Daughters of Iraq (20 page)

Farida did some quick calculations in her head. The man she was talking to was about eight years older than her. A feeling of warmth the warmth of home filled her heart. She suddenly felt as if the walls of her house were breathing, that the suffocation she’d experienced just a few minutes earlier was abating.

“What is your name, sir?” she asked.

“I am Victor Cohen. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too. My goodness, what a small world,” she said. “You know, my father studied accounting during the day, then in the evening he would lug his mother’s wares all over town. Even after he had a family of his own, he continued to help her, right up until my parents moved to Baghdad because of his work. You know what it meant to be an accountant in Iraq? Working for the government, no less? I can’t remember him ever wearing anything besides a white suit not until he came to Israel. He helped his mother all his life, as much as he could,
Allah yirchama
.”

“Yes, good for him,” Victor said. After an uncomfortable silence, he spoke again. “Okay. Well, I didn’t mean to bother you. You have to sleep, don’t you?”

“Sleep?” she scoffed. “What sleep?
Walla
,
you’re not bothering me I can’t sleep. But maybe you have to sleep?” She paused, “or something. You must be a busy man: maybe you have to get up early? Or find Chana.”

“No, I’m not rushing off anywhere. I’ve been retired for quite awhile. I’m not going to sleep, and I don’t have to wake up early. In fact,” he admitted, “I’m having a good time talking to you. The truth is,” he said, chuckling, “I sleep very little, hardly at all. Chana is my daughter-in-law. I wanted to remind her that she’s taking me somewhere tomorrow. She and my son go to sleep very late, and I just wanted to make sure she didn’t forget. She’s a good daughter-in-law: she comes from Haifa to Ramat Gan twice a week to bring me food and takes me to the doctor. Sometimes we even go on trips.”

“So perhaps you should hang up and call her now?” Farida tried to be polite.

“No, no, it’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’ll call her in the morning. So what happened to your family? Where do you live now?”

“I live in the southern section of Zichron Ya’akov, in an apartment complex. You know where that is?”

“No, not for the life of Allah,” he laughed. “When I think of Zichron, I think of private houses.”

“Oh, no! It’s not only houses there are apartments dating from the fifties. I’ve lived here since I married my husband, Moshe,
allah yirchama
.
And you’re from Ramat Gan, you said?”

“From Ramat Baghdad,” he joked. “That’s what they call Ramat Gan, right?”

“Yes. Why did all the Iraqis decide to settle in Ramat Gan?” She liked his sense of humor.

“And you tell me, how did that bastard Saddam Hussein manage to attack our neighborhood, sending missiles straight into the houses of the same Iraqis who ran away from his country?”

Farida laughed and coughed, coughed and laughed. “You know, you’re right. How come I never thought of that? Maybe that’s his revenge. Bastard, may his memory be wiped out,” she spit, “may his name be cursed.”

On the other side of the line, Farida heard the same combination of laughter and coughing.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve really enjoyed talking to you. You’re a lovely lady. Maybe one day I’ll dial the wrong number again?”

“Maybe. Only God knows. Have a good night.”

“Wait!” Victor said. “You never told me your name.”

“I’m Farida. Farida Sasson.”

“Nice to meet you, Farida.”

After saying goodbye and hanging up, she continued to stare at the phone.
He really was a nice man
, she thought.
I hope he dials the wrong number many more times
. Their conversation had eased her loneliness. She went to her bedroom, forgetting about her customary bedtime cigarette, collapsed into her bed, and immediately fell asleep.

Chapter Thirty: Violet

Friday, April 3, 1987

T
oday is my birthday. At my age, I have to think hard to make sure I get my age right: I was born in 1932, which means that I have now lived through fifty-five springs. Indeed, today is a warm and pleasant spring day; even nature seems to be sharing in my celebration. From my bedroom window I can see our flower garden: primroses, anemones, narcissus, an almond tree, all dressed for the holidays, everything in bloom. I stretch my arms, and for a moment my heart fills with joy.

