Finally. My years long search is over. It was a little random book I had never forgotten from my childhood that I was looking for.
It was long lost, and now finally found.
With the advent of Google, I had decided to search for it.
Without knowing the title or author of the book, it wasn’t so easy, though.
It wasn’t one of the typical Israeli children’s books I loved, like books about the holidays or the series of talmudic tales that was curated for children. It wasn’t by a famous Israeli children’s author such as Rivka Elitzur. It wasn’t so easy or direct a mission to recall this book exactly.
I remembered that it was about a little boy who lived in a fishing town in Holland. I remembered the friendship he develops with a little girl who lived across the way from his home; they even had a pulley system between their windows to send one another little surprise notes or treats. I remember he goes fishing with his father. And various other details. Plus, I recalled that instead of drawn illustrations, the book was accompanied by black and white photographs of the actual subjects of the book.
But with so little to go on, I consistently reached a dead-end. I was not even successful in finding further clues as to how to find this book.
It was in Hebrew.
But was it a translation of a famous Dutch children’s book?
Every few years I would think of it again, and try to find it again.
Then, lo, one summer — about four years ago, when I was visiting Israel, I randomly opened a newspaper and to my great surprise one of the weekend stories was about the pending re-issue of this exact book, which it turns out was part of a Hebrew series about children of the world. Unbeknownst to me, it was a classic of sorts for kids of my generation.
At this point, the book had not yet been reprinted or re-issued. It was still pending.
I was thrilled. I figured on my next visit to Israel, which was planned for nine months hence, I would finally close this quest and hold this beloved book from my childhood in my hands.
That visit never happened, because of COVID.
Last summer, three years later, on my first post-COVID visit to Israel, I remembered about the book. When I tried to procure it, alas — at this point the book had been sold out! Apparently, it was re-issued as a limited edition.
This summer, I went to a famous second hand book shop in Jerusalem that I often pop into while here — a true treasure trove! And a story for another time.
I love children’s literacy in both Hebrew and English, so when I can I try to check out vintage book shops.
This time, after looking at the vintage Hebrew children’s books and not finding the book I sought, I was about to leave, when I ambled by the proprietor’s desk, thanked him, but expressed my disappointment.
Which book? he asked.
“Dirk: The Boy From Holland,” I said. I began explaining to him, when he fumbled through a book or two on the shelf nearby as he was saying he thinks he sold it, he slipped me a little hard covered book, “Oh, I thought I had sold it, here it is waiting for you.”
I couldn’t believe it. Suddenly it was right there, the cover a black and white photograph framed by red, just as I had remembered.
The truth is, at this point, a part of me wasn’t really expecting to find the book.
Unintentionally, the search had almost become about the search itself and the longing for this sweet story I remembered. The ritual had become the search for the book at yet a new venue, yet not finding it, then keep searching.
But suddenly, there I was with the book in my hands.
I’m not sure why finding this book had become so important to me. Clearly, it was a slice of my childhood that somehow was important to me, though.
I remembered the good feeling the book always brought me. I remembered the photography. I remembered reading the book about a child who was around my age, yet lived such a different way of life. I was intrigued by the fishing town and the life he lived. The tulips, the clogs, the canals . . . all the expected features made their way into this book. Ultimately, it was a book about family, and about friendship, and something about it touched my six or seven-year-old self.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the book had a certain endearing quality to it that truly resonated with me and was clearly very memorable to me.
Imagine my shock today when I finally held the book and saw the author name. None other than Astrid Lindgren. The famous Swedish children’s author whose most famous character is Pippi Longstocking.
Underneath the author was the translator: Leah Goldberg.
Leah Goldberg, the author of what is, to this day, a famous Israeli children’s book that has been translated into numerous languages, A Flat For Rent. Leah Goldberg, who was an erudite and impactful literary figure and academic on the Israeli scene. She was a writer and an editor of Israel’s Davar newspaper. She was raised in Lithuania, I believe, and was a Russian speaker (along with being fluent in many other languages), yet her goal was to master Hebrew since she was a little girl. In fact, after emigrating to then Palestine during the British Mandate, she went on to become one of Israel’s premier literary poets and personas. Posthumously, she received The Israel Prize. To this day, her visage graces Israel’s currency — she is the face of the 100 shekel bill.
So as it turns out, this random book I had stuck in my head all these years was the creation of one of children’s literature’s universally famous goofy characters, and the translation, the elegant words, of renowned literary poet Leah Goldberg?
Pleased with the literary taste of my six- or seven-year old self, I opened the book and began re-reading the words that touched me so long ago.
It was exactly as I remembered. Whatever magic it wove over me then, the book was just as sweet now.
I’m glad it waited around for me to come retrieve it, from a beautifully musty shelf in a vintage bookshop in Jerusalem.
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