Teaching Music
December 1 ,2015
1966
Bedouins
"The Arabs are coming! The Arabs are coming!" Bentzi came rushing to the front lawn yelling his lungs out. "The Arabs are coming! Don't you understand what that means?"
We were all sitting on the grass choosing teams for “Hands Up”, a game we were about to play.
"What are you talking about?" Uri asked.
"It's not the first of April anymore!" said red head Benjamin. We called him Gingi, like my old friend from Havatzelet.
"No, I'm serious," yelled Bentzi, "They're here, the Arabs." His name was Ben Zion, but his mom called him Bentzi, and so did we. "I'm telling you the Arabs are coming. They're in our woods behind our landslide hill."
"Next to the Chawalulus?" asked “Rita Chita” with her scared voice.
"Oh, relax," said Yoni, "Nobody is going to hurt you even if you beg them to."
"What should we do?" asked Rivka.
"We should call the police" said Bentzi.
"First let's see if he is telling the truth," I said.
We passed the Chalalulus' block very quietly. We didn't want them to get involved. They only caused problems, and we didn't want to have a neighborhood war. (The Chalalulus, that's what we called them, are the immigrants from Libya. They're loud and hot tempered and so are their disagreeable children. We called them that because they say “Chaala” for “come here”, “Chawa” for “what”, and they scream “Lululu” whenever they are happy.) We can’t get them involved when the Arabs are coming.
After the Chalalulus' block we climbed the tall sand pile and entered the woods. We walked very quietly and were very careful not to step on any dry branches. Avi, my brother, climbed a tree. He loves climbing trees. One day he climbed a very tall pine tree just to see if there were eggs in the crows' nest. This time he climbed the tree so he could check the distance in front of us.
" There they are," he whispered. "Next to the berry tree."
We all inched carefully to the bold area next to the berry tree, each one of us hiding behind a tree.
"See that," said Bentzi, "Told you."
"Yes, you told us all right" I answered, "These are not the Arabs, these are Bedouins. I trust them more than I trust you. They are very friendly, and they even serve in the Israeli army."
"I don't care," he continued, "for me, they're still Arabs."
"Cin I helb you?"
The Arab accent startled all of us. We turned around to see who it was. Bentzi lay on the floor in an instant and covered his head with both hands, but it was only a young boy maybe ten or eleven years old.
"Oh, hi," said Rivka, "He is so dirty," she whispered to Rita Chita. "Ahem, what is your name?"
"Hamid," the young boy answered. "Hamid Iben Mahmood, my fath..."
"O.K., see you later, bye," Rita Chita said and turned around to leave. In an instant everybody left, including my brother Avi. I was left with Hamid alone.
"My name is Haim, nice to meet you," I said and extended my hand.
"Nice to meet you."
"Where did you come from?" I asked, "Are you planning to stay here for good? When did you arrive here?" The questions didn’t stop coming.
"We came from the south near Beer Sheva, and we are on our way north to Mount Carmel. We will stay here for two more days. The sheep have to rest and eat well before we continue."
"Do you have any brothers and sisters?" I couldn't resist my curiosity. "Don't you go to school?"
"Oh yes, my father is a sheik, and he has many children. He has three wives; I am the son of his youngest wife. The other brothers and sisters are of the other wives."
"So how about school? Do you go to school?"
"Of course, but not now. You see, it didn't rain in the south this year, and we had to move north to feed the animals. I had to take a break from school. Come with me. I'll introduce you to my father."
We walked toward the tent. It was a huge tent made of black wool. There was a divider in the middle. On one side were the sheep and goats. On the other side was the family's area. Hamid's father was sitting in front of the entrance to the family's area. He was sitting on a big pillow and next to him was a tall glass bottle that had smoke coming out of its top with a long hose reaching to the sheik's mouth.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Nargila – Hookah, a water pipe. My father likes smoking the nargila. Baba, meet my friend, Haim."
"Salaam aleikoom!" said the man in Arabic, that means peace be with you.
"Aleikoom salaam!" I answered.
"Oh, you speak Arabic?"
"Just a little," I continued in Arabic.
"Come boys, sit next to me."
A young woman covered all in black came and brought a pot of water, put it on the fire in front of us, and gave us cups.
"Shay," she said. That meant tea.
"Yes, shukran," I said.
She left for a moment and brought pitas, some spices, and dates. The tea was boiling by then and the sheik poured some for us. He poured my cup first, then he poured Hamid's, and only then, his own.
"You are our guest today, and anything you wish?
"All I wanted was to look around and see the animals," I said quietly.