Yesterday, Noa called to wish me a happy birthday. And Guyush, my baby, stopped in my bedroom before leaving for school. His long, muscular body crouched down next to mine, and he pressed his warm cheek against mine. He’s begun to grow some stubble, and I think he’ll have to start shaving soon.

He perched at the edge of my bed and kissed my hollow cheek. My face has grown so thin, sometimes I feel like my two cheeks are collapsing into each other and becoming one. Guy wrapped his long arm around my neck and presented me with a gift wrapped in colorful paper. I thanked him and asked his permission to open it. Guy smiled. “Of course, of course, open it!” he said. Then he said, hesitantly, that he hoped I liked it.

I opened the package and found a small wooden jewelry box, painted and decorated by my sweet and talented son. The pictures he painted reflect the things I love the most. On the cover, he painted a beach, and on the bottom, two primroses, an anemone, and two tulips, all tied together. The sides of the box are painted with the colors of the sky. Tears filled my eyes, and my hands began to tremble.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much. It’s amazing. I couldn’t have asked for a nicer gift.”

“
Ima
, you still haven’t seen what’s inside,” Guy said with a smile, gesturing for me to open the box.

Very carefully, I lifted the lid. Inside I found a silver pendant with the letters “Chet” and “Yud” engraved upon it: “
Chai
”
life. I was speechless. The tears welling in my eyes streamed down my cheeks. I was both grateful and afraid. Who could tell what the next day would bring? Would I be here to celebrate my fifty-sixth birthday with my beloved family? Maybe not . . . and if I wasn’t going to be here, who would accompany my son to the draft office? Who would wash his uniform? Cook his favorite foods? Listen to his stories? Who would support Noa when she returned to civilian life? Who would stand by her when she fell in love? Who would walk her down the aisle? Stand at her side when her first child was born? Who would share her own experiences, her own life lessons, with Noa? How could it be anyone other than me? What a cruel world, I wanted to scream, what a terrible world. I want to live!

My son hugged my bony body and stroked my back. “
Ima
, what happened? What happened to you?” he asked over and over. I saw the guilt in his eyes. I had no control over my crying; I certainly hadn’t intended to cause my beloved son any pain. Just then, Dan-Dan walked in, carrying a tray laden with a lavish breakfast and two roses—one red, one white—in a vase.

My tears turned to sobs, and my sobs to hysteria. Dan-Dan understood what was going on. He looked at the jewelry box, then at the pendant clutched in my hand. Wordlessly, he joined our embrace. My two men, the loves of my life, hugged me fiercely, holding each other as well. We cried together for a long time, sitting on the bed, holding each other with such ferocity, as if our family would fall apart if we let go. If we stayed in this embrace, we would give each other the strength to go on. To live! I so want to live!

I felt like they could read my mind, like they knew exactly what was going through my head and my heart. They, too, had no idea what each day would bring. It was a very powerful experience, one I know we will all carry in our hearts for the rest of our lives. Guy was late to school, Dan-Dan was late to work, and after I sent them both on their way, I went to my study and sat down to write.

There is a lot of work ahead of me, and I have an important job to do. Whoever has no past has no future future, that’s what I believe. My children, my beloved, be proud of who you are. You are the offspring of a marvelous family, you are the future. Understanding your past will give you everything you need to face your future. That is my job: to fill in the gaps in our family history, to tell you as much as I can about our family. When something is written down, it lives on forever, and even if I am not here, what I write will always be with you.

Chapter Thirty-One: Noa

N
oa read and re-read the passage about the moment of healing that the three of them had shared.
Aba
,
Ima
, and Guy. And where was she? And why hadn’t she heard about this earth-shattering experience? A sense of disappointment, tinged with envy, pulsed in her heart, and she wept. She couldn’t remember if she had given her mother a gift on the last birthday of her life. All she remembered was calling her, hastily wishing her a happy birthday before running off to guard duty.

She read the words again, trying to parse the lesson her mother was trying to teach her. Was it that knowing about the past gives you the skills you need to navigate the future? Was her past the answer to the future? Did she agree with her mother’s words? What skills did she now have that she hadn’t had before? The image of her mother sitting in her study, leaning over her notebooks was so real, Noa felt that if she could just reach out and touch that fragile body, then Violet would turn toward her, and smile her reassuring smile.

