Already as a child, I knew that my father entertained relationships with numerous people. He had a special, unmediated connection with people. He was much loved, and knew how to get along with everyone. No matter where we arrived, he was received like a king. He also knew how to give others the feeling of being respected – regardless of whether they were junior workers at the printing house or company CEOs. He viewed them all as equal. He was a man who always spoke the truth, had a sharp sense of criticism, and above all: was incredibly modest. 

My father, a Holocaust survivor, was a generation older than my friends’ fathers, and stood out among them. I was sometimes jealous of my friends for being able to simply play ball with their fathers, go with them to the beach or just spend time together. My father was the busiest person in the world. He was hardly ever home, and I never knew when he would arrive. Today I understand that his studio was his home. He also had lots of hobbies that required hours of investment, mostly at the expense of his family life.

On school holidays, I would come to visit him at his studio, at 96 Hayarkon St. in Tel Aviv. There I entered a magical kingdom of drafting tables covered with numerous models, drawings, colors, special pens, strangely shaped rulers, and many unfamiliar materials. There were lots of drawers, and each of them contained treasures. My father would turn his attention to me for several minutes, and then give me paper, magic markers, paint and brushes. I would sit on a high chair, trying to imitate what he was doing. It was an incredible experience. 

Over the years, my father became increasingly addicted to his work and creative endeavors. He enjoyed creating in isolation, and we knew we were not to disturb him. He had an extraordinary artistic sense, and was remarkably inventive. He truly knew how to do everything: he was an amateur carpenter, electrician, and sometimes even repaired the Susita car that he owned for more than 50 years. He also collaborated on the development of toys with some of the companies with which he worked. His mind was filled with creative ideas. He made everything by hand, and would say, “My customers want manual work – nothing on the computer.”

I was enchanted by his sketches, cutouts and drawings. He was incredibly precise. He had this kind of obsessive dedication – I remember him drawing the letters, or making sketches on parchment paper. He wanted to reinvent everything, and was never drawn to what was familiar and known. Even when a commercial client commissioned a project from him, he sought to explore new directions, rather than relying on an existing bank of images. 

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My father also collected art and design works: wooden sculptures, Israeli ceramics, lighters, designer ashtrays from Italy, watches, sunglasses, colorful ties with unique patterns, Italian shoes, Chinese vases and ivory sculptures, Israeli painting, custom-made suits, and a series of hats. In his office, he had a collection of art books and a display of works he was especially attached to. Anyone who entered our home was “afraid to move,” because it resembled a museum. 

Music was another one of his great loves, and he often listened to it in the studio as well as at home on the weekends. It was through him that I discovered and came to love the singers of the 1950s and 1960s. His favorites were “The Rat Pack” (Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Junior), Elvis Presley, and Pat Boone), whom he called “singers with a voice.” He also liked the Beatles, ABBA, The Carpenters, and The Mamas and the Papas. He had a large collection of classical music records, and he would sit with a cup of coffee and a cigarette and listen with infinite patience.

His loss left behind a vast empty space previously occupied by a father, a grandfather (to Ilay and Yuval) and an astounding person. While working on his archive, I sometimes felt as if we were entertaining a dialogue. Some of the questions I asked received answers. In other cases, I managed to find creative solutions. In the years that have since gone by, I have tried, as a person involved with art, to understand his artistic language. He left behind numerous works and sketches, and I studied them in an attempt to track his unique artistic trajectory. 

My father was a unique individual and a singular creative artist. The remarkable oeuvre that he has left behind is a gift that I have been fortunate to receive. I feel great responsibility to pass it on to future generations, in an attempt to create a basis for the study of local design, a field that has yet to be fully explored in the world of Israeli culture.