great youth movement. Hadassah said that the officials' only concern was for their own families, and she cited an appalling case of corruption which was going the rounds in Jerusalem. Michael thought for a while, then gave it as his opinion that it was a mistake to demand too much from life. I was not sure whether he was defending the government or agreeing with our guests. I asked him what he meant. Michael smiled at me as though the only reply I had expected of him was his smile. I went out to the kitchen to make tea and coffee and to put out some cakes. Through the open doors I could hear my friend Hadassah talking. She was praising me to my husband. She told him I was the best pupil in my class. Then the discussion turned to the Hebrew University. Such a young university, yet being guided along such conservative lines.
12
I N J UNE , three months after the wedding, I found I was pregnant.
Michael was not at all pleased when I told him. Twice he asked me if I was certain. Once, before we were married, he had read in a medical handbook that it is very easy to make a mistake, especially the first time. Perhaps I had misinterpreted the symptoms.
At that I got up and left the room. He stayed where he was, in front of the mirror, passing his razor over the sensitive skin between his lower lip and his chin. Perhaps I had chosen the wrong moment to talk to him, just when he was shaving.
Next day Aunt Jenia, the pediatrician, arrived from Tel Aviv. Michael had telephoned her in the morning and she had dropped everything and come running.
Aunt Jenia spoke sternly to me. She accused me of irresponsibility. I would ruin all Michael's efforts at getting on and achieving something in life. Didn't I realize that Michael's progress was my own destiny? And right before his final examinations, too!
"Like a child," she said. "Just like a child."
She refused to stay the night. She had dropped everything and come rushing to Jerusalem like a fool. She regretted having come. She regretted a lot of things. "The whole thing is just a simple matter of a twenty-minute operation, no worse than having your tonsils out. But there are some complicated women who won't understand the simplest things. As for you, Micha, you sit there like a dummy as if it's none of your business. Sometimes I think there's no point in the older generation sacrificing itself for the sake of the young. I'd better shut up now and not say everything I've got on my mind. Good day to you both."
Aunt Jenia snatched up her brown hat and stormed out. Michael sat speechless with his mouth half-open, like a child who has just been told a frightening story. I went into the kitchen, locked the door, and cried. I stood by the dresser, grated a carrot, sprinkled sugar on it, added some lemon juice and cried. If my husband knocked on the door, I did not answer. But I am almost certain now that he did not knock.
Our son Yair was born at the end of the first year of our marriage, in March 1951, after a difficult pregnancy.
In the summer, early on in my pregnancy, I lost two ration books in the street. Michael's and my own. Without them it was impossible to buy essential foodstuffs. For weeks I showed signs of vitamin deficiency. Michael refused to buy so much as a grain of salt on the black market. He had inherited this principle from his father, a fierce, proud loyalty to the laws of our state.
Even when we got new ration books I continued to suffer from various troubles. Once I had a dizzy spell and collapsed in the playground of Sarah Zeldin's kindergarten. The doctor forbade me to go on working. This was a difficult decision for us because our financial position was critical. The doctor also prescribed injections of liver extract and calcium tablets. I had a permanent headache. I felt as if I were being stabbed in the right temple with a splinter of ice-cold metal. My dreams became tormented. I would wake up screaming. Michael wrote to his family telling them that I had
12
I N J UNE , three months after the wedding, I found I was pregnant.
Michael was not at all pleased when I told him. Twice he asked me if I was certain. Once, before we were married, he had read in a medical handbook that it is very easy to make a mistake, especially the first time. Perhaps I had misinterpreted the symptoms.
At that I got up and left the room. He stayed where he was, in front of the mirror, passing his razor over the sensitive skin between his lower lip and his chin. Perhaps I had chosen the wrong moment to talk to him, just when he was shaving.
Next day Aunt Jenia, the pediatrician, arrived from Tel Aviv. Michael had telephoned her in the morning and she had dropped everything and come running.
Aunt Jenia spoke sternly to me. She accused me of irresponsibility. I would ruin all Michael's efforts at getting on and achieving something in life. Didn't I realize that Michael's progress was my own destiny? And right before his final examinations, too!
"Like a child," she said. "Just like a child."
She refused to stay the night. She had dropped everything and come rushing to Jerusalem like a fool. She regretted having come. She regretted a lot of things. "The whole thing is just a simple matter of a twenty-minute operation, no worse than having your tonsils out. But there are some complicated women who won't understand the simplest things. As for you, Micha, you sit there like a dummy as if it's none of your business. Sometimes I think there's no point in the older generation sacrificing itself for the sake of the young. I'd better shut up now and not say everything I've got on my mind. Good day to you both."
Aunt Jenia snatched up her brown hat and stormed out. Michael sat speechless with his mouth half-open, like a child who has just been told a frightening story. I went into the kitchen, locked the door, and cried. I stood by the dresser, grated a carrot, sprinkled sugar on it, added some lemon juice and cried. If my husband knocked on the door, I did not answer. But I am almost certain now that he did not knock.
Our son Yair was born at the end of the first year of our marriage, in March 1951, after a difficult pregnancy.
In the summer, early on in my pregnancy, I lost two ration books in the street. Michael's and my own. Without them it was impossible to buy essential foodstuffs. For weeks I showed signs of vitamin deficiency. Michael refused to buy so much as a grain of salt on the black market. He had inherited this principle from his father, a fierce, proud loyalty to the laws of our state.
Even when we got new ration books I continued to suffer from various troubles. Once I had a dizzy spell and collapsed in the playground of Sarah Zeldin's kindergarten. The doctor forbade me to go on working. This was a difficult decision for us because our financial position was critical. The doctor also prescribed injections of liver extract and calcium tablets. I had a permanent headache. I felt as if I were being stabbed in the right temple with a splinter of ice-cold metal. My dreams became tormented. I would wake up screaming. Michael wrote to his family telling them that I had
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