Naomi Harris Rosenblatt is the author of the new memoir Bless the Bitter and the Sweet: A Sabra Girl's Diary During the Last Days of British Rule and the Rebirth of Israel. She also has written After the Apple and Wrestling with Angels. Born in Haifa, she now lives in Washington, D.C.
Q: Why did you decide to start keeping a diary as a
13-year-old?
A: I was not a diligent student. I don’t remember spending
hours doing homework. What’s interesting is that I was so affected by the story
of the blow up of those bridges [the "Night of the Bridges," in 1946], where 14 boys lost their lives. Today, it
[still] devastates me….
Growing up in Israel, there was always a powerful sense of a
pull of history. So it was never just me listening to this event, but this was
part of a larger story, it was the story of fighting the British, against their
rules against their allowing these “wretches” from concentration camps to find
refuge…
The bravery of those 14, who were Israeli-born and who had
never been in any kind of Holocaust situation—it was not negotiable that we
would not help them [the refugees] find a place in Israel. When these boys were
blown up…I felt it in me that was my duty, my obligation, that I was chosen to
record this, so that it would never, never be forgotten. Once I started, I went
on day after day.
But why? Because we were brought up with such a sense that
we were part of a much larger story; that this was such an important link in
Jewish history. It was as if American Jewry didn’t exist at all, we weren’t in
touch with them at that point. Or French Jewry, or anyone. We were as if the
only ones on whose shoulders [rested] the welfare of the Jewish people. Now
this sounds pretentious, but this was deep in our mentality. And [we were] ready
to pay the price for that kind of role and obligation.
The rest of the book is full of joy and laughter. On one
hand, we were bringing in these immigrants. On the other hand, I am concerned if
some boy is in love with me or isn’t in love with me. So it’s as if they have
the same weight at the same time…
Q: So why did you return to this material now?
A: It was written in Hebrew, my mother tongue. Then when I
came to this country a few years later I translated it into English because I
was afraid that my children, not being fluent in Hebrew, would never read it. I
was very careful not to add a word or subtract a word…
As the children grew up, and grandchildren began to appear
on the scene, I realized that none were really aware or of knowledgeable about
what I considered an incredible part of Jewish history.
I knew that my background was rare, because my parents were
both highly educated, professional English-speaking Jews. They weren’t running
away from anything, nor did they stop loving Scotland, for my father, Canada,
for my mother. The idea of continuity of Jewish history within that land [Israel]
was what they got committed to.
At the beginning of the Second World War, our house was full
of British officers, because we were all fighting the Germans. The house was
lively and they had excellent manners and they were beautifully brought up.
But then as we got to the middle ‘40s, then the tension with
the British not permitting immigration, and what we considered their being on
the pro-Arab side, as we saw it, the relationship came to a complete stop.
But that relationship, with the British, it was very rare.
And very comfortable. Every afternoon at 5:00, my mother would reign over
giving endless cups of tea and dry biscuits….and that’s very much part of my
upbringing.
And then the other event that I wanted to commemorate,
although I couldn’t write about it right away at the time, was the story of my
cousin Danny and his courage and his bravery. I hope his name will always be
carried into future generations.
My upbringing was unusual for an American audience. My
school was completely secular. As to what level of observance you kept or not,
nobody ever asked; that was our business.
But it was considered incumbent upon us that if we were going
to be educated Jews, with a strong sense of identity in who we were, we had to
start with the Bible, with the Biblical narrative. That’s where our DNA is,
spiritually, politically, psychologically, morally. That’s our basic building
blocks.
We studied that four or five times a week and were
encouraged to ask questions, to wrestle with the text. We were taken on hikes
through the country; we saw where these events mentioned in the bible actually
took place. So the strong sense of history and the past was woven into everyday
life. And the language of the Bible, the Hebrew, was our language.
One thing I hope comes through is that in a secular school,
the study of the biblical narrative, of the prophets…we were taught it and we could
memorize sentences the way a British child could memorize sentences out of Shakespeare.
