Daughters of Iraq (10 page)

Life unravels so fast, I think to myself, much too fast. People live in bubbles. They think they have an unlimited amount of time. Then something terrible happens that shatters their world, which forces them to contemplate the meaning of life; why we’re here; what we’re meant to do. They learn to appreciate every moment with their loved ones. Their physical world grows smaller—limited to house and hospital, day after day after day. Normal life ceases to exist, except in dreams. Returning to normal life, to a normal family, is my life’s ambition right now. There is nothing I want more than that.

It is unspeakably hard to consider my life today—where I’ve been, where I’m going. And I’m scared I won’t have the time to tell my stories, that you’ll never know me as I once was: a mischievous girl, always pushing limits; a young woman, full of dreams, in a magical daze on a kibbutz; a young woman, living in a transit camp with her family, helping to support them; a young woman, steeling herself through
matric
exams, accepted to university, meeting Dan, marrying, giving birth to two incredible, beloved children. I want to tell you about myself.

That’s all I can manage today . . . I’ll write again tomorrow.

Noa finished the first chapter of her mother’s diary. Then she reread it. But she couldn’t bring herself to read further. An unfamiliar woman was materializing before her. Aspiring to a normal life? This was a new concept. A strong mother, who doesn’t allow anything to bring her down, full of ambition and a love of life: that’s who Noa remembered. It was strange to think of her mother as a girl, as a teenager, as a woman in love. She was just
Ima
—that’s all. Dreams? Ambitions? Noa wondered what else she would discover. She clutched the diary to her chest for a long time before putting it back under the pillows.

Chapter  Eleven: Noa

“H
i,
Aba
!
Shabbat Shalom
!
How are you?” Noa greeted her father at the entrance to his house, kissed his two clean-shaven cheeks, and, as she always did, went over to check the pots on the stove.

“I’m fine,” Dan Rosen said. “Are you hungry?” He followed her into the kitchen.

“Always,” Noa said with a smile, peering into the pots. “What are we eating today?”

“Nothing special. It’s just the two of us.”

“Where’s Guy?”

“He has important business in the middle of nowhere. He went to the
krayot
outside Haifa to see some girl he met on the internet. Enough, Noa, stop eating out of the pots. Let’s sit and eat like civilized people,” he said, half teasing, half scolding.

“Okay, Okay, but let’s eat now. I’m starving,” she grumbled. Noa sat at the table, and Dan brought out the food. “Over the internet, you said? That sounds interesting. Now what’s going on with you?”

“Slow down, Noa,” Dan protested. “I can’t keep up with you. Take your plate and let me look at you. You’re dressed so nice this evening. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going to a party later.”

“I was hoping we could go to a movie together.” Dan frowned.

“I’m sorry,
Aba’le
,” said Noa. “Listen, I’ll try to stop by tomorrow. But I was invited to this party, and Ofir is coming by later to pick me up.”

“Oh, fine. I’ve gotten used to the idea that there are other men competing for your attention.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thanks,
Aba
,” she said. “You told me over the phone you had something important to tell me. What is it?  The suspense is killing me.”

“First, eat something. I can see you’re hungry. Then we’ll talk.

“No. Look, I’m done.” She put down her fork and looked at him. “First we talk, then we eat. I’m all ears.” She rose from her seat, went into the living room, and sat in her mother’s old armchair.

“Whatever you want. You’re the boss.” He sighed, and sat down opposite her.

“Okay, well, it’s like this,” he began. “You know that your father is growing up . . .” An ironic smile spread across his face.

“You mean you’re getting old . . .”

“You little troublemaker—I’m simply growing up.” He rubbed his face with his hands and continued. “In short, I’ve decided to take a trip in honor of my growing up. You could say that I’m going to find myself. I bought an open ticket to America.”

“You’re kidding,
Aba
! What’s gotten into you?”

