Three women in their 100s, each with an extraordinary life story, reveal what really matters when looking back.
Gallery
Miriam Oren, Esther Feiner and Shafra Bar-On, 100-plus years old
(Photo: Yael Gerty, Yarden Bar-On)
A life without true love is worth nothing
Miriam Oren, 104
Occupation: Payroll accountant. Worked for 40 years at the Elite food company factory in Ramat Gan.
“At first, I calculated salaries for 600 employees without a computer.” She later owned a perfumery in Givatayim. “I closed it when I was 84 and went to study brain research at Bar-Ilan University.”
Family: Widowed for 19 years, mother of a son (“a 78-year-old psychiatrist who still works”), grandmother of two and great-grandmother of two. She lives in an assisted-living facility in Ramat Gan and receives help from an Israeli caregiver through the National Insurance Institute.
'Even in the worst circumstances, I always maintained a cautious optimism.' Miriam Oren
(Photo: Yael Gerty)
Who I am: “I was born in 1922 as Masha Shein in the town of Szydłowiec, Poland, to parents who were members of the HeHalutz Zionist movement. In 1925, we immigrated to Mandatory Palestine and settled in Jaffa. Later, we moved into a building my uncle had built at 3 Sheinkin St. in Tel Aviv. When I started kindergarten, the teacher said, ‘This isn’t Poland. From now on, you’re Miriam.’
“Bialik’s nieces lived at 7 Sheinkin St., and he would come to have tea with them every day at 5 p.m. The neighborhood girls and I would play hopscotch on the sidewalk, and Bialik would move us aside with his cane. I was even inside his home once. I also knew Dizengoff, Tel Aviv’s first mayor. He was very popular. Speaking of Dizengoff, when they were paving the street named after him, one of our neighbors, who was a plumber, told my father, ‘Come with me. The street I’m about to show you will be the most beautiful street in Tel Aviv. I’m buying a plot here.’ My father came home red-faced and sweaty and said, ‘Has he gone crazy? Not even a camel goes through there! I’m not investing money in sand dunes.’ Of course, the plumber was right. He bought the plot where Café Ravel later stood.”
Marriage: “My husband, Eliyahu, was an Israel Bonds representative in South America and raised a lot of money for the country. We met when he was my instructor in the Haganah, the pre-state Jewish defense organization. He was a tall, handsome man and all the girls wanted him. I showed no interest in him at all. On the contrary, I kept my distance, but apparently that was exactly what attracted him.”
“I probably have good genes. My mother lived to almost 90. Mentally, even in the worst circumstances, I always maintained a cautious optimism.”
An event I’ll never forget: “When I was in elementary school, we were sent out to collect donations with the Jewish National Fund’s blue box. We were explicitly told not to go into cafés, but when I passed one, I saw through the window a high-ranking British officer trying to persuade a local woman to go out with him. I decided to go in. I approached him and asked for a donation to the JNF. He pulled out a burgundy crocodile-leather wallet, took out a five-pound sterling note, folded it and put it in the box. I ran to the school principal and said, ‘I’ve done my bit for the day.’ She asked, ‘Why?’ I said, ‘Open it and see.’ She was stunned. It was a fortune.”
A difficult memory: “Our home on Sheinkin Street was close to the Carmel Market, and before the establishment of the State of Israel, Arabs from the market would come to our street and attack us. We had no weapons, and my father would drive them away with the garden hose or a rolling pin.”
Health: “I don’t exercise, I don’t do any sports and I’ve never taken pills. I only eat what I like, lots of chocolate and ice cream. I don’t care what’s healthy and what isn’t. I probably have good genes. My mother lived to almost 90. Mentally, even in the worst circumstances, I always maintained a cautious optimism.”
Meaning in life: “Love is a very important part of life. A life without true love is worth nothing. Now I’m waiting for an Italian who looks like the mailman I used to see in Milan when my son was studying medicine there. Even though he earned minimum wage, he wore a crisp white shirt and polished shoes that shone like mirrors and carried a leather bag. If you find me a real Italian like that, I won’t care how old he is.”