As she delved deeper into the diary, Noa felt closer to her mother than she ever had. She believed she knew her better, understood her. There were moments when she imagined being drawn back into her mother’s womb, and at those moments she felt a deep desire to be a fetus once again, nurtured and protected, whose only job was to grow. At other times, it seemed like she wasn’t reading the diary but writing it that she and her mother had fused into one entity and would never be separated again.

Chapter Thirty-Two: Violet

Sunday, April 5, 1987

T
he excitement of my birthday has died down. Noa won’t be coming home this weekend; tomorrow we will visit her. I’m glad she took my advice and stayed at the base, despite my illness. It lightens my burden to know she’s happy, that she doesn’t have to watch me suffer. The bond between me and Noa is unbreakable, and I know that my illness is causing her great pain. That’s why it’s so important to me that she lives her own life, rather than living in the shadow of my sickness. Guy is different: it seems to me that even though he is so much younger than her, he knows how to accept what cannot be changed. Noa is more sensitive, rebellious, and stubborn she tilts at windmills.

My dear children. May your journey through life take you through beautiful and beloved landscapes.

Today I will return to Iraq, to the summer of 1951. I will tell you the story of
Ima
and Eddie’s grueling
Aliyah
to Israel.
Aba
was learning Hebrew in the
ulpan
,
and the rest of my family was scattered among different kibbutzim
.
Our connection to our family in Iraq was fragile. You have to remember that we didn’t have telephones back then, not in Iraq and not here. Our letters traveled circuitous paths, and sometimes it took weeks for them to arrive.

I told you how
Ima
received the
Aliyah
permits when she gave up her and Eddie’s Iraqi citizenship and how she’d done it behind his back. She was waiting for the right time to broach the subject. Eddie was fearless, and, until his dying day, stubborn as an ox. I told you how he had taken it upon himself to play an active role in the underground, how he never even considered abandoning his comrades and moving to Israel. But one warm summer evening, he heard the terrible news that two of his friends from the Resistance had been captured and were being held by the authorities.

This painful news left the members of the underground in shock. There was no doubt that their captured comrades wouldn’t be able to withstand the harsh interrogations and torture. They also knew that their fate was sealed: they would be hanged in the city square, a warning to everyone else. The sight of a rowdy crowd watching the execution of an alleged traitor was the hottest show in town. There was only one option: the remaining members of the Resistance had to leave immediately. Every extra minute on Iraqi soil increased their chances of death. Most members of the Resistance did not have
Aliyah
permits.

As I already told you, the primary goal of the Iraqi Resistance was to protect the Jews of Baghdad after the 1941 pogrom. When the state of Israel was declared, the Jewish plight only worsened. As their families moved to Israel, brave and talented young people volunteered to stay behind and protect the remaining Iraqi Jews. Lately, though, the Resistance fighters had come to recognize that the Iraqi Jewish community was very small: before long, they themselves would move to Israel. Now, in light of the arrest of their two comrades, they realized that the Resistance was over, and its members had to leave as soon as possible. They knew there was nothing they could do to help the two captured men.

Eddie was under a lot of pressure. Not only were the authorities about to hang two of his friends, but it wouldn’t be long before they came knocking on his own door. He was besieged by guilt: why had he allowed his grandmother to stay with him? Surely she, too, would be hanged. What would happen to his mother? What about his brothers and sisters, his uncles and aunts? And what about his beloved Farida? Would he ever see her again? He wasn’t so concerned with his own life, but the fate of his grandmother and the rest of the family weighed upon his heart like a stone.

Eddie hurried home to deliver the dismal news. My mother, his grandmother took his hands and quietly led him to her bedroom. She opened the closet, pulled out their
Aliyah
permits, placed them in his hands, and gazed at his face, waiting for his reaction. Eddie blanched; he couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew that securing these permits was a long process. How had she done it so stealthily, behind his back, without asking him what he thought, what he wanted? She must have given up his citizenship as well! Eddie knew this had required her to forge his signature. When had she done this? And how had she hidden it from him?