Hana Kritzman
“After a person is gone, what remains of him? Not his possessions, not his wealth, but his story, whether he wrote or told it. And my story I now present to you,” wrote Hana Kritzman in the opening of the book she penned in recent years describing her family’s history and her own as well.
Her writing abounds in sensitivity, humor and wisdom, all of which also characterized Hana, the active, loving, lively woman with a zeal for life throughout her eighty-eight years.
On March 27, 1935, a baby girl named Hana was born in Warsaw, Poland, the daughter of Simcha and Hadassah Gutsdiener. Her young father sensed the winds of antisemitism blowing and decided to set out for Eretz Yisrael. After having found a job and a room in an apartment for his family, he greeted his wife and baby daughter as they descended the ship in Jaffa port. Hana recounts, “My mother wondered, ‘What will my love bring me when we meet? A flower? Jewelry?’ And Father presented her with….an orange! This fruit was so expensive and rare in Poland that it was a truly romantic gift in my mother’s eyes.”
As a child, although Hana excelled in sports and the long jump, it was the stories that she read and wrote that transported her to the most distant and magical realms. She entertained her younger siblings Yaffa, David, Tzvia and Sara for hours on end as she read and acted for them. Her teacher would read Hana’s compositions to the class in the Yechieli School in Neve Tzedek.
When Hana turned fifteen, a bold new world called “fulfillment” (hagshama) became revealed to her through her activities in the HaNoar HaOved Zionist Youth Movement. The rumor that the Hagshama Movement was seeking youth to pioneer and settle a new kibbutz being founded not far from Gaza called “Be'eri” excited her tremendously. As Hana wrote, “At those very moments, I forgot that I’m the eldest daughter with the burden of the house upon my shoulders. I could only see my dreams and desires, to fulfill and establish my nation.”
But Hana did not speak to her parents of her dreams for the future. “Mom, you didn’t understand me,” Hana writes. “I want to go to the kibbutz now with my friends! We will live together, work, eat and share everything for the success of the kibbutz.” Her father ended the discussion: “Over my dead body are you going to the kibbutz! If you go, I will not allow you to return to this home.” Despite the threat, Hana packed a small bag in the dead of night. Together with two of her friends from the youth movement, she boarded a bus headed south.
Reaching Kibbutz Sa’ad, the small band of youth decided to continue their journey to Be'eri on foot. When they were warned of the presence of fedayun (terrorists) in the area, they were equipped with guns. “Two fourteen-year-old boys,” writes Hana. “Without knowing if they even know how to shoot, I’m following them, feeling enormously secure. I’m accompanied by two armed men!” When they caught their first glimpse of Kibbutz Be’eri, Hana writes, “In the distance we could see a small campfire with several young people sitting around it and singing. Sometimes people now ask me, Hana, aren’t you afraid of kassam rocket attacks?’ I reply, ‘If you had seen that campfire, you would know that no kassam can move us from here.’”
Hana worked in several branches of the kibbutz, describing them in long letters to her mother. She told of the vegetable garden, her work in the dairy farm, of the sole alarm clock on the kibbutz which she was given, of the common living quarters in tents, of the very difficult, yet very rewarding work. One day, her father appeared at the kibbutz gate together with her brother. It turns out that her mother had read him all the letters Hana had written, and he now broke his long silence with a fierce hug. When Simcha died at the age of 87, he requested to be buried in the kibbutz earth. Hana writes, “And perhaps in his request to be buried here, he wished to ask my forgiveness. Not forgiveness in words, but in an act that demonstrates that he will remain in Be'eri for eternity….My mother was buried at his side.”
After this city girl had settled into the kibbutz, a new fellow appeared in her life. Tzvi Kritzman, “Tziki.” “I didn’t think I had any chance with him. He was quite handsome. There were girls who looked like beauty queens, and those who were great dancers. I was very shy, and unlike those girls, I didn’t even try to compete for him. Maybe that’s the reason he chose me! A girl has to show some apathy around a guy and not get too excited. He was my first boyfriend. The very act of holding hands seemed tempestuous to me!”
Hana received two proposals of marriage. The first was not romantic enough to her liking, nor terribly inspiring, but as she wrote, “The guy that I loved proposed marriage, that’s the main thing!” And yet, on Hana’s 80thbirthday, Tziki surprised her with a ring and even recorded a love song for her. “So, what could I say? We already have four children!”
Hana and Tziki’s first-born son, Tzafrir, was followed by Zohar, Noga and Ziv. But Hana was not only the mother of her children, and not only the grandmother of her grandchildren (Amit, Stav, Lior, Omer, Yotam, Sahar, Paz, Ido, Arad, Dotan, Yael, and Noam) and of her great-grandchildren (Yonatan, Itamar, Guy, Adam, Be'eri, Romi, Yarden, Ben, Neta, and Ohr). Hana raised, educated and nurtured many more children as a nanny, a kindergarten teacher, and a teacher. These children became parents of children and grandchildren who also listened to Hana’s stories with sparkling eyes, loved her and wanted to be near the woman who loved children with all her heart, who knew how to calm and hug. In Hana’s words, "Educate just a little, and most importantly, do not interfere with a child’s growth."
How do you do that? In Hana's eyes, this was not complicated: Do not say “no,” “don't,” “if,” or “that’s not allowed.” You don’t tell a child, ‘If you do X, then you will get…" Instead, say: "If you do this quickly, we’ll have enough time to do something else!" There is no problem or sadness that cannot be solved by a story. The child doesn’t want to sit? No need to get excited. A child can also move around!"
Establishing Kibbutz Be'eri’s library was truly Hana Kritzman’s life work. She sorted the books, and personally designed the library’s very special, inviting interior. There she held Story Hours and acted out stories for her rapt audience. In time, the library became a bustling cultural center for parents and “graduates” to attend lectures, events, and meet-the-author sessions.
Hana later became the cultural director in the kibbutz movement, travelling daily to and from Tel Aviv by car. She was a teacher and a grandmother who loved to entertain all her grandchildren, organizing summer day camps - renowned across Israel - for the children and their friends. Hana was affectionately called “Chaneleh” by all, a nickname that perhaps also indicates her kibbutz roots, but chiefly the love, admiration and closeness felt by all who took part in her life’s journey. Many saw Hana as family. She was a mother for all and a grandmother for all, but in her own family – nuclear and extended – she was the head of the tribe, the activator, the one who brought cheer, the magnet that connected everyone to each other, the writer who connects all the stories into one.
On Saturday, October 7, Hana, Avigail the caregiver, and Tziki were in their home. During the early-morning rescue by the IDF, as they sat in their handicapped vehicles, they were shot. Tziki and Hana were injured. They were evacuated to Meir Hospital, where Hana fought for her life. At that very moment, just two floors below, Hana’s tenth great-grandchild was born, the son of her grandson Lior. Although anesthetized and ventilated, when Hana was told the good news, the indicators jumped. This infant entered the world with the name Ohr (“light”).
In her book, Hana wrote, “I love my family so very dearly that if God forbid my day will come, I will miss them very much. When the day comes, I ask that it happen painlessly, quickly, when I am in my home.”
Hana Kritzman died on October 21, 2023, at the age of eighty-eight.
May her memory be blessed.
