“Alice, don’t you think there is an irony that Judith asked me to write a ‘We Remember’ column for JWA about you… when actually the column will be a snippet of what ‘I, Sally, Remember’?” 

If Alice Shalvi, who died last October 2, 2023, at the age of 96, were alive to answer my question, her eyes would no doubt brighten, she’d lean back—perhaps while sitting in her beloved Jerusalem garden—and laugh deeply. Then, before answering my question, she’d say what a good job Judith and JWA are doing and how much she misses Paula Hyman (Judith’s mom) and Moshe Shalvi, her beloved husband of 63 years, who together created the first edition of what is now JWA’s Shalvi/Hyman Encyclopedia of Jewish Women …. and then, because Alice loved me and I loved her, she’d say “of course you are right.” And then she and I might very well muse about the word “we” when we are talking about the individual. Alice would cite lines from Shakespeare that do this. I would ask about its use in the siddur. We’d mull it over together. 

This was essential Alice—kind, appreciative, loving (and missing) those whom she adored, always inquisitive and expanding my questions, always wanting to know more. 

I miss Alice, deeply for despite our 36-year age difference, we each found a friend when I was 24 years old and she was 60. And I was blessed (and I know she would say she was, too) to have this unusual “best friendship” that lasted for 36 years until her death.

There are many sources to learn about Alice, including her autobiography, Never A Native, which she described as “like a quilt, a patchwork of stories,” Paula Weiman-Kelman’s two movies about Alice, The Annotated Alice and The Re-Annotated Alice, and an entry in the Shalvi/Hyman Encyclopedia. So as Alice would urge me to do, since this essay is really sharing an “I Remember,” I will pick two of my favorite stories that have messages I want to convey. (Although Alice wouldn’t say this, her rhetorical style as a teacher and lecturer was to tell her listeners and readers at the outset what she wanted them to learn, so I will do as she taught me by example.) 

My first story is about Alice’s leadership style—a style that centered upon asking strategic yet seemingly simple questions. Here is the tale:

Kamah v’ lamah (which rhymes in Hebrew, translates to “How many and why?”) was one of Alice’s most frequent questions. How many women are in the Knesset and why? How many women teach at the university and why? How many women are denied a get (a Jewish divorce) and why?

Asking kamah v’lamah—and the answer, or lack of an answer to this question—led Alice to build the Israel Women’s Network. Indeed, an entire organization, now 40 years strong, stems from this simple, strategic inquiry and seeks again and again to redress women’s unequal rights and access in Israel.

I share this memory because it is deceptively simple and it rhymes, and like Alice, I use it to ask about women and other concerns. Just this week I received an invitation to Art-Up Nation, a one-time post-October 7^th art exhibition in New York City featuring 75 Israeli artists. 100% of proceeds go to participating Israeli artists in order to “show support for Israel, Israeli art, and its vibrant cultural community.”  A major foundation as well as not-for-profit and private-sector organizations are listed as partners on the invitation.

I ask kamah v’lamah, and Alice would be delighted that the exhibit includes almost exactly 50% women and 50% men showing their work. But then I ask kamah v’lamah again, this time concerning the 20% of Israeli citizens who are Palestinian, another group Alice cared deeply about… and I wasn’t so sure given the names listed that Palestinian citizens were well-represented. So modeling myself on Alice’s qualities of best-intentions and bravery, I took the question to Art-Up Nation’s leadership.

“The artist Amira Ziyan is included in the show,” they responded. Amira is a Druze Israeli citizen and her inclusion means that 98% of the art is by Jewish citizens, 2% by non-Jewish citizens. Kamah v’lamah?

My second “I remember” is about Alice when she was 92 years old. This story exemplifies that at all ages we have the capacity to take risks, learn new skills, and make moments holy.

My oldest daughter, Alice, is named for Alice Shalvi. (In fact in our home, Alice Shalvi was always “AliceShalvi” as if it were one word, and Alice, my daughter, is Alice.) When AliceShalvi was 92 years old, I called her to ask her if she would chant Haftarah at (my) Alice’s bat mitzvah. AliceShalvi replied, again with a laugh, “I’ve never read Haftarah before.  I don’t know. Let me think about it.” But sure enough, one week later when we spoke, she was deep into learning trope and prepared to read “should I be able to get from Jerusalem to NYC.” 

And get there Alice did… all four-feet-ten-inches of her, pushing her walker to the bimah, standing tall, and letting the congregation know it was her first time reading Haftarah. Then beautifully and loudly she chanted and concluded with not only the blessings after the Haftarah but with a shechiyanu, expressing gratefulness for being kept alive to this new season—and skill—in her life.

Last fall, days after Alice died, I held a gathering in my sukkah where over 30 people came and told their own “Alice story.” This is in New York City, where Alice never lived! Each person brought their own “I remember,” weaving together a tapestry of stories that reflected just a portion of the great legacy Alice Shalvi, leader, and AliceShalvi, friend, left us and our world. 

Kamah v’lamah and reading Haftarah at age 93—I think Alice would delight in these stories in her Jerusalem backyard… and she’d give a deep sigh for all that has been done and is yet to be done. Then she’d sit back, pause for a moment, comment on the beauty in her garden, slowly take a sip of her hot water with lemon, and laugh as she remembered