Life at an advanced age: “If I’d known I would live to this age, I would have been less extravagant. I had money, traveled abroad a lot and stayed in the best hotels. I’m not afraid of death. Quite the opposite. I talk to death and ask, ‘Excuse me, but how much longer do I have to be on this earth? I need to prepare myself.’ And the Angel of Death replies, ‘Tell me, have I ever left anyone here? Nobody stays here forever.’”
Her caregiver, Ruti, adds: “The Angel of Death won’t take her. He’s afraid she’ll make trouble for him up there.”
I’ve exercised every day since I was 6
Esther Feiner, 103
Occupation: Agronomist and former owner of the Bachrach nursery in Ramat Gan.
Family: Widowed for 26 years, mother of two, grandmother of four and great-grandmother of 10.
Home: She has lived for nearly 16 years in an assisted-living facility in north Tel Aviv with a full-time caregiver. “Coming here was an excellent decision. I don’t think you can reach this age if you stay home alone.”
'Hannah Senesh, who was a year older than me, was a good friend of mine.' Esther Feiner
(Photo: Yael Gerty)
Who I am: “I was born in Germany in 1923. When Hitler came to power, he rebuilt the army. My parents heard that young Jewish women were being taken into the army and turned into military prostitutes, so they quickly sent my sister to Mandatory Palestine with Youth Aliyah. My father asked my mother, ‘Do you realize you’re sending her to war?’ And my mother replied, ‘This is our war.’ One day, a sign was hung at the grocery store across from us saying, ‘Jews not welcome here,’ and my mother said, ‘I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.’ So we began preparing to immigrate.
“We arrived in 1936. I knew a little Hebrew, but school was very difficult for me. I cried every day because of the way the other children treated me. They called me a ‘Yekke,’ a term for a German-speaking Jew, and made fun of my Hebrew. A year after we arrived, my father bought 3.5 dunams [about 0.9 acre] in Ramat Gan and established a nursery, and we lived right inside it. Eventually, we sold seedlings all over the country, including to the mayor of Nablus and even the mayor of Amman. At the end of 10th grade, I left the Gymnasia and transferred to the agricultural school for girls in Nahalal, founded by Hannah Meisel Shohat. I flourished there. Hannah Senesh, who was a year older than me, was a good friend and we used to get into mischief together. Later, I worked in agriculture in the Galilee on behalf of the Haganah. When I got older, I joined the family nursery and kept working there until I was 80. When I retired, I began studying natural sciences and it was the greatest pleasure.”
“‘The golden years’ is an idiotic expression. It’s the exact opposite of the truth. I don’t think I should still be here. It goes against nature. Anyone who has studied biology knows it isn’t right or normal to live past 100.”
Marriage: “Yaakov was a farmer and worked with us at the nursery. His parents knew my parents, and that’s how the relationship began.”
An event I’ll never forget: “The establishment of the State of Israel. We heard Ben-Gurion on the radio, went to the center of Ramat Gan and danced and celebrated almost all night. The whole country was dancing.”
Trauma: “Giving birth for the first time. It was the only trauma of my life, and I won’t elaborate.”
Health: “I believe I’ve reached 103 and a half — every day is a battle — thanks to good genes. My father lived to 95 and my mother to 96. Both were in good health and remained mentally sharp. Even though they didn’t really know what was healthy and what wasn’t, they always ate well. My father taught me that you can eat anything, but in moderation. I’ve never smoked or drunk alcohol. At 83, I had colon cancer. I underwent surgeries and fought it for a year. Ever since, I’ve been a fighter and a survivor.”
Exercise: “I’ve exercised every day since I was 6. These days, I do half an hour of exercises at home every day — lying down, sitting and standing — and walk for half an hour with a walker.”
Life at an advanced age: “‘The golden years’ is an idiotic expression. It’s the exact opposite of the truth. I don’t think I should still be here. It goes against nature altogether. People live too many years now because of medication. Medicine has its downsides, too. Anyone who has studied biology knows it isn’t right or normal to live past 100. I’m not just talking about myself. I’m not the only person here who wants to die. There have been many people here who simply stopped eating to hasten death. In the past, I wanted to help build a country for the Jewish people and fix things around me. Now the situation is fairly bleak, and that’s one of the reasons it’s so difficult to keep going.”