“Listen, Noa.” Dan tried to explain. “I’ve been living alone for a long time; I’m tired of my work; I don’t want to be two hundred years old and suddenly realize my body is giving out on me, that I can’t do any of the things I dreamed about, that it’s too late. My boss, Tamir, persuaded me to take a few months off instead of retiring, and I made up my mind to go, and the sooner, the better.” Dan breathed heavily; this wasn’t easy for him. He knew that Noa would miss him more than anyone. They were particularly close; lately, they’d even been meeting up at the university.

“Wow,
Aba
, you never stop surprising me. Give me a minute, I have to get used to the idea . . . who are you traveling with?”

“I’m traveling by myself. You remember Itzik, my friend from the army? He’s been living in Seattle for years. He has a studio apartment downtown that happens to be for rent, and he offered it to me for as long as I want. I’ll have a place of my own. This is the perfect opportunity to see the west coast. You can even join me, and we can travel together.”

“Sure,” Noa said, bitterly.

“Noa, it’s not the end of the world.” Dan reached for her hand. “I’ll only be gone a few months, and it’s America, not the moon.” He spoke quietly, trying to soften the blow.

“Why do you have to go for such a long time? And what if you decide to stay there? What’s so bad about here?” She felt like a little girl again, abandoned by a parent. Her breathing grew ragged.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” Dan said, staring at the ceiling for a moment before facing her again. “Look, you and Guy are grown. You don’t even live here anymore. Do you see? I feel stuck, irrelevant. There are things I haven’t done, places I’ve never seen. I need air, my Noa—I don’t want to die without seeing them.” He looked into her face. “I want you to be happy for me. Come with me, Noa, my treat. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

“What about your studies?” Noa’s voice quavered. She felt sadness, yes, but anger, too, even guilt.

“My studies can wait until I come back, Noa’le.”

“Everything’s always happening so fast,” she blurted. “Do you know that I was at Aunt Farida’s on Tuesday, and she gave me
Ima
’s diary? You never bothered to tell me it existed.”

“She gave you the diary? She didn’t say anything to me. And did you read it?” he asked with trepidation.

“I’ve only read a little,” she confessed. “I wasn’t up to reading past the first chapter.” Her voice shook. “I thought we could talk about it, the diary, but now . . .
Aba
, don’t you know how hard it’s going to be, not having you here?” She softened as she saw the regret play across his face. Voicing her troubles would make things very hard on him.

Dan made a fist and worked the knuckles against his forehead, as if trying to flatten the creases. “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Noa. She shouldn’t have given you the diary yet, at least not without consulting me. It was a mistake, a big mistake.”

“Listen,” she said. “I understand, you should go . . . of course, you should. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she said, faking a smile.

“Now can we eat?” Dan asked as he stood.

“Come,
Aba
.” She took his hand. “I need you to know that I want you to be happy. But the distance . . . it’s on the other side of the world. I’ll miss you.”

“I know, my girl, I’ll miss you, too. But maybe it’ll inspire you . . . to breathe different air, see different landscapes, different people. Now it’s my time, and,” he said with a wink. “I don’t have any grandchildren to take care of . . . at least, not yet.”

“I do understand,
Aba
. I’m trying not to be selfish.”

He drew her into his arms. “You know you’ll always be my little bird. You’ll always be in my heart. And if it gets too hard, just hop on the next plane and tour the country with me. It could be really nice. Even the other end of the world is less than a day away.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“And about the diary, Noa, I’m still here for a bit. If you want, you can read it here, with me. Maybe it’s good Farida gave you the diary, even if she should have talked to me first. But that doesn’t matter, Noa: Ima wanted you to read it. I think you’re ready. It will be good for you to see your mother from an adult perspective. Ima would be very proud of you if she were here.” He kissed her head. “And another thing, Noa . . . I love you very much.”

“I love you, too,
Aba
,” Noa said. His praise had lifted her spirits.

“So can we eat? I’m dying.”

“Don’t die on me . . . and promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“Always.”

“In that case, let’s eat,” she smiled. “Now tell me, which places are you planning to visit?”

