Nani Haim Tibi

1961
Neveh Shalom
    "The Taktok, the Taktok is here. The Taktok is here!" Avi rushed in yelling, "Come. Let's play outside and see the Taktok." Avi was just three years old, he didn't speak very well. Taktok is a tractor in Avi's language.
"Look what you did!" Tata Beya yelled at him in Arabic. (Remember? She speaks only Arabic.) "You brought all the dirt in the house. You always do that! You rush in, and you forget to wipe your feet."
Avi looked at her very seriously and listened patiently ‘til she finished. Then he yelled back, "Blah, blah, blah, blah!" and ran outside. You see, Avi does not speak or understand Arabic.

    Tata Beya was staying with us for the summer. We just moved from the house in Havatzelet to this bigger place in a Yemenite neighborhood called “Neveh Shalom” - the peace pasture.
"The rent is a little higher," Dad said, "but the place is bigger, and we are closer to downtown. This summer Tata Beya will stay with us, and I expect the best behavior from you guys. Nanou, you will translate between her and Avi, so I don't expect any problems."
Sure, no problems. Avi never had the patience to listen either to Dad's old aunt or to my translations. Besides, she spoke Arabic so fast that I didn't have a chance to translate before Avi made his usual remark, which most of the time was "Blah, blah, blah," and ran out.

    The new house was not new. It was a small single-family house in our landlord's back yard. Our landlord, Mr. Okev, just like the rest of our neighbors, was from Yemen, a small country in the south of Saudi Arabia. They came to Israel in the early years of the state's development.

    The Yemenite Jews, as it was believed, are the closest people to our ancient ancestors. They preserved their traditions and way of life as much as possible. Even the pronunciation of the Hebrew language is ancient, and whenever I went to the synagogue with them, I had a hard time sitting there, because of their different accent, I could never understand or follow what they were reading. Mr. Okev came to Israel on the “Magic Carpet Operation”. He walked for two hundred miles to the airport with his family and all of his belongings, in order to fly to Israel. For the Yemenites it was the first time that they had seen a plane. For them it was a magic flying carpet. Mr. Okev promised God that when, and if, he reached Israel, he would build a house of worship, and so he did.

    Mr. Okev was from a very rich family in Yemen. He left all the land that he owned and his business so he could come back to the “Promised Land”. When he came to Israel, he sold the jewelry that he had collected and built the house he is living in. Now he was ready to build the synagogue he had promised. It just happened that at the same time the town of Netanya was developing this neighborhood and the big land movers were paving a new road to make a modern street.

    For us kids it was a new playground and an amusement park. We would play in the freshly uncovered dirt, build sand towers, and throw dirt balls at each other that would explode when they hit their target without causing any damage to the skin. This was our favorite war game.

    Mr. Okev had three daughters and a young son. The oldest one was married to Mr. Gamil, the milk man who worked in the small moshav, Avihayil on the northeastern side of Netanya. Every night I would go to their house (also in the Okev's back yard) to fetch the milk for Mom. Mom and Dad loved to experiment with the milk, since they had so much, they made hot cereals or even butter. Unfortunately, the smell of the hot milk made me sick to my stomach, so they had to prepare it in the shower.
The Gamil family had two sons, Itai and Gabi. Mrs. Gamil was pregnant, and they were hoping to have a girl. Itai was my age, but he went to the orthodox preschool Moriya, and the only time we met to play was after school or on vacations. Gabi was Avi's age and was home all the time. He played with Avi whenever he wanted. Mr. Okev's other two daughters lived at home with him. The young one, Tova, was engaged to be married, and the middle one, Ester, was working with Mom and Dad at the diamond polishing plant.

    Next to the Okev's yard was the Makolet. That's what we call the little grocery store. It means a store that has everything. Sa’adya, the owner of the Makolet, had an orange orchard in his backyard, Navel oranges. They start to ripen at the end of the summer, and Mom bought them from him every week. Sa’adya had two daughters and a son. The young son was in the army. The middle daughter was working in the bank, and the oldest daughter, the pretty one, was a flight attendant on the Israeli airline, El Al. Shoshana was her name, and she thought that I was the cutest boy she had ever seen. So, every time I came to the store, she would ask, "How is my favorite boyfriend doing today?" Unfortunately, she wasn't there all the time. She had to fly around the world. But when she was there, she would sing songs to me and tell stories about the places she visited in her travels.

