My husband and I drove through the impossible one-way streets of Tel Aviv to visit my father-in-law. Since my mother-in-law had died, he felt abandoned, and our visits cheered him a bit.
In my father-in-law’s younger years, he was an active member of the Zionist movement in Yugoslavia and being a lawyer and member of Ben-Gurion’s ruling political party, he was considered a man with certain powers to help people.
“I am sure that you’ll have to climb the ladder,” I said to my husband.
“I wondered about that. What do you think, what will be going up into the boydem? Or perhaps something has to get down?” (Boydem means high storage cabinet.)
“The Friedman is already down,” I said. (The heater was called “The Friedman” after the popular appliance brand.)
When we arrived, we did see an open box and what seemed to be its contents were strewn on the dining table.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “Are these presents for Hanukkah?” But my in-law didn’t smile.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
I approached the table and saw many packages. Some were envelopes while others were wrapped in paper or fabric.
One unsealed envelope caught my eye.
“May I look inside?” I asked.
“Yes, you can,” was the answer.
I picked it up and wads of money fell on the table. They were banknotes of the old Kingdom of Yugoslavia. King Alexander was the central figure on some of the bills.
There was also a note attached. I looked at it and read,
Dear Dr Weltmann,
This is most of my capital. Please take it to Palestine with you, keep it for me. I hope to get there, and I’ll have something with which to restart my life. Yours, Guri Stern
I looked askance at my in-law but he didn’t react, so I unwrapped the fabric from another small parcel. A gold case for cigarettes was there and a tie pin. And a note.
Be so good, dear Dr Weltmann, to keep it for me. I hope to be reunited with my father’s mementos when I get to Palestine. Your friend, Moses Levin
My cheerful mood left me. I repackaged the objects and with a heavier heart opened another item. It was a small silk sack and in it I found a gold watch. It had a cover. I pressed on the side button and saw a picture of a baby and a lock of blond hair.
My baby’s hair and my father’s watch. Please keep it till I come, your friend Alexander Herman.
I stopped opening the packages. I wanted to know what I was looking at.
“When we left for Palestine in 1939 people from Novi Sad gave me these treasures to keep, which I promised to do. It’s 1980 now. I kept this box under my bed, but I see that we can put it up in the boydem.” And looking at my husband he said:
“Will you please get the ladder?”
After the death of my father-in-law, we took the box and it crossed the ocean with us. It’s now in my basement.
We gave our word to my father in-law that we’ll keep the box intact. We were admonished that, “The contents are not ours.”
It’s not the only box in my basement. I have tax records for more years than necessary. I have my children’s drawings and crafts from all ages and many more. On each box I write something about its contents. On the box from 1939, I wrote, “The Promise.”
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