Chapter Twelve: Violet

Sunday, January 22, 1987

W
hen Eddie turned seventeen, he became active in the Zionist movement, and our house became both a meeting place and an arsenal. We had a secret room under the kitchen floor, where we hid the weapons. After the 1941 pogroms in Baghdad, during which Jews were arbitrarily slaughtered on the street, Iraqi Jews resolved not to be easy prey for the Arabs. If there ever was another pogrom, they decided, they would defend themselves.

Right before the declaration of the state of Israel, and especially right after, the plight of the Iraqi Jews deteriorated. People were fired from their jobs, and young men couldn’t get into the universities. By the time Jews began to leave, the situation was dire. My parents, along with my brother Anwar and his wife, and Farcha, Habiba, and their husbands, decided to fulfill their dream of living in the holy land and join those who were leaving. There was just one problem: Eddie. When they told him about their plans, he refused to go along; he insisted on staying in Baghdad. As a member of the Resistance, he felt he couldn’t leave his friends behind. My mother and Habiba decided that he couldn’t be left alone in Iraq; someone would have to remain with him. Eddie was nineteen and mature beyond his years. Habiba and my mother were afraid of what might happen. They knew that if the Iraqis captured any Resistance members, they would torture them until they gave up the names of their comrades, and then the Iraqis would hang them all.

Deciding who would stay behind with Eddie was excruciating, but, of course, it was my mother who decided to make the sacrifice. Eddie was everything to her, and there was no changing her mind. Habiba had small children—her Yosi (called “Yusuf” in Iraq) was only four years old—and
Ima
declared it was Habiba’s duty to accompany her family. She swore to Habiba that she wouldn’t let him “act out,” and that she would be responsible for his fate. And that’s exactly what happened: we began making preparations for our move to Israel, with the knowledge that
Ima
and Eddie would remain in Iraq. Farida and I, the oldest of the children, knew what Eddie was doing, and we understood the risks involved. Would we ever see Eddie and
Ima
again? We had no idea.

When
Aba
told us about the trip to Israel, Farida burst into tears. She knew Eddie wouldn’t be joining us, and that
Ima
would stay with him. I worried, too, but in other ways I was glad. I was ready for change, for adventure, for something different; I was tired of living in the Jewish ghetto.

We sold what we could. It was forbidden for Jews to take cash out of Iraq, and we weren’t about to take any chances. We left most of the money with
Ima
and Eddie. And we still had our house, a huge home with only two people living in it. I insisted on taking my dolls. I was almost nineteen, but I couldn’t leave them behind. I’d made them myself, and over the years I’d added new clothes and accessories. They were their own miniature world.
Aba
refused to take the whole collection; he allowed each child to take one thing, no more. I picked Fahima, my oldest and most beloved doll, and I still have her to this day, although she is now in tatters. I can’t dispose of her. She is the thread that connects me to my childhood, to my home in Iraq, to the Chidekel River, the palm trees, the desert heat, the aromas . . .

At the airport, I collapsed into
Ima
’s arms. I couldn’t let go. We both cried, and she promised that she and Eddie would join us as soon as they could. She begged me not to worry. She kissed me through tears and said to take care of
Aba
, never imagining she and Eddie would be trapped in Iraq for over a year.

We wore our best clothes when we climbed into the giant silver bird. We flew to Cyprus, switched planes, and continued to the holy land. When the strange, oversized plane landed, we walked down the ramp and looked around. The heat was the same, just wetter, stickier. I looked for
Aba
but couldn’t find him. Then I heard sobbing. There he was, kneeling, kissing the ground and weeping. “
Aba
, why are you crying?” I asked. I was afraid something had happened to him; maybe he had fallen. But all he said, in a trembling voice, was “
Shehechiyanu v’kimanu v’higianu lazman hazeh, amen
.”
He was reciting the
shehechiyanu
blessing, thanking God for allowing us to live to see this day. I was a young girl, full of life, and I practically burst out laughing. Then
Aba
said: “You have no idea how I have prayed for this day, how I have waited for it, dreamt about it, just like my father, and his father, and his grandfather. One generation after another. And I’m the fortunate one. The day has finally arrived, may God’s name be blessed.”