Meaning in life: “These days, my family gives my life meaning. We’re very close. My social life here at the assisted-living facility is important to me, too. I like talking to people and listening to lectures. I also tend the garden on my balcony, and that gives me a great deal of enjoyment and satisfaction.”
Every night before bed, I listen to music
Shifra Bar-On, 103
Occupation: Former nurse. Worked for 30 years as a nurse and clinic manager.
Family: Widowed for six years, mother of three, grandmother of 10 and great-grandmother of 18. She lives in Moshav Hayogev in the Jezreel Valley with a full-time caregiver.
Shifra Bar-On
(Photo: Yarden Bar-On)
Who I am: “I was born in Vienna in December 1922 as Sylvia Weber. When I was a baby, Cossacks attacked my grandmother in Poland and raped her. She suffered a stroke, and my mother was summoned to come quickly and care for her. My mother and I went to Poland and stayed there for a while. Later, we returned to Vienna, where I grew up. In November 1938, Kristallnacht took place, and we could hear the sound of shattering glass and the screams very close by. The next day, I went to school like a mouse, as quietly as possible, hugging the wall. In 1939, I immigrated to Mandatory Palestine with Youth Aliyah. Meanwhile, my father thought Jewish women would be safe in Vienna, so he decided to leave for Russia on his own. My mother and sister were supposed to travel to England, but the war broke out, the borders closed and sadly, they were murdered in the Holocaust.
“When I arrived, I was told I had to choose a Hebrew name, and I chose Shifra after my grandmother. We arrived at Kfar Vitkin and from there went to agricultural training in Be’er Tuvia. In 1943, we established the community of Beit Eshel, which was destroyed during Israel’s War of Independence. Later, we established Moshav Hayogev, where I still live today.”
Trauma: “Parting from my parents at 15, before I immigrated, was especially difficult. We didn’t know when we would see each other again, but we hoped we would. On the way to the train station, where I left for the port of Trieste, my father reassured me and told me how fortunate I was to have the opportunity to immigrate. He survived the war in Russia and immigrated to Israel in 1950. I knew he was supposed to arrive in Israel but didn’t know when, and then one day, out of the blue, he arrived by bus at Moshav Hayogev with his new wife. I was happy to see him, but I was also sad because he had come without my mother and sister.”
“One of my granddaughters, Yarden Bar-On, occasionally posts videos of me on Instagram. Sometimes they get a quarter of a million views. I have no interest in being a star, but I don’t mind her posting them. It’s funny and nice.”
Marriage: “My husband, Dan, managed the archives of the Jezreel Valley Regional Council, and we also had chicken coops. We met through Youth Aliyah, but we only became close after we arrived at Kfar Vitkin. He was one of the more prominent young men, and many girls wanted to be with him. We didn’t fall in love at first sight. One evening, Ami Assaf, who later became a member of Knesset, came to talk to us about establishing Beit Eshel, and someone had to take him back in a mule-drawn cart. It was a full-moon night, and Dan sat next to me in the cart. I don’t know how it happened, but suddenly we were holding hands. After that, he courted me and would bring me flowers after working in the forest.”
An event I’ll never forget: “The most moving moment of my life was when my son Udi was born, after I had lost a baby who died just a few days after birth.”
Health: “I’ve never smoked or drunk alcohol, but I eat everything and especially love sweets. Twice a week, I exercise at the club, and once more at home with an instructor who comes to me. Every night before bed, I listen to music or recordings of poetry being read aloud. It enriches the soul. Beyond that, I maintain my optimism, curiosity and social activity.”
Life at an advanced age: “My life is very good, knock on wood. My children live here, and every day one of my children or grandchildren comes to visit me. Sadly, my friends who were my age are no longer with us, but their daughters sometimes come to visit. Three or four times a week, I go to the senior citizens’ club in the moshav and talk to people. One of my granddaughters, Yarden Bar-On, occasionally posts videos of me on Instagram. Sometimes they get a quarter of a million views. I have no interest in being a star, but I don’t mind her posting them. It’s funny and nice. I enjoy telling her the truth and watching her get annoyed.”