    "I can't take it anymore," said Tata Beya, "Your brother is driving me up the walls. Go and tell him that I'll report everything to your mom when she comes home, and he will regret it for a long time."
    The problem with Avi was that you couldn't teach him a lesson. He had a mind of his own. When Mom punished him, he didn't care. Even when Mom smacked his little tushy, he didn't cry. He would yell, "It doesn't hurt! It doesn't hurt!" Mom's hand would start to hurt, and he just laughed and didn't cry.
I walked out to look for him, but he wasn't in our yard. He wasn't in the street playing with Gabi, either.
"He went to Sa’adya's," said Itai when he saw me looking for my lost brother. There was Avi in the orange grove playing with a big rake. It was two feet taller than he was. Avi lifted the rake up above his head and dropped it in front of him yelling, "I'm a Taktok, I'm a Taktok."
"Put that rake down," I ordered and went toward him. "That's not how you use it. You should just pull it and rake the leaves, not dig with it!"
You might think he listened, but no, not Avi. He just picked it up and dropped it down again and again.
"Stop!" I yelled coming closer to him. "You might hurt yourself. Put it d..."
I never had the chance to finish my sentence. Avi turned toward me and dropped the rake on my head.
***
Poop
    “Nanou! Nanou, wake up!”
“Wha-at?” I complained half a sleep.
“I need to go to the bathroom”
“So go” I said and turned over.

    Avi didn’t let go. We were left alone in the house while mom and dad went to the movies.
“You are a big boy now, you are five years old and we know, you can take care of your brother. Mom and dad are going to the movies so don’t fight or mess up the house. Just stay in bed and go to sleep. By the time you wake up we will be back home.”
“Yes I know” I said to Mom “I am a big boy.”
It was all fine until Avi decided to wake me up.
“You have to come with me,” he cried. “I can’t reach the door latch.”
It was a big lie. Avi, even being two years younger than me looked almost bigger than me - he was heavier, and the same height as me. Avi was afraid of the dark. He wanted me to get up and go to the bathroom with him. Now, why should I? I was perfectly comfortable sleeping in my bed and really didn’t need to get up just so he can go to the bathroom. I knew he could open the door – I saw him do it before.
“I am not getting up” I said firmly. “You can open the door by yourself – you are a big boy”
“No!” he cried. “You are the big boy, Mom said so.” You have to open the door for me. I can’t reach.”
“Yes you can! I saw you do it before, you’re just a chicken and you are afraid of the dark.”
“No I’m not!”
“Yes you are!”
“Am not!”
“Are too”
“Then prove it to me,” I said. “Show me that you aren’t afraid and go by yourself like the big boy that you are.”
“But you are the big boy!” Avi insisted. “Come open the door for me.
“Big boy or not, I don’t care” I said, rolling over to face him now. “I am not getting up and I don’t care if you make in your pants.”
Avi didn’t make in his pants, nor did he go to the bathroom. He simply took his pants off and made his deeds right next to my bed, on the floor.
I couldn’t fall asleep. The smell was horrible, and I had to hear him snoring in his bed now across the room.

    When Mom and Dad came back, they weren't sure what to do first, laugh or yell at me and Avi. They ended up cleaning it up and going to bed.

***

 

