Where the Cranes Fly

In The Beginning

In the beginning… darkness was upon the face of the deep (Genesis).

In 1997, the then Israeli Ambassador to Australia, His Excellency Shmuel Moyal, launched my Hebrew book Letters in One Direction in Melbourne. Many of the friends who attended the book launch said that they would be very keen to read the English version of that book. Silly me, obviously high on adrenalin, replied that it won’t be long – just give me a few months… Eleven years later we are finally here. However, I’m happy to say, this book contains twice as many stories.

When I sat down to translate the stories, I found that it wasn’t that easy and I had the feeling that darkness was upon the face of the deep, so much so, that I’d nearly given up: not everything is translatable, there are many words in Hebrew – like in any other language – that have double meanings, and one can’t translate them without losing the essence of the words and even the whole story. It took me quite some time to realise that if I indeed wanted to publish this book, I’d have to start from the beginning.

That is what some of the stories in this book represent and in more than one way: not only is it a new book, it also tells about our new beginning in Australia, which, I guess, wouldn’t be dissimilar to so many other new Australians. I’m quite sure that we weren’t the only family who arrived to these blessed shores with only four suitcases of clothes, bed sheets, a few (Hebrew) books and a couple of family photo albums, as well as an imaginary overweight suitcase loaded with hopes…

Most of the stories that I’m about to share with you weren’t in my original book. As you might have known from your own life, things look different over the years and perspectives change, mainly as the years go by and you

start to look back on your life. In my case, at least, I know full well that I’ve already passed more than half of the years allotted to me on earth, before moving there, above the clouds…

One of the nice things about a book of short stories is that you can read the stories in no particular order. You’ll notice that I spread the When I was… stories over the book, rather than dedicating a certain chapter for the little stories that made my life – that was done on purpose, so you can really lose yourself in between the pages and the stories, together with me…

I’ve been asking myself if you, too, have these thoughts when you go to a bookstore in order to choose a book: I wonder if you think about what is involved in composing a book, and yes, writing a book is like composing music, with the same passion, using words instead of notes – it could be this book or any other book that found its way to the shelf, waiting to be picked up. While it is true for everything we lay our eyes on, or buy, it became more meaningful for me, now that the book is ready and in your hands, and just the thought of it humbles me.

You might be wondering where the birds on this book’s front-cover came from. I’m glad you asked: these are migrating birds – the Cranes, as the book title suggests – Where The Cranes Fly. I photographed them at Agmon Ha’Hula in Northern Israel in January of 2007, and just like these birds, we too have migrated to another country, and also like the Cranes, we come back at a certain cycle for a visit to the country we’ve immigrated from. I’ve always found the migrating birds to be fascinating and thought that this photo will be more than appropriate for this book and its title. The opening story – When I was 36 – is the story of our immigration to Australia.

And the silhouette on the back? While visiting China, we had someone walking a few steps behind us with his hands busy doing something. As we were about to leave the site we were visiting, he approached us and showed us our silhouettes – all he had was a small piece of black shiny paper and a small pair of scissors – he was cutting our images as he was following us. There are a few China stories in this collection and that is the connection between the silhouette and the book’s back-cover.

Uri J. Palti

When I was 36 years old…

The year was 1974.

Five wars behind them – the ‘73 Yom Kippur war was the last – and they were only 35 with two wonderful and healthy boys aged nearly 12 and 10. The family had just gone through a great loss and sadness that changed their lives forever.

They decided to have a new start, far away from the war-zone, for the safety of their sons. Yes, it’ll be difficult for them, the grandparents and the rest of the family. They knew it’ll be a heavy price to pay, but that, they thought, was needed at that time in order to put their lives back on track.

One year later, in 1975, they took a step that was to change their lives for good – in the true sense of the word – they arrived in Australia.

I was managing the computer service department of Philips Data Systems in Tel Aviv at that time and received a few work offers from Philips Data Systems offices around the world. Ever since I participated in a company’s conference in Eindhoven, The Netherlands, where I happened to be the youngest head of engineering of any country, I had the connections with my counterparts. However, an offer from Greece was declined because there was – a couple of months earlier – a devastating earthquake in Athens, so we were not going there! Another offer, from Venezuela, was rejected because of the military coups that took place in most of the South American countries every Monday and Thursday… Persia – Iran today – wasn’t safe and foreigners had to live in a ghetto, something we didn’t want to do either.