Then there’s the personal side, which tells about my meeting
the man who became my husband eventually when we were both 15. We both spoke
English. But I was living after two wars…and Peter came from the Upper East Side
of New York, very different. He fell for my mother, number one, for the
country, and [then] for [me]. I fitted into that collage.
He came back every summer until we got married when we were
19. I managed to do my service in the [Israeli] Navy.
The book is a combination of this love story to the man I’m
still married to 62 years later, the combination of the sweet, a wonderful rich
personal life in the youth movement, in a family that was basically very
harmonious, but on the other hand the casualties, that of my cousin and of the others,
that were seared into our souls.
There was always that balance—of feeling chosen in the sense
that this was an unusual role that we were privileged to be part of, but the
tremendous responsibility, and heavy pain. Israel never had a military
procession after any of her wars. We take the casualties very personally.
Q: What do you feel is unique to your life as a young
Israeli, and what is more universal?
A: The story of coming of age has universal implications. Number
one, it’s important that teenagers feel a sense of belonging, to wherever you
are…to the country you live in, your community, your faith, or traditions, a
powerful sense of belonging.
Number two, people, when they start their adolescence, there
has to be a sense of responsibility to a community larger than merely themselves.
The more you feel a sense of responsibility, the stronger you become…
Bringing up a teenager to be independent of the popular
media’s idea of what a teenager should be like—if you can inculcate in your son
or daughter, I don’t care what the guy next door is doing; this is what I want
for you.
If the child comes from a tradition where there are some spiritual
traditions, that’s important, to give them the tools to deal with the ups and
downs of life.
Q: As you looked back at your diaries from the late 1940s
and early 1950s, did you closely identify with your younger self, or did you
feel a sense of distance?
A: I completely identified with what I was reading! Rereading
it was like a mini-psychoanalysis. I wept with what I wept about then; I
laughed with what I laughed about. And I was struck by how wholesome that
upbringing was…There was always a group. Teenagers should feel part of a group.
I never worried if [a date] did or didn’t [call]—there was always a group I
belonged to. And I’m missing my parents terribly…
My diary came about five years after the Second World War.
We had no sense of victimhood. It was really forging a new Jewish identity
where we weren’t going to be dependent on anybody, we were going to take care
of ourselves; we had a long history to fall back on…
Q: What does your husband think of the book?
A: I’m very lucky that he knew my parents, and of course
loved my mother, who wouldn’t, and got along with my father, who was very
reserved. He enjoyed it, and he saw himself through my eyes in a way that maybe
he wasn’t aware of originally. But I trusted him from the moment we met that very
first evening.
For my parents, his constancy—they knew that I was going
with somebody they could trust. It wasn’t like today when every Tom, Dick, and
Harry is flying back and forth. I didn’t realize how far I was going…I knew
wherever he went, I would go with him and start teaching Hebrew and the Bible.
It’s really important to stress to a child: Strengthen your
character and inner resources, whatever they may be--anything that makes you
less dependent on how the outside world chooses to define you. And that you
take with you in good times and in bad times. It’s an inner core that’s
portable. The child has to feel that as they go to college.
Q: Do you feel you had that when you left Israel for the
U.S.?
A: I never realized what I was doing, I was so sure of
myself. There was never even a glimmer of a doubt….That was part of my
upbringing. I was like a turtle—I took my identity like a turtle carries its
house wherever it goes, it went with me. It was all forged by the time I left
at 19. I am not unique; I am very typical of the Israeli.
Anne Frank was writing her diary during the Second World
War, and she ends up going to the gas chambers. I was writing my diary that was
all about the future and rebuilding and feeling so chosen that I was born there.
And that’s two Jewish girls at the same time during the Second World War…
--Interview with Deborah Kalb. Bless the Bitter and the Sweet is available at Politics & Prose bookstore.
I thoroughly enjoyed my interview with Deborah. She succeeded in bringing out aspects and nuances in my book I had not been aware of. I recommend her as a trusted interviewer to any author interested in having their book featured.
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Thank you so much--it was wonderful speaking with you!
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