Growing up in New York, writing poetry throughout my childhood and adolescence, I was fascinated by my uncle Robert, "the poet." I spent many hours rummaging through my parents' desk drawers in search of buried treasure, letters from Jerusalem sent from 13 Jabotinsky Street. Here I could find tales of a literary life and small pieces of paper containing new poems, sent for our approval and enthusiasm.
As I grew older, I undertook a correspondence of my own with Robert, sending him from time to time my own efforts at verse. I wrote a lot of poetry as a child and adolescent, but by the time I was graduated from Queens College in 1971, my passion for writing had transferred to photography.
However, my bond with Robert remained strong. As an undergraduate, I took a course in contemporary poetry with a family friend, the poet Aaron Kramer, who allowed me to write a term paper on my uncle's poetry. Robert was thrilled, of course. During the summer of 1971, I spent three weeks with Robert at his basement flat on Jabotinsky Street. Here I learned that he shared my mother's wit, easy laughter, and gift for friendship. He was also an inveterate cat lover; many of his poems are about his menagerie of cats--his own and the countless strays he adopted.
As the years passed, I worked for several publishing companies, married, had two daughters and found as much time as I could for freelance photography. Although I continued to keep in touch with Robert, our letters to each other became more sporadic. Still, I looked forward to seeing a Jerusalem postmark on an airmail letter and to reading Robert's words of encouragement about my photography. At the same time, he continued to send me his publications and bits of paper containing new poems.
I had now entered middle age and Robert was in his early eighties, having retired from Hebrew University years earlier to devote himself full-time to his poetry and translations. By this time, I understood that Robert was a prominent literary figure in Israel. What I hadn't grasped was that Robert had some definite plans for his poetry, and for me.