"So, it will be done," the father said. "Just finish your drink and eat some. Then Hamid will show you around."
Last year at school we learned about the Bedouins. I remembered that it would be an insult if I didn't eat or drink all that was served. Not that it was bad, just that the tea was very strong and very sweet. The spices for the pita were different, something I never tried before. It was called “Zaatar”, some kind of Syrian Oregano mix. The dates were the only thing I really liked.
"You know," Sheik Mahmood said, "In bad times three dates and a pita is all that we eat a whole day"
"That's all?"
"Yes, but only in bad times so don't worry about it. You can eat as much as you want."
I felt guilty. Hamid just told me that it was a dry year in the south, and that's the reason they came here. I shouldn't eat so many.
"Eat, eat!" Repeated the Sheik.
"No, thank you, I had enough. My stomach hurts" I lied. This trick always works.
We went through the curtain that divided the tent. They had sheep, goats, some chickens and baby sheep, little, white, and curly. They were crying, "Bah, bah," and were nursing milk from their moms. Outside Hamid showed me the camels.
"They carry all the load," he said. "My brother has a pick-up truck, and he takes most of the stuff on it, but Dad doesn't want to buy one. We are Bedouins, he says, not spoiled lazy people."
There were some donkeys and some horses next to the camels.
"This is my horse," Hamid said proudly, "Do you want to ride it?"
"No thanks," I said, "My stomach still hurts." I was a little afraid of riding that horse, but you didn't expect me to tell him that, do you?
The next day I came to play with Hamid, and again, his father invited us to sit with him. He told us stories about horses, and heroes and we drank more tea and ate pitas.
When I returned home, I saw Bentzi on the front lawn.
"Gave up on your friends?" he asked in a nasty tone.
"Wait a minute," I said " It wasn't me that left the field when we met the Bedouins. They're very nice and I had a very good time with them."
"You traitor!"
"I'm not a traitor. Why don't you come with me tomorrow and you'll meet them too.”?
"Only if everybody comes, too"
He was afraid, I knew that. He was afraid.
"O.K."
The next day I rushed back from school, and as soon as everybody showed up, we went to see the tent.
"Where is the tent? What happened?" Avi asked disappointed.
"They're not here," said Rivka.
"I forgot," I said, "Hamid told me that they were leaving today."
We turned around disappointed and walked back to our favorite playground. After a few slides down the sandy hill, we forgot all about the Bedouins.
***
Playgrounds
“Did you hear?” Aske Bentzi.
“Hear what?” Asked Uri.
“They are going to demolish all of our playgrounds.”
“What do you mean?” Rita Chita jumped in.
“My father said they are going to build a whole new neighborhood over there, there and there. Even all the way up where you and your dad go to pick up those green leaves.” He meant the spinach leaves my dad and I keep on collecting at the cliffs above the beach. Mom and dad spend a long time making that concentrated black sauce – Pkeilah -to make the spinach and bean soup. That sauce can last years if you keep it in a cool place.
“So, are you telling me that big puddle that is drying up now will become a building?” I asked.
That puddle is located just north of our 3 buildings across the street, at the bottom of the tall sand slide. That crossroad is a very dangerous place. Every other day there is an accident. Because people don’t pay attention to the road and drive too fast. There was no stop sign, not even a yield sign. One day, me and Rivka decided to do something about it. Rivka had a bunch of thick chock sticks. I asked her to bring them one day after school and we painted a stop line on the road exactly before the crossroad. People actually slowed down and stopped. For a few days there were no accidents on that street. Until the rain washed the line. It took years and many accidents until the city put a stop sign and eventually a round island in the middle of the crossroad to prevent people from speeding up.
“Yup!” Bentzi answered.
“There go our sorrel plants.” We love those sour wildflowers. They come out every winter next to that big puddle. One year that puddle was so big we actually made a raft and floated on it. On the other corner of the crossroad was a red flat dirt field where the boys from the close neighborhoods come to play socker. No matter how many times I tried to fit in and join playing with them it didn’t work. I would never kick the ball straight and when I was put as a golly, I would literally fall asleep. Or simply sneak out to the old dying grove. In the springtime that whole grove with its dying orange trees was covered with tall yellow daisies. They were so crowded and tall we made mazes, paths and trails. I had a hideout under a small tree where I would go to play. All that area soon will be taken over by big bulldozers like the one who covered my friend Rami.
“All right guys,” I said, “before we lose it all how about we make the best of it and go play ‘Hands Up’ in the daisy grove?”
