Abstract

In early February 1957, heavy snow fell on Jerusalem for three days. There were long power outages and I remember sitting by candlelight around the dining room table with my mother, father and sister, listening to the snow. It was the warmest night of my life. Several months earlier, there had been fedayeen raids and mother covered the windows with pieces of cloth left over from the War of Independence. The house across the street was an anti-aircraft position. A war was going on, but I have never felt more secure.