's age profile. Yes, we do have many seniors in our midst, and this is something we are proud of. We are a community that cares, a community that respects the values of experience and judgement that come with age. But every so often we are surprised to find that, viewed through the eyes of others, maybe we are not that old at all!

In "Sheila Patz: a 100-year old woman's secret to a long life", our member Pessy Krausz (below, right) investigates the remarkable positivity of a woman who makes it plain that the secret of a long life is to thrive on challenge. 

Pessy's article, which is published in the Jerusalem Report and hosted on the Jerusalem Post website, can be read (or listened to) in full here.  

Two lovers of Zion

“Two Lovers of Zion, Rabb Eber Hirschowitz and Laurence Oliphant” was the title of a lecture delivered to the Israel branch of the Jewish Historical Society of England on Wednesday evening. The speaker was our member (and former President) Eli Friedwald. Eli, who is also the author of The Rabbi’s Suitcase. 

Eli has very kindly shared with us the video of this fascinating lecture (the link appears below).  Our member, Dr Chaim Sharman, was there and adds the following:

Eli Friedwald gave a most interesting, illustrated talk to the Jewish Historical Society of England, Israel branch, on two "lovers of Zion" in the late 19th century who could not have come from more different backgrounds.

Rabbi Eber Hirschowitz was born in Russia and in 1884 was sent to England to start the Chovevei Zion organisation. Laurence Oliphant (pictured, right) was an evangelical Christian, a member of the British Parliament as well as being a mystic, foreign correspondent, and staunch Zionist. His writings included a book, The Land of Gilead, which set out his plans for establishing Jewish farming communities in Israel. Indeed, Oliphant even met the Sadigura Rebbe in order to seek funds for Eretz Yisroel. At his funeral Rabbi Hirschowitz gave a hesped in which he described him as standing on a par with the greatest of Jewish philanthropists.

Pessy Krausz was there too. What impressed her most? Let her tell you:

Of particular interest to me were the enormous efforts of a non-Jew, Lawrence Oliphant, in propounding the vision of Gilead for the Jews, helping poor Jews in the pale of Russia to settle what was then Palestine. Oliphant's work was instrumental in laying the groundwork for the later charismatic figure of Theodore Hertzl.

You can tune into Eli's talk on YouTube here.

Gevalt! It's Gevura

 Last Wednesday, in partnership with OU Israel, we hosted our Yom Iyun in preparation for Chanuka. This event, appropriately branded 'Gevura', was an intensive morning program on Jewish heroism from the time of the Chashmonaim until today. A full house was treated to five presentations, including contributions from our own two rabbis, Rabbi Wein (see photo on the right) and Rabbi Kenigsberg. 

If you could not attend the Yom Iyun—or did attend it but want to relive the experience—we are now delighted to be able to share with you the links to the five presentations. They are as follows:

“The flames of history and the light of destiny”, Rabbi Yaakov Glaser here

“Chanuka—a celebration of the power of Torah”, Rabbi Anthony Manning here

“Service and sacrifice—the heroism in life and death of Maoz Morell”, Eitan and Varda Morell here

“Total victory? The miracle and meaning of Chanuka”, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg here

Rabbi Berel Wein’s closing remarks here

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

Since posting the above, we have received a personal account by our member Pessy Krausz, who attended Gevura. She shares with us the following impressions:

Rabbi Joel Konigsberg, opening this event before an eager audience of participants in our increasingly packed hall, commented that, in contrast to other festivals, we celebrate Chanukah during the darkest, coldest nights of the year. We celebrate our progression out of the darkness of living under pressure to assimilate, into the light of our victory of resistance. Finally to find pure oil after an arduous hunt for it was like receiving a kiss from Hashem. And we too felt our hearts touched by inexplicable miracles in our Swords of Iron wartime situation.

Rabbi Yaacov Glaser followed with a lively presentation backed by a superb handout, The Menorah of Chanukah: The Flames of history & the Light of Destiny. He commented on Aaron’s special role in lighting the Menorah and focused on it as a transcendental, universal symbol. On Pesach we are defensive, running away from enemies; on Shavuot we accept the Torah. Then on Chanukah we show how we initiate. Refusing to accept our Temple’s defilement, we courageously search for pure oil. Small wonder then, that Israel bravely does not accept what others impose on us.

Rabbi Anthony Manning, backed by a well-researched handout, Halachic and Hashkafot Issues in Contemporary Society; Chanukah: a Celebration of the Power of the Torah, opened a fascinating window into the Book of the Maccabees. This work describes how the Jewish people, despite being so few in number, were roused to face their many enemies, this being reminiscent of our combat situation in the current Swords of Iron campaign. Chanukah is also a time of transition from reliance on prophecy to the era of the Chachamim, our Elers, achieving continuity while transmitting the ‘Light of the Torah’ throughout the generations.