Everybody grabbed a stick for their pretend guns, and we ran to our favorite hiding place in the maze.
***
Face Paint
“Tomorrow is a day you are all waiting for.” Announced Frida our home class teacher.
“Our yearly trip,” interrupted Ariella Lanski.
“That’s Right,” continued Frida, “and I would like to remind you what to bring with you. This is going to be an overnight trip. Next year you will have 2 nights trip. I enclosed here a list for you to take home, but in short, you will need a backpack, a sleeping bag, canned food for 2 days, fresh fruit, a canteen with water, a hat, and medicine if you need it.”
We were all too excited to listen to her, everyone was whispering or talking about what they are bringing. And, when you have more than 40 kids in the class this could be very noisy.
“Don’t forget the paint,” said Yossi “I am planning to paint all the girls. I will wake you up in the middle of the night, we will crawl to the girl’s room and we will paint their faces while they sleep.”
“Niccccce!” all the boys whispered.
At home, mom pulled out dad’s old army backpack, a new sleeping bag she just bought two days ago, an aluminum canteen, three cans of tuna, a can of corn and a can of green peas.
“Tomorrow I will make you a few sandwiches, and you will have some fruit and vegetables in a plastic bag,” said Mom. “Here you have a first aid kit and a second aid kit. You remember how to use a needle and thread?”
“Of course,” I answered, “I see you are including a few buttons here too, thanks!”
“Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much that night. I woke up before everybody and checked my list for the 5th time.
At the school two huge trucks were waiting for us. They were specially converted trucks for school trips. The back of it was an open back canvas cover. Four rows of benches where about sixty kids were cramped together. Bags under our seats and at the end sat our teachers with a few parents who joined us. Most of us were glad our parents were not amongst the chaperones. We didn’t care if we were comfortable or not, we were all happy to go on a two-day trip. except maybe for “little Ilana” who started crying as soon as we left. Frida sat next to her and it took some time for her to calm down.
I forgot the paint, but I didn’t tell anyone. Yossi didn’t forget, the whole way he was talking about how he was going to get up in the middle of the night and how he heard about the water trick.
“You know,” he said, if you take someone’s hand while he sleeps and you stick it in a cup of water, he will piss in his bed.”
“Never heard of it,” said Yaakov Bloom, “but I did hear that if you rub a pair of shoes next to someone sleeping you can change the retheme of his breathing.”
Our first stop was at the kibbutz Ein Harrod in “Jezreel Valley”. It is located next to a famous spring from biblical time. We saw a museum and we were allowed to play in the shallow pools of the spring. For lunch I paired with Sha’ul Shriber the son of the judo teacher.
“What did you bring?” He asked.
I showed him my sandwiches and cans.
“Want to share? I offered.
“I tell you what,” Sha’ul continued, “we will share one of your sandwiches and open my can of tuna. I have lemon and salt and we can mix it up and make a light tuna salad.”
This was the best tuna salad I ever had. Mom never made it that way, she only opened the can and put it on the slice of bread.
That afternoon, we climbed the Gilboa mountain. This mountain is half naked. No trees grow on it. It was cursed by king David when His best friend Jonathan and his father King Saul died fighting the Philistines. Nothing grew on that part of the mountain but the view from it to the valley was exquisite.
“Tomorrow,” said Frida after we finished our dinner, “we will go to Beit She’an. And from there we’ll continue home. Now, get ready for bed. The kibbutz was nice enough to offer us lodging. The girls will stay in those rooms on the right and the boys on the other side.”
It took us a while to fall asleep. All of us stayed up late talking quietly, ignoring the chaperons’ yells. All of us except Yossi. Yossi fell asleep right away. In no time he started to snore. By midnight when it was time to go paint the girls faces Yaakov Bloom tried waking Yossi up. He called his name, shook him, he even put his hand in water. Yossi didn’t wet his bed, nor he woke up. Shmulik Maler Painted his face with his watercolors, and he kept on snoring. We couldn’t fall sleep. Without a word, Sha’ul Shriber dug in his bag and pulled his toothpaste. He took the cover off and squeezed the paste into Yossi’s nose. The snoring stopped and we all slept like babies. In the morning Yossi was the first to wake up. He creeped to the bathroom without talking to anyone and he stayed quiet all the way back home.