Hepatitis
   Our landlord Mr. Okev had 3 daughters. His older daughter was married to Mr. Gamil, she had the 2 boys Itai and Gabi and was about to have a third baby. Mr. Gamil had a sister who lived up the street. She had 3 kids One boy older than me (don’t remember his name) and twins my age. A boy Arnon and a girl Arnona. Arnon wasn’t very friendly, but his sister Arnona was very friendly and very pretty. I loved playing with her, but her brother always interfered, and it was no fun. The only time I could play with Arnona without interruptions was when we were at the kindergarten.
    I am not sure how to explain what I was feeling; all I wanted was to cry. It isn’t that I wanted to cry, it is just that I couldn’t stop crying. I felt weak and shaky, my chest was hurting, and it was hard to breath. Both the teacher and her assistant were all over me. One was sticking a thermometer in my mouth and the other was patting a wet towel on my forehead.
“Arnona!” called Yehudit my teacher “I have a very important favor to ask of you. Will you please walk with Haim home? We want to make sure he gets there safe. Sarah, my assistant will send a doctor to his house and hopefully all will be well.”
   I was still whimpering when we arrived home. Mom was feeding Avi in the kitchen. As soon as we walked through the door I fell on the floor and I don’t remember anything that happened afterward. I woke up in a white room on a white metal bed covered with white sheets and my arm had pipe stuck in it that was connected to a bottle full of liquid. My head hurt and I felt weak, but I didn’t cry. Mom was sitting next to me holding a wet towel on my forehead.
   “He’s awake!” she called and a nurse waked in to check on me.
  “The doctor is on his way,” she said, “it is time for you to go home. Visitation hours are way over. You may come visit him tomorrow.”
I didn’t even have the chance to protest, I fell asleep.
   “You have Hepatitis,” said the nurse when I woke up again. “It is a yellow fever” you will have to stay here for a while until we are sure it is out of your system. Meanwhile drink some of this soup, it will make you feel better.”
  “Where is my Mom?” I asked as I was sipping the hot chicken broth.
 “She went home a while ago. She won’t be able to come visit every day, but I know, she will be here tomorrow during visiting hours.”
    I had to stay in the hospital of Hadera for a whole month. At first all I was given to eat was chicken broth and slowly, slowly, I was introduced to bananas, salad and other food. Yet, when it came to meat, they had a problem. I don’t like meat, and Mom wasn’t there to yell at me or threaten me with the “no dessert” promise. The only animal part I was able to eat was the chicken skin from the chicken soup. It was soft and kind of mushy, and I liked it a little. The nurses had to collect from the rest of the kids at the hospital the skins of the chicken so I could have a decent amount of protein.
    What I remember most of my visit to that hospital are two events that scarred me forever. The first was worse than the second. Every Tuesday they had to take a biopsy. of my liver. Two nurses had to hold me down on my bed each one holding a leg and an arm spread eagle, while a third nurse had to insert the longest and thickest needle I have ever seen in between my legs (yes right next to the you know what) all the way to my liver. It hurt like hell but that was the only way the doctor would know if I was ready to go home. The second one was sort of related to the first. When one afternoon Mom and Dad came to visit was on Tuesday right before the biopsy. I remember crying and screaming for them as I saw them out of the window, walking toward the bus station. I was hoping they would save me from that torture, but they didn’t hear me and kept walking. For many years after that I had nightmares of crying to Mom for help, she simply didn’t hear and kept walking away.
***
Radio
    "Aunt Marie will be here this afternoon for the weekend," my mother announced today when I came home from school. I don't like Aunt Marie very much. She always calls me "young boy" with this commanding tone of hers, and then she would tell me what to do or not to do. But I like Vivi her older son, Ines her daughter, Avram, and little dumb Motke.

    Vivi is three years older than me. He is strong, and he knows things that old people know. Ines is one year older than me. She is very pretty, and she tells scary stories at night after Mom shuts the lights. Avram is Avi's age. He is nice. And little dumb Motke is only two-and-a half years old.

    One day when they came to visit us, Aunt Marie put Motke in an orange crate to play, (we didn't have a crib for him, and he was little anyway), and Avi gave him peanuts. The poor thing almost choked. He stuffed them all in his mouth and didn't know what to do with them. Luckily for him, Aunt Marie walked in the door and saw him with his full cheeks ready to die. She jumped toward him, shoved a finger in his mouth, and pulled all the peanuts out.
    "Don't you know not to feed babies peanuts?" she asked with her angry voice. But how should Avi know? He was only three then, and Vivi didn't say anything. He just sat there and laughed.
"What are you laughing about?" Aunt Marie continued yelling. "Shut up, Vivi! I expected better from you!"
    Saturday afternoon when we all came back from the beach, we washed, ate, and went to my room to rest, but we couldn't sleep. Only Avi and little dumb Motke fell asleep. Ines was reading one of her scary books. Avram was playing with my blocks. (They're Avi's now; I'm too old for them.) Vivi was staring at the air and thinking, I don't know what about. I, on the other hand, didn’t feel it was not fair that only Mom and Dad should have a radio. We should have one, too. You see, last Thursday I had checked it out and had seen what it was made of.
    It was so simple. It was a box with an opening in the front covered with cloth. It had three buttons in front, under the opening. The back had one cord that was plugged into the wall. I knew, because Dad told me, that it was connected to the electricity cables that were stretched outside. Those cables go to Tel Aviv where the radio station is. The radio, I believed, works like the stretched-thread-and-two-cans telephone we made last year in the kindergarten. I was sure, the man in Tel Aviv