Rabbi Berel Wein focused on the brave Nachum Gam Zu, whose name reflected his famous saying, “Gam Zu LeTovah” (“Even this is for the Good”). Maintaining this attitude though he experienced enormous physical suffering and the dangerously imminent arrival of brutal Roman soldiers. When faced with the likely collapse of his flimsy house, Nachum Gam Zu refused to leave saying, “While ever I am here there, my place will remain intact”. Rabbi Wein compared this to the security of Medinat Yisrael. While ever we are here, our country will remain intact. Most of the audience, being olim themselves, clearly share the view that we are partners in securing the safety of our beloved country.

Varda and Eitan Morell then movingly described the gevura of their son Staff Sargent Maoz Morell, who tragically succumbed to wounds sustained fighting in Gaza. Despite being a person of few words, he nevertheless left a heritage through his practical deeds. One of the sayings he had shared with soldiers under him one has been converted to a sticker that recalled the few calls his parents were able to make to him. His response (roughly translated from the Hebrew) was “All’s well with me – That’s it – My update!” Said his mother: “Maoz was killed as a hero fighting our enemies … because of people like him, going and doing what they need to be doing, they’re making sure that something like what happened with the Nazis will never be able to happen again”.

Indeed, “Never again”, the participants murmured.

In sum, this Yom Iyun has given us the courage to face traumatic events while being more aware than ever of the miracles of Chanukah. We’ll endure and win together with insight, Gevura and, dare we say, Latkes!  L’Chaim! Am Yisrael Chai!

Grandmother's Courage

ESRA is a remarkable organisation, dedicated to strengthening the English-speaking community in terms of its integration into Israeli society and the making of a positive contribution to life in Israel through work, volunteering and the promotion of educational and welfare projects. One of ESRA's activities is the publication of the ESRA Magazine, to which Hanassi member Pessy Krausz is a contributor.  Here's a powerful and poignant piece by Pessy, which needs to explanation. We pray that Hashem in His mercy will watch over not only Pessy's grandson but also the grandchildren of all our members who put their lives at risk so that we may live safely in the land He has given us.

Grandmother's Courage

My grandson’s in Gaza
need I say more?
Yes, his wife, sweet student runs
to her parents forth and back
to her own home where her
soldier husband returned!
Smelly uniform, socks, no shower
from days on end fighting at the front
boots on the ground – a paratrooper proud...

My grandson's in Gaza
need I say more?
Yes! Now there’s a sweet baby
a beauty who’s named Harel
‘Har’ in Hebrew stands for mountain
‘El’ stands for the Almighty’s name
a new generation fights for peace
Prime minister David Ben-Gurion said,
“To be a realist in Israel, in Miracles you must believe!”

My grandson’s in Gaza
need I say more?
Yes! Grandmother’s heart races
sighting him in uniform
with gun slung on one shoulder
his baby on the other
free hand his baby’s carriage wheels
along supermarket’s corridor…
unlike one he emerged from – in Gaza

My grandson’s in Gaza
need I say more?
Yes! Baby fast growing up, asks
“Will dad return home soon from our
Swords of Iron War?” Hug him
Hug him tight, give him courage,
explain, his dad’s not the only one –
who comforts grandma with this slogan
“When the going gets tough, the tough get going!”

The author dedicates her poem to the many grandmothers who share the pain and pride of their grandsons proudly defending our one and only country which we can call home. She shares the immeasurable agony of families coping with loss of dear ones who fall fighting for us all. May our worthy cause bring some measure of comfort.

Photo with permission of Noam Krausz.

Pessy Krausz wins Rockower Award!

Congratulations to our much-loved and respected member Pessy Krausz, who has just received a Rockower Award.

 ברכות לחברתנו האהובה והמכובדת פסי קראוס שזכתה זה  עתה בפרס

Here are the details:

Category 16: Award for Excellence in Writing about Jewish Heritage and Jewish Peoplehood in Europe

First Place Lilith Magazine, New York, NY “The Isle of Man” by Pessy Krausz:

Pessy Krausz has spun literary gold from the dross of her stay in a British internment camp, recounting in the most magical way the day her mother told her the story of the family’s escape from the Nazis. The sweetness of the mother/child moment and the horror of the tale collide to create a breathtaking, memorable essay.

The full text of Pessy's prize-winning piece can be read here.