***
Young Medic
Dad didn’t sleep well again last night. Dad had an ulcer in his stomach. If he had a bad day at work, he took it too heart and his wound would fester and hurt him. A week ago, Dad received his dismissal from the army reserves. He was reassigned to “HAGA” the “Old Crew” the town defenders because of his ulcer. The only thing that helped him was eating yogurt or just resting. Now dad has a new thing to worry about; The “Old Crew” wants him to take a new course. He was training to be a medic. As you remember, Dad didn’t even finish elementary school. He had to go to work at the age of 11 and help support his family. Dad’s reading skills were not so good. In fact, he barely knew the Hebrew letters.
“I need your help,” Dad told me. “I need you to help me read this book.” He showed me a big book of anatomy. “Oh, and this one too.” And he showed me another book of medical procedures in the battlefield.
It was not easy; I wasn’t a great reader either. The words looked backward to me so many times. And it was very difficult to concentrate with all that was happening outside.
It was the holiday of “Shavuot”, we were sitting on our balcony and trying to read Dad’s anatomy book. Outside on top of the neighbors’ roof stood a bunch of the Libyan kids. On top of the fourth floor each one of them had a bucket in his hand. The moment one person came out of the building a bucket of water was emptied on him. There was no escape from them. On the ground other kids were holding water hoses and were washing every walker by.
“What’s going on? I asked Dad.
“Oh that,” said Dad, “we need to concentrate. The Tripolitanians have an old tradition. They believe we need to be washed of our sins and be pure for the receiving the Torah. Anyway, let’s continue, should we get inside?”
“No, I’m ok, let’s continue.”
I learned how to put a bandage, how to stop bleeding and even how to give a shot or an infusion. I learned the names of the bones and the names of the muscles. Dad was learning too, it wasn’t easy for him, but he was ready to take the test and he passed it and was happy to become a medic. Me? Just waisted my time instead of playing with my friends.
***
Luzata
Mom makes a special Tunisian Juice. Mom didn’t have a large menu, most of what she cooked I didn’t really like. But this juice was something good. It was made from an ingredient that takes time to collect, sometimes years. The juice is called “Luzata”, and it is made from bitter almonds. Not just bitter almonds, you can buy at the stores. This was made from the seeds of the apricot. The season of the apricot fruit is very short. A month or two at the beginning of the summer. Mom would buy maybe a kilo or two per week. After eating them we would break the very hard shell with a hammer and collect the almond that is hidden inside. There for it would take about a year or even three to collect enough almonds to make one bottle of concentrated juice.
When we came back to school from the Passover vacation, we found right next to the spot where we park our bikes, a long pole laying on two metal legs and another pole leaning toward it. It was a balancing pole. At 10:00 AM the long break, Moshe Kotler the vice principal stood in front of us.
“Now that we finished our daily calisthenics, I Have an important message for you. The game “Big Donkey” is banned all over the country. It is too dangerous, many kids were hurt, were paralyzed or even died. You may continue play “little donkey” under supervision, but no more “big donkey”. This is why we added this balancing beam for you to play with.”
None of us said a word. We were all dumb founded.
Little donkey was a game we mostly played at gym classes when one kid will bend over with his hand on his knees. And the rest of the kids will jump over him with the help of our hands pressing on the kid’s back, one kid at a time. The last kid in the row will then band over and we will start over again. Now, “big donkey” was a little different; We would break into two groups, one group will be the “donkey” and the other will be the jumpers. The donkey group would line up one behind the other against the wall and bend over forming the long donkey. The jumpers would jump on top of the donkey and pile up as many kids as they can. If the donkey collapses that group will lose. If any of the jumpers falls, the donkey wins.
“I hate that!” Said Yossi.
“Yeah, that is no fun,” said Yaakov Bloom, what are we going to do on that balancing beam?”
“Walk on it,” Ariella Lanski jumped in.
“And then what? Asked Sarah Mimon.
“Jump off,” Ariella answered.
“We could see who lasts the longest on the beam,” I suggested.
“You’d be the first to fall, Tzutzik!” I heard someone yells.
“Big Shot,” I answered, “let’s see you try.”
Big Israel from the sixth grade stepped out and walked toward the balancing beam.
“After you,” he bowed down and pointed toward the beam, “After you, tzutzik!”
I had no problem walking on the beam, it was an old thick electric pole. I got to the center and turned around. Big Israel tried to climb up and his weight took over him and he lost balance and fell before he even managed to get to the top. Everyone was laughing as he was trying again and again. The poor guy kept falling off and at the last time he fell right with the pole in between his legs.
“Let me try,” Bentzi called and pushed big Israel aside. He managed to climb up and walked toward me. He extended his arms toward me, lost balance and fell off. I am not sure why I was able to stay on, maybe the fact that I was small for my age and closer to the ground. I was able to keep balance for the whole break period. They came up one after the other and all fell off before or just as they reached me. This was getting boring.
