Free Art of a Jewish Woman by Henry Massie Page A

His proposals are tedious, but the outings are escapes from the political turmoil and violence.
    They were Felice’s first real vacations as a young adult. She was very bad at skiing because she had never been on a snow-covered mountain before. No, she was dumb. Yes, dumb and courageous. She never worried about what might happen. She never took a lesson. Once she lost her balance going up a lift that pulled skiers up a track, and fell all the way down the track into the base cabin. Eliyahu was terrified. She got up laughing and just got back on the conveyance and started over. The scent of the cedars in the crisp air on Mt. Hermon was unbelievable to her, yet at the same time she was wondering if her mother, always resentful of the money her father spent on her, would be jealous of how lavishly Eliyahu was treating her.
    They spoke mostly French with each other, and more Hebrew—his native tongue—as Felice’s improved. In March 1937, the Passover holiday approaching, he suggested, “Why don’t we book passage to Algeria for a few days?”
    On board he toasted, “To our wedding.”
    Felice responded, “Eliyahu, you are so kind, but I need more time.”
    “It is getting late, dear Felice.”
    “Getting late for what.”
    “You are twenty-seven years old.”
    “That is just a number. I don’t feel like a number.”
    When they returned, Felice went to her sister Hanka’s kibbutz near the Sea of Galilee to talk with her about Eliyahu. After dinner they lingered in the communal dining hall: “What do you think I should do? He won’t give up; he’s devoted to me.”
    Hanka, as pretty as her sister though taller and more voluptuous, knew about men. “He’s tall, well built, good looking. He’s decent and well off. You should marry him.”
    “Do you marry every man you kiss?”
    “Of course not, but think about your situation.”
    “There’s something missing. There’s some sense of authority missing in him. He’s not a university graduate.” That’s what her father had always wanted for her.
    “He makes as much money as a university graduate; more than most.”
    “I’m sick of the word marriage. I’m suffocating in it. I have to escape. And I need to find a way to make more money because every cent I earn goes to my room and board. I have no money for books, for concerts, for the theater, for clothes.”
    “Why can’t you be more patient?” Hanka had found Lova, her husband-to-be, by now. They would leave the kibbutz in the not too distant future for Tel Aviv, where Lova would find a job driving a city bus and stay with the same company for the rest of his career, rising to be the director. Their ambition was to have children and build a small home on the outskirts of the city.
    But Felice—Fegele, the little bird—was still in flight. She wrote her parents, telling them that she needed a way to earn more money in order to have a fuller life, that Palestine was too impoverished and she wanted more possibilities. In turn her mother, Bela, put aside whatever envy she may have had for the benefit of Felice, as she did for all of her children, and wrote to her brother, Solomon, in New Haven, Connecticut. Looking for a better life, he had left their Polish village of Kolno as a teenager, and now had a successful store that sold general household supplies like their parents’ own store in Kolno. Solomon replied quickly that he and his family would welcome Felice. He enclosed a ticket to America.
    Felice announced her decision to Eliyahu: “You are a fine man. I have the greatest respect for you, and deep affection for what you have offered me, but I can’t stay here. My uncle in America is willing to receive me.”
    First, however, she wanted to say goodbye to her parents. Eliyahu responded, “I will give you $75 dollars so you can return to Poland to visit your parents before leaving. If you don’t find what you are looking for in America, come back and marry me and you won’t have to return the