I looked at the exquisite bouquet and smelled its delicate
aroma. It was a wonderful bridal arrangement for a wonderful
kalla, my own future daughter-in-law. The green
leaves, the pink, red and white roses, gathered so
tastefully, evoked a flood of emotions. And suddenly, I felt
tears of gladness spilling down my cheeks.
It had cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it! Still, it
was a far cry from the simple weddings we had known in the
past, where bridal bouquets were not always available and
affordable and thus, not customary. Flowers, in that past,
were altogether foreign to us...
*
I had an inborn affinity for everything green and growing.
This sensitivity was nourished by our visits to Grandmother's
farm up in the moshava. Bubbie Feiga lived in a
settlement on the slopes of the Carmel, a place blessed with
lush vineyards, orchards and plenty of greenery, even in
winter. Visiting the moshava every summer enriched my
experiences and recharged my imagination.
In the crowded city life of Yerushalayim, we scarcely saw
flowers and trees. In our poor and neglected neighborhoods,
children were the things that grew and proliferated...
In the rainy seasons, we had mud puddles, brown and dirty,
and above our heads, some dreary clouds. However, in the
summer, the blue-blue skies stretched above endlessly, and a
hot sun sent its golden rays to the thirsty earth. Still, the
color green was noticeably lacking.
Upon the wings of my imagination, I was able to paint a
picture of a beautiful garden on one of the barren brown
slopes of Yerusholayim. On this slope stretched sprawling
lawns, thick and luxuriously sprinkled with colorful flower
beds and rose bushes. Butterflies and birds, attracted by
sweetly smelling shrubs, completed the harmonious background.
Mothers in casual finery sat on benches shaded by leafy trees
and manicured bushes, while pinafored and sailor-suited
children ran about, laughing and playing joyfully. Happiness
and tranquility prevailed.
Meah Shearim, a neighborhood noted for its poverty, does not -
- and never did -- have gardens and parks. And so, lacking
these grand facilities, my reference for this mind-picture
was a pure product to my imagination. Surprisingly, we did
have a corner which we called a garden, but it was a
far cry from the one I just described...
By the gate, at the entrance of our courtyard -- and houses
were then built around a central courtyard -- was an unpaved
lot, a square area we called the `garden.' My earliest
recollection of this `garden' was a vacant lot full of stones
and mud. But since children need a place to play and have
limitless energy and time, they eventually cleared it of the
rocks and soon we could jump rope, play tag, hopscotch and do
many other activities. We vastly enjoyed ourselves in fully
utilizing the area as our private playground.
At the time of the War of Independence, the `garden' was
divided among four neighbors who each planted a vegetable
patch to supplement the scarce food supplies. While little
vegetation grew, for lack of know-how, disputes and quarrels
did proliferate.
Later, when the war ended, this lot was covered again by
stones and mud [which have an affinity for such a kind of
vacuum] and one inventive [or lazy] neighbor began utilizing
the lot as a junkyard. Soon it was again completely filled
with bits of odds and ends, large and small, to the
displeasure of the other neighbors. A different neighbor
cleared the place, threw the junk over the fence to another
vacant lot, and cemented over our `garden.' This caused quite
an upheaval, but [with no mud to sling] as the advantages
were realized, soon peace and tranquility settled in.
My fondest recollection of this so-called `garden' was my
sister's wedding, which was celebrated there. It was
austerity time and, living within our means, as people did
then, which were very limited, we minimized on expenses as
best we could.
My sister agreed to such a wedding and it turned out to be a
beautiful event. Food and drinks were laid out on tables
covered with white tablecloths. A wire was strung across the
length of the courtyard and light bulbs hung along it so that
the place was brightly lit up. The cemented area was
partitioned off into two dancing areas. The dancing lasted
till late at night. Since all the neighbors attended, there
was no one to complain about the noise...
The bride did not have a bouquet of roses and everything was
done modestly, homemade. This outdoor affair was an unusual
way of celebrating a wedding, even in those days, but the
simplicity and authenticity in which it was done, with lack
of all frills, only enhanced the simcha and made it a
most memorable affair.
I continued to dream of beautiful gardens, and my dreams
contrasted with the shabby and austere environment. But
though devoid of glamor, the joyful experiences and the happy
memories which our cement garden supplied us had a quality
which no money can buy.