The next day we tried it again for the first few breaks but by the time the long break was over we were thinking of the seasonal game; “Gogoim”, or by the real name, apricots pits. This was a simple game, in fact two games. One was called “Closer to the Wall” and the other was “Pit in a Can”. Both games were games played with coins, but the coins gaming was not permitted. The ideas were simple; A bunch of kids would stand in a line and throw the apricot pits toward the wall. The one who gets closer to the wall wins and he gets to keep all the pits. Or again, the kids would line up and throw the pits toward the can. The kid who would get the pit in the can would collect the rest of the missing pit. I was better in playing the closer to the wall part and was able to collect a few “gogoim”. I had to find a way to win more gogoim. Watching the “Pit in Can” game one more time gave me an idea. I went home and looked for my new shoe box and made a few holes in the cover, each hole a different size. Next to each hole I wrote a number. On the big hole I wrote the number 2. On the smaller one 5, and the smallest one 10. I asked Avi to loan me his stash of gogoim and collected all of mine. I took the box with me to school the next morning and on the first break I placed it on the floor in the corridor and announced: “New Game! If you throw the gogo into any of the holes you get back the number that is next to the hole.” In very short time I was collecting apricots pits more than I could dream of. The next day I brought an extra bag for the pits and by the time the season was over I had so many pits that my Mom was able to make 4 bottles of the concentrated juice. Unfortunately, my fingers weren’t so happy, many times I missed the pit while striking it with the hammer, I had bruises to testify.
***
LaG BaOmer
Remember the planks we used in sukkot? Some neighborhoods used any kind of wood they can gather. Sometimes steeling from one another, or from local construction sites and even from other sukkah builders. One thing we all did is, we kept the remaining of the wood for the rest of the winter through the spring.
Between our building and the road was a clear patch of ground. This spot became our dedicated spot for the big bon fire. Adults and kids alike collected wood planks or dry branches, cardboard boxes and whatever else can burn. It took us a few days, after school to go everywhere around the neighborhood to collect the wood. I had to make sure Mom remembered to buy potatoes and that we had enough newspapers too. I washed the potatoes, wrapped them with a few layers of newspapers and saved them for the night. Avi and I also made our bows and arrows to shoot onto the fire. Rivka’s mom gave us some old cloths and we stuffed them with papers and straw. Putting them together and making a big doll and put it on the top of the wood pile.
“Tonight, we will burn Eichmann last year we burned Hitler”, said Rivka as she saw the doll being placed on the center pole of the wood pile.
That evening I got permission from Mom to stay up late because we wouldn’t have school the following day. As soon as the sun disappeared behind the buildings, we gathered around the pile and Bentzi’s father poured a little kerosene on the wood and threw a match on it. The fire caught up quickly and Eichmann was the first to go to the sound of cheering from all of us. It took a while for the rest of the wood to burn and all we had left was a pile of red charcoal.
Now it was time to bring the wrapped potatoes. Roni’s father brought a shovel and lifted some of the red charcoal and we through in the wrapped potatoes. He then covered them with the charcoal. For the next 45 minutes we sang songs and danced around the slowly diminishing fire. When finally, the red turned to mostly black cinder, Roni’s dad dug out the potatoes and we each pealed the burned paper very carefully. The potatoes’ peals were black and crispy. I put it on a plate and with a knife I cut it in half. I sprinkled a little salt and dug in. It was still very hot, but I couldn’t resist (none of us did) it was one of the tastiest foods I ever had. By the time I returned home I had to put all my cloths in the laundry pile and hit the shower. My hair smelled like charcoal and I had to shampoo it 3 times.
On the 33rd day after Passover Seder – LaG BaOmer - the counting of the wheat stems we had a day off from school. Despite the fact that I stayed up late the night before, I got up early. Next to our house stood three busses and I could see almost all the “Chawalulus” from the buildings next to us lining up with picnic bags and musical instruments to go on the buses. There were a few older ladies among them who were singing and ululating loudly while two other women were playing the “darbuka”. They were the professional criers of that community. On funerals there were hired to literally cry and wail. Some of them would even scratch their faces. The more they yell the better their get paid. Yet sometimes it is so bad it drags other people to join them and hurt themselves. By then some people pay the criers to stop crying.
The buses were taking our neighbors to Mount Meiron. It is believed that the old sage Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai who was a supporter of Bar Kochva was buried there. It is a tradition to go and have a feast there every Lag BaOmer and give all the three years old boys their first haircut.
***
