From the Israeli Scene
AT THE time I met Masal she was about seventeen years old. She was working in the household of friends of mine. They were Americans, like myself, who had come to Jerusalem as visitors, taking with them their four boys, and had stayed on, at first because they were interested, then fascinated and, finally, used to life in Israel. After four years in the country the boys spoke classical Hebrew fluently and English quaintly. Theirs was an informal, easygoing household, full of fun and banter. The mother was a graduate of an American college and the father a professor at the Hebrew University. The children called their parents by their first names; all four did household chores and could, if need be, cook a meal for the family. What they did not always succeed in doing was to clean up the mess left in the kitchen. And then Ann, their mother, would chide them; not gently. She gave full service to them and expected a full return. It was a delightful home, with frugal meals, good talk, and an excellent collection of books and records.
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