Book & Cook

“What about your homework?” asked Hagit our first-grade teacher. “I didn't do it. It is too confusing.” I said. “What so confusing about it? All you had to do was to copy exactly what you wrote in class yesterday.” “Well, it's exactly that ...” I said with half a smile on my face. “Let me see your notebook.” I handed the half size notebook to her unwillingly. “Is that is all you wrote?” she almost screamed. “A word and a half?” “Well, like I said, it was confusing.” “What was confusing? All you had to do was to copy what's on the black board.” “I wasn't paying attention; I think I kind of fell asleep. It was boring!” That was it, Hagit lost it. I don't quite remember what she said but it wasn't fun I am sure she was yelling and screaming at me. All I remember was the yelling. “I am going to give you a note to take to your Mom,” she said. “You give it to her and make sure she reads it and comes to talk to me tomorrow. I took the note and put it in my pocket.  On

“Every year, from now on,” Said Hagit our teacher, “you will be having a trip to somewhere. At first it will be a short trip for a few hours but when you grow up it could be for a few days. “Nice!” I said I love trips.  “This year, I mean, next week,” continued Hagit, “Sunday, I want you to come to school without your books or notebooks. But bring some extra food and a water canteen. We will be going on a local trip by foot to Kfar Vitkin and also visit the ‘House of the First’. You should all have comfortable shoes and a hat. No flipflops, which are banned from school anyway.” I was very excited; we never went on a trip. Well, except with our parents and the rest of our class on “Yom  HaZikaron ” our Memorial Day, to the memorial square in Netanya. This time we were going on a trip with our teacher and 2 chaperoning parents. No bus ride, this was going to be a long hike. Our school was at the edge of our neighborhood. Behind it was just sand dunes for a long distance. We started walki

It wasn't easy to get  Meme  Julie to tell us stories. She was always busy preparing food or cleaning the house. But when she came to visit, which was very rare, we were able to get her to tell us some. We were always curious about our history, where  Meme  came from. What did they do in Tunisia and all kind of stuff. “Israel has been and still is a wonderful country. It is the only real democracy in the middle east. It has people from around the world and everyone is equal. But some people equal more.”  Meme  July started her story. “I never wanted to come to Israel. We had a good life in Tunis. Your grandfather was a very respected man, at the synagogue where he attended every morning and at the town where he was a successful accountant.  Nono  was the town mayor's accountant. Even your uncle Albert had a nice job, he owned a locksmith shop. It was nice until the Nazis showed up.     Everything had changed. Nono had to go to work at the loading dock for the German army and Al

1962 "Tomorrow, children,"  H agit, the first-grade teacher, said, "We will do some artwork. Bring some old magazines, a cup of flour in a paper bag, and pair of scissors."       Finally, something interesting! I said to myself. You know, I didn't like this school. When I was in the kindergarten, we made things; we built with blocks, painted pictures, played with play dough, and did constructive projects. But that year was awful! All we did was copy from the board and recopy at home. When the teacher wrote on the board on the first day "Shalom, first grade" and asked us to copy it in our new half size notebooks, I tried, really, I tried. It took me half an hour to draw the first letter on half of the page. Then, before I had the chance to finish the second letter, the bell rang. The second period I usually spent bothering naive Yemima or Rina, Margarina, the big girl with the long braids. I remember when one Friday I had to stay after school with her t

The day after Tova’s wedding when I returned from school, I picked my brother from the kindergarten and we both walked home sharing the experience of the Yemenite wedding. Behind the Okev’s house we found two crates of empty glass bottles. Remembering that Mr. Okev got us in trouble before, I sent Avi to ask him if it is ok for us to play with the bottles. “They are empty, you say?” I heard the voice of Mr. Okev. He didn’t sound like he had time for silly questions. “I am not going to drink them, am I? He said, “Go ahead play with them.” “He is so mean!” Avi complained “let’s play with them, see how they explode against the wall.” I put my bag on the floor and drew a line on the ground two yards away from the floor. “Let’s see who get the bigger explosion if we throw them from here.” I said, picked up one buttle and aimed at the wall. The bottle exploded immediately as it hit the wall. Avi’s bottle did the same. We kept on throwing them one after the other. Some exploded big and some d

The big day for Tova Okev has come. She was getting married. I remember, just a week before, they had the “Henna” party for her, something like an engagement party, so the parents can agree that the couple may marry and so they can wish their children good luck on their wedding day. Sometimes I think, a Yemenite Henna party is a bigger party than a wedding party. For Orthodox Jews, (and this Yemenite neighborhood was mostly orthodox) a co-ed party is not permitted. The men must be separated from the women. As for us children, it wasn't important. We were allowed to be anywhere we wanted. First, I spent some time with the men. They had some musicians playing Yemenite and Arabic music, all the men joined them and were singing together while drinking their favorite Araq – an alcoholic drink made of barley. At the women's side of the party, on a big chair sat Tova the bride. I couldn't recognize her. Her face was covered with thick makeup. She was wearing a long red silk dress

This story is very difficult for me to tell. It’s about how I lost respect for Mom. Uncle Moshe just joined the army for his military service. Uncle Moshe Mom’s youngest brother was tall now and very strong. His army base was close to our town. He was in the “intelligence”, shahs, don't tell anyone. He learned to read and write Arabic and was involved in something secret.  Anyway, every time that he had an afternoon pass, he would hitchhike his way for a visit and have some of Mom’s cooking. We didn’t have a telephone so we wouldn’t know in advance when he was going to come. But mom always had a few moments warning. You see, the bus stop was a few blocks up the road. Avi and I would play outside and the moment we would spot his tall figure coming off the bus or the ride he just got, Avi would run back home yelling all the way home, “Uncle Moshe is here, Uncle Moshe is here.”  Mom then would rush and put some water on the fire and rush to the bathroom to make sure she looks presenta