My husband and I met on a blind date. It's one of our favorite stories and it comes up all the time. It's a great story and we tell it well. It has to do with a pay phone at a bar, a fireplace and some tea. I tell my side, my husband chimes in with his. We weave the tale like pros and we can get any dinner conversation rolling by sharing our story. We always learn something new about the people we are with, as they proceed to share their own stories. I've asked dozens of friends and relatives to tell me how they met. How come I never asked my ancestors?
Today, I asked my parents. I'm sure they've told me before, but I have long forgotten. I know my mother was an American volunteer on my dad's kibbutz, Kibbutz Tel Yitzchak. I assume they met there, when she came to live on Kibbutz for a few months. What remains a mystery, is how they actually met. When did they first lay eyes on each other? How did they came to fall in-love?
|My parents on the Kibbutz around|
the time they met
"Abba" (dad in Hebrew), "I have a question for you. Can you tell me about meeting mom for the first time?" I sent my dad a prompt via facebook.
"You want to know How I Met Your Mother?" he asked.Yes. I laughed and wrote. "I want to know how you met my mother!" My dad is a very funny guy but this time, he wasn't trying to be funny. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know about the hit TV sitcom, "How I Met Your Mother." My son dressed up as Barney Stinson recently for a costume party, ducky tie and all, and my dad had no idea who he was supposed to be.
"It was at a party. I met your mother at a party," said my dad. "She came to the Kibbutz with her friends and there was a party to welcome the new volunteers. I was there," he told me. "My friend and I spotted two girls across the room and we decided they would make good potential girlfriends," he said. "I picked your mother and he picked her friend Phyllis. We both ended up getting married to the girls we "picked," so I would say we did pretty well!" he declared.
"Were you still in the army at the time?" I asked my dad who had spent three years in the Israeli army between the ages of eighteen to twenty one.
"No. I had been out about four months by then and working in the cotton fields," he recalled.My mother, remembered the encounter a bit differently. It was one of her first weekends in Israel. She was living in Jerusalem and she had a free long weekend because of one of the Jewish holidays. According to my dad it was Sukkot, known in English as the Feast of Tabernacles or Booths. She didn't have any family to spend the holiday with so she chose to go with her new Canadian friends to the Kibbutz where they were scheduled to volunteer later-on during the year.
|Probably not "the tree", but a tree on the kibbutz.|
"So you weren't living there yet?" I asked her to clarify. In my mind they had met when she arrived to live on Kibbutz. "No, not yet," she explained. "We didn't move to the Kibbutz for another six months. I remember sitting under a tree playing the guitar with my girlfriends. You know, the trees next to the communal dining hall, remember?" she asked.I did remember the central green next to the dining hall. It was the at heart of the Kibbutz which was founded by my grandparents and where both my father and I were born. The green was multifunctional, it served as playground, soccer field, party space and central quad.
"Your dad came up, listened and sang and then we talked for a long time. I don't know if I can say it was love at first sight," she replied when I pushed, "but certainly we liked each other right away. I know he has a different version. Something about a party. He says that he came into a party with his friends, and they each picked one girl. He picked me!"
"So you didn't see him again for six months?" I asked. "Of course I did. They used to steal a car from the Kibbutz and drive up to Jerusalem to see us whenever they could." "Steal cars? Didn't they have access to cars on the Kibbutz?" I asked. "They did, but they needed permission to take one of the few cars the Kibbutz owned back then. If they didn't have permission, they would just sneak out and take it," admitted my mother.
|My parents under another tree, Kibbutz Tel Yitzchak, 1967.|
Now that I've heard this story, I remember hearing it before. Thanks +Lisa Alzo for this great prompt and for reminding me to document the story of how my parents met! I highly recommend that if you don't know or don't remember how your parents met, ask them again. Make sure your father tells you HOW HE MET YOUR MOTHER!
I dedicate this post to my mother who agreed to go "public" with this story.
Fellow Bloggers, if you wrote about this prompt today and want to share your story, feel free to paste a link in my comment section!
Visit earlier post in the series:
Women's History Month Day 1: Fearless Females: Favorite Female Ancestor & Genealogy Guru!
Women's History Month Day 2: Fearless Females: Third Great-Grandmother!
Women's History Month Day 3: Fearless Females: The Middle Name That Almost Was
Women's History Month Day 4: Fearless Females: Hats Off to the Top Fearless Female!
To learn more about +Lisa Alzo's 31 inspirational writing prompts in celebration of Women's History Month visit her blog: The Accidental Genealogist.