You’ll understand that when we received an invitation from Sydney, Australia, we were more than ready to take it: the Land of Oz was far enough from any war zone, there were no military coups and we didn’t have to live in a high walled ghetto. Rather – we were sure – there will be a few kangaroos hopping in our backyard, which was fine with us…

The first thing we did was to sit down with our sons and discuss the new possible future: we highlighted that we’ll have to leave the rest of our family behind and we won’t be able to see them whenever we like. We discussed the making of new friends in the new city as the ones they had will stay behind. We told them that they’ll have to learn to communicate in English, as that is the language of the country we are planning to go to. And, not least difficult for children at their age, they won’t be able to discuss the trip with anyone at all – including other family members and close friends – because nothing was set in concrete yet and our trip might not take place, for whatever reason. I brought home some information from the Australian Embassy in Tel Aviv, including a poster of the newly opened Sydney Opera House, we made inquiries about the cost of living, cars and houses, we asked about Jewish day schools and others and whatnot.

The two boys thought long and hard about the possible change and its implications.

I don’t know how well-equipped they were to make a decision like that. I only know that we told them that we don’t have to go, should both of them – or one of them – decide that it might be too difficult for them, in terms of missing family, friends and the easy life in Shaar-Hefer, the village where we lived. They had an absolute free hand when it came to the decision-making. In hindsight, maybe it was a little bit tough on them, but we thought that it would be too much of an important move to make without consulting them and getting not just their opinion, but their approval too. Did they want to satisfy us, the parents, and not let us down? We don’t know, although we don’t think so.

Once the boys were happy to try the new life in Australia, accepting the invitation was only the first step. Not knowing how complicated things could be, we thought that it wouldn’t take long and we’ll be on our way from one Promised Land to the other…

Eight months it took us to get the one-year visa to Australia – eight months of not discussing the trip with anyone – not even our own parents – and we couldn’t but admire the boys for keeping what we called the family secret.

In order to make sure that we indeed will receive the visa, Philips put a tailored advertisement in the papers, which meant that they gave the details which suited my expertise – that no-one else would have – and the visa was finally approved. We had much trouble with a lady in the Australian embassy, an Israeli clerk, who did everything she could, it seemed to us, in order to prevent us from going and ‘til this day I don’t know why. At the end, we were asked to go through medical examinations and once the four of us passed them, the much-hoped visa was stamped in our passports. Would you believe it if I were to tell you, that after we received our visas, we sent a large plant in a pot to that lady as a gesture of thanks?

Well, we did!

At that point, Philips decided that they’ll have me in Melbourne, rather than in Sydney. They sent us a cable to ask if we would mind the last minute change – there were no emails in 1974… We didn’t mind – for us, the whole trip was an adventure into the unknown, be it Sydney or Melbourne.

We had a visa for one year only, so we decided not to sell our house in Shaar-Hefer, but to let it. We sold our Sussita – a locally made fibreglass car with a Ford engine – and also the TV and the stereo system. We sold our big camping tent to one relative and the beautiful wooden extendable round dining table and chairs to another. All we took with us were four suitcases.

The day we feared had finally come: my wife’s parents – mainly her mum – while not happy for us to leave, adopted the attitude that we are doing the right thing, taking the children to a safe and quiet haven. I can’t say that we had the same response from my mother and her husband Kurt. Like the others, they were hurting very much to see us go, with the difference that until this day my mother hasn’t forgiven us for doing so. That was exactly the part we didn’t like, and we knew that while we were about to embark on something new and exciting, they were all left behind, most probably with a feeling of sadness and emptiness. However, each family had to do what it thought would be the best for them, and they themselves – our parents – were facing very similar dilemmas when they left their respective homes and went to live in the then Palestine. Of course, the times and circumstances were totally different, but, in principal, it was quite the same and the chances of seeing them again were certainly much higher than at the time of the pre second world war. Anyway, Nili’s parents brought us to the airport, and we took off to Hong Kong, with an Air France flight. It was the 16th of February 1975 we were about to take the big plunge.

