LJ Idol Season 11: Hiraeth
Note: Aba is the Hebrew word for Dad. Weirdly, despite speaking Hebrew fluently, I did not often call my mom Ima, mostly calling her Mommy or Mom. Aba however, has always been the only word I've ever used to call my dad and because I only ever refer to him as Aba, I use the word here as well.
As we took the hour long bus ride back to Yafo after a long day of exploring Jerusalem and the Wailing Wall, each of us with a earbud in one ear listening to Israeli music on my iPod, my Aba turned to look at me and said, "I never thought that one day I'd be sitting on a bus with you after going to Jerusalem with you." I smiled, content in the moment, because I would have never imagined this moment either. I never even realized how much I would have wanted such a moment.
....
Despite my parents both being born in Poland and having spent the first few years of their lives there (Aba was 6 when he immigrated to Israel, my mom was 9), my parents rarely ever associated themselves being Polish. Aba to this day refuses to speak Polish if he doesn't have to (the only person who he will speak to in Polish is his sister but that's only because she doesn't speak Hebrew fluently). Mommy only spoke Polish to her mother; she would attempt to speak Polish to Aba when they were around their Hebrew speaking friends and she needed to say something for no one to understand or if she didn't want me to understand but that was a fruitless effort as he would answer her in Hebrew. Neither one of my parents had many positive memories associated with their time in Poland; this was most likely due to being Jewish in Poland right after World War II and the rampant anti-Semetism they experienced.
The only time they ever showed any kind of pride in being Polish was when they were the only Ashkenazim (European born) among all of their Sephardic friends (i.e. people born in Morocco, Egypt, Iraq, Iran, etc.) and it became a heated discussion of Ashkenazim versus Sephardic Jews.That was more due to the hierarchy of social classism among Israelis than any genuine pride. My parents always first and foremost, no matter what, identify as Israelis. Israel was and is the country of their heart and soul. It didn't matter to my mom that she only spent 9 years of her life in Israel and hadn't been back to Israel since 1977 (which sadly would be her last time there in her lifetime as she passed away in 2016). Prior to Aba's deportation in 2010, he hadn't been back since 1972 which was when he finished his required time in the IDF as a soldier. No matter how much time had passed, Israel was their country and they would sit for hours with friends, family, with me talking about their memories.
Mommy would speak longingly of her days growing up near the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee) in the town of Tiberias in northern Israel, playing with the neighborhood kids, growing up without a TV, in a one room house with her parents and two sisters. When I went to Israel the first time in 2006, she told me if I got a chance, to stand on the banks of the Kinneret and wave to Syria. It didn't occur to her as she had left Israel prior to the Six Day War that all of the Kinneret now belongs to Israel. In her mind, she could look across the water and see Syrian children playing on their side, as she swam on her side. Aba would tell me stories of growing up in Ashquelon, in the south of Israel, with his older siblings, and his dog, Aza (the Hebrew word for Gaza - growing up, Aba lived about 15 minutes or so from the border of the Gaza Strip), running around the neighborhood, and of his father baking while his mom stayed at home taking care of the children. To them, they both had the most idealistic childhood in the country that they love.
....
I don't remember who bought me my first globe but I had this amazing Fisher Price Globe that I got when I was four or five years old that you could plug in and you could see pictures inside of the viewfinder of places all over the world. Aba would lay down on the floor with me and we'd spend hours looking at the pictures. He made sure that the first country I could identify on the globe after the U.S. was Israel. He would lay there with his pillow as I curled up next to him reminiscing of all the places he had seen in Israel and tell me stories of Ashquelon, Tel Aviv, Bat Yam, and his time in the army. I would lay there and try to picture all of these far away places in my mind, swearing that one day I would get to go see where my parents grow up.
My parents never had the money however to travel to Israel like their friends did. It didn't help that unlike their friends who had all of their families back home in Israel so they had the incentive to go (and family who would help pay for tickets), both of them had their entire families here. They swore up and down that one day that they would take me but that day never did come. I went on Birthright in 2006 and while they were both so proud of me for going, I know they had a sense of regret when they dropped me off at the bus to go to the airport, that they never got to take me themselves to explore. I got to see the cities that both of my parents grew up in. I stood in the Kinneret, went to Hamai T'veria (Tiberias Hot Springs) where my Bubby worked and got to swim there. I got to volunteer in Ashquelon. I got a glimpse of what my parents' childhood was like and I was in love.
It wasn't though until I went to go visit Aba that I got to see the country through his eyes and his heart. I only wish I could have taken Mommy with me but at that point, she was struggling with dementia and no one was sure how she would react to the long flight and change of routine for those 10 days. I wanted to know what every day life was like. Initially I was afraid of getting on the bus (a knife attack in Tel Aviv on a bus had happened a few days prior to my arrival) but by the end, I was able to navigate the bus system conversing with the bus driver in Hebrew as I paid the correct amount of shekels. I made friends with the Lotto lady that Aba was friends with, went to the market, the dog park so his dog could run around and made friends with the lady who brought her dog there every night, listened to the cheers from the nearby soccer stadium when games were going on, tried different restaurants, walked along the beach, went to the bank, and even a stop at the courthouse.
One of the days that I was there, I made it a point to ask him to take me to see his childhood house if it still existed. We took the bus to Ashquelon and in my mind, I figured he should know where to go to find the neighborhood. Instead, we wandered around by foot, stopping in seemingly random places, to find directions to an old friend's wood shop. But it wasn't just asking for the name of the shop and how to get there. That would have been too easy. Instead, Aba walked around asking "do you know Eli who owns a wood shop? How do I get there?" I rolled my eyes but to my shock after three tries, we managed to find someone who knew this Eli who then drove us to this shop to meet said friend who then pointed us to the neighborhood and the house. We stood there in front of his house for a few moments as the neighborhood children played and adults stood around chatting. He stood quietly lost in thought and for those few moments, I looked at him and tried to envision a little version of my Aba running around, playing. I smiled at the image in my mind.
Aba never could have never imagined sitting on a bus with me after spending a day in Jerusalem which I could not either; but to me, I truly could have never imagined the moment happening of standing with him looking at his childhood home and being able to see his home through his eyes, not just the stories but being able to get a true glimpse of his past.
As we took the hour long bus ride back to Yafo after a long day of exploring Jerusalem and the Wailing Wall, each of us with a earbud in one ear listening to Israeli music on my iPod, my Aba turned to look at me and said, "I never thought that one day I'd be sitting on a bus with you after going to Jerusalem with you." I smiled, content in the moment, because I would have never imagined this moment either. I never even realized how much I would have wanted such a moment.
....
Despite my parents both being born in Poland and having spent the first few years of their lives there (Aba was 6 when he immigrated to Israel, my mom was 9), my parents rarely ever associated themselves being Polish. Aba to this day refuses to speak Polish if he doesn't have to (the only person who he will speak to in Polish is his sister but that's only because she doesn't speak Hebrew fluently). Mommy only spoke Polish to her mother; she would attempt to speak Polish to Aba when they were around their Hebrew speaking friends and she needed to say something for no one to understand or if she didn't want me to understand but that was a fruitless effort as he would answer her in Hebrew. Neither one of my parents had many positive memories associated with their time in Poland; this was most likely due to being Jewish in Poland right after World War II and the rampant anti-Semetism they experienced.
The only time they ever showed any kind of pride in being Polish was when they were the only Ashkenazim (European born) among all of their Sephardic friends (i.e. people born in Morocco, Egypt, Iraq, Iran, etc.) and it became a heated discussion of Ashkenazim versus Sephardic Jews.That was more due to the hierarchy of social classism among Israelis than any genuine pride. My parents always first and foremost, no matter what, identify as Israelis. Israel was and is the country of their heart and soul. It didn't matter to my mom that she only spent 9 years of her life in Israel and hadn't been back to Israel since 1977 (which sadly would be her last time there in her lifetime as she passed away in 2016). Prior to Aba's deportation in 2010, he hadn't been back since 1972 which was when he finished his required time in the IDF as a soldier. No matter how much time had passed, Israel was their country and they would sit for hours with friends, family, with me talking about their memories.