On the way, we encouraged the boys to talk in English to the stewardesses, namely ask for an orange juice and other things, and even Roni, who was more shy than Aviv, took pleasure in doing so. One shouldn’t forget that Roni was about twelve and a half years old and Aviv was about eleven, so their English was far from being sufficient, as was ours.

We decided to stay in the Hong Kong Sheraton hotel for three dream nights. We felt that we want to compensate ourselves – mainly the boys – for the difficult months we went through and the sad farewell from the family. Luckily, the Sheraton had a special rate to celebrate their opening which took place in November of 1974, just four months prior to our arrival. Since then we made it our hotel whenever we go to Hong Kong.

We had a great time and made the most of it – we took some tours – inland and on the waters – and discovered a fascinating new world…

Philips invited us to come to Sydney first and stay there for a week as the company’s guests. We arrived at the Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport on the 21st of February 1975. The deputy national service manager, Ken, took us to a modest motel in Manly, a place that reminded us so much of Bat-Galim, also a beach suburb, but in Haifa.

The first morning at the motel, we were asked what we would like for breakfast. The boys were astonished to see baked beans on toast on the menu! Well, they couldn’t resist that one, so they ordered that new dish, and… enjoyed it, too!!! Breakfast was served through the small window in the single room we had…

That day was the eve of the festival of Purim – the fancy dress festival. Not that we remembered the date – the Bnai-Akiva youth leader in Sydney, whom we ask to pick up some Israeli magazines that were given to us for him, brought Hamman Tashen (Oznai Hamman) – the special Purim triangular cakes, and that was the way we knew about it.

The next day it was raining heavily, and we thought that Ken’s promised BBQ – our first BBQ of many to come in Australia – would be drowned by the showers and cancelled. However, that was the day – only our second day in Australia – in which we learned that showers weren’t a good enough reason to cancel a BBQ! Sure enough, Ken picked us up, and while we stayed indoors, he stood by himself, wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella in one hand, as he turned over the steaks and hamburgers with the other…

I really meant it when I said that ever since that day, we realised that the weather isn’t a good enough excuse to cancel a BBQ or other activities such as car trips and even walking in the Dandenong Ranges – nothing better than the fresh smell of the leaves and the rain.

During that week in Sydney, Ken showed us the city and took me to the head office, where I met with Mr Jackal, the head of the service department whom I knew from the meeting in Eindhoven a couple of years earlier.

The week was quickly over and it was time to leave for our final destination – Melbourne. As the TAA flight approached Melbourne’s Tullamarine airport we saw the huge city from above. We saw many swimming pools, but mostly, we saw many parks and trees – so much green we have never seen before! One shouldn’t forget that we came from Israel, where there is a six month-long summer, without a single drop of rain. And here, at the end of February 1975, the peak of the Melbournian summer, we saw so much green – it was breathtaking – the fact is that we still remember that sight from 1975…

When we landed, a tanned thin guy, wearing a white shirt and shorts, with his socks knee-high, was waiting for us. Gordon was the service manager of Philips Data Systems in Melbourne. He took us in his blue and white Philips van to 33 York Street in Fitzroy, where Philips rented an apartment for us for a month, until we’d decide where we would like to live. When we arrived there, Gordon left us to get organised, promising that he’ll come later to pick me up for work. In the village we were living in our large house – we knew that this was behind us now and that we can’t expect the same when we come to a new place with a new beginning. We wandered through the two-bedroom apartment, and arrived at the kitchen. One of the boys opened the small fridge and we were all lost for words: the fridge was full to the brim with all the goodies that one can pack into such a small fridge! So, too, was the pantry, and shampoo in the bathroom. We’ll never forget that generous and unexpected welcome. Roni, who loved chocolate spread couldn’t contain himself when he spotted the jar. He opened it quickly and stuck his finger in it, then put it in his mouth… seconds later, he cried: What kind of a chocolate spread do they have here… – you might have guessed that he opened a Vegemite jar…

The rest is history – quite important history, because it was in Melbourne that Roni met Debby and Aviv met Michelle, and