Mommy would speak longingly of her days growing up near the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee) in the town of Tiberias in northern Israel, playing with the neighborhood kids, growing up without a TV, in a one room house with her parents and two sisters. When I went to Israel the first time in 2006, she told me if I got a chance, to stand on the banks of the Kinneret and wave to Syria. It didn't occur to her as she had left Israel prior to the Six Day War that all of the Kinneret now belongs to Israel. In her mind, she could look across the water and see Syrian children playing on their side, as she swam on her side. Aba would tell me stories of growing up in Ashquelon, in the south of Israel, with his older siblings, and his dog, Aza (the Hebrew word for Gaza - growing up, Aba lived about 15 minutes or so from the border of the Gaza Strip), running around the neighborhood, and of his father baking while his mom stayed at home taking care of the children. To them, they both had the most idealistic childhood in the country that they love.
....
I don't remember who bought me my first globe but I had this amazing Fisher Price Globe that I got when I was four or five years old that you could plug in and you could see pictures inside of the viewfinder of places all over the world. Aba would lay down on the floor with me and we'd spend hours looking at the pictures. He made sure that the first country I could identify on the globe after the U.S. was Israel. He would lay there with his pillow as I curled up next to him reminiscing of all the places he had seen in Israel and tell me stories of Ashquelon, Tel Aviv, Bat Yam, and his time in the army. I would lay there and try to picture all of these far away places in my mind, swearing that one day I would get to go see where my parents grow up.
My parents never had the money however to travel to Israel like their friends did. It didn't help that unlike their friends who had all of their families back home in Israel so they had the incentive to go (and family who would help pay for tickets), both of them had their entire families here. They swore up and down that one day that they would take me but that day never did come. I went on Birthright in 2006 and while they were both so proud of me for going, I know they had a sense of regret when they dropped me off at the bus to go to the airport, that they never got to take me themselves to explore. I got to see the cities that both of my parents grew up in. I stood in the Kinneret, went to Hamai T'veria (Tiberias Hot Springs) where my Bubby worked and got to swim there. I got to volunteer in Ashquelon. I got a glimpse of what my parents' childhood was like and I was in love.
It wasn't though until I went to go visit Aba that I got to see the country through his eyes and his heart. I only wish I could have taken Mommy with me but at that point, she was struggling with dementia and no one was sure how she would react to the long flight and change of routine for those 10 days. I wanted to know what every day life was like. Initially I was afraid of getting on the bus (a knife attack in Tel Aviv on a bus had happened a few days prior to my arrival) but by the end, I was able to navigate the bus system conversing with the bus driver in Hebrew as I paid the correct amount of shekels. I made friends with the Lotto lady that Aba was friends with, went to the market, the dog park so his dog could run around and made friends with the lady who brought her dog there every night, listened to the cheers from the nearby soccer stadium when games were going on, tried different restaurants, walked along the beach, went to the bank, and even a stop at the courthouse.
One of the days that I was there, I made it a point to ask him to take me to see his childhood house if it still existed. We took the bus to Ashquelon and in my mind, I figured he should know where to go to find the neighborhood. Instead, we wandered around by foot, stopping in seemingly random places, to find directions to an old friend's wood shop. But it wasn't just asking for the name of the shop and how to get there. That would have been too easy. Instead, Aba walked around asking "do you know Eli who owns a wood shop? How do I get there?" I rolled my eyes but to my shock after three tries, we managed to find someone who knew this Eli who then drove us to this shop to meet said friend who then pointed us to the neighborhood and the house. We stood there in front of his house for a few moments as the neighborhood children played and adults stood around chatting. He stood quietly lost in thought and for those few moments, I looked at him and tried to envision a little version of my Aba running around, playing. I smiled at the image in my mind.
Aba never could have never imagined sitting on a bus with me after spending a day in Jerusalem which I could not either; but to me, I truly could have never imagined the moment happening of standing with him looking at his childhood home and being able to see his home through his eyes, not just the stories but being able to get a true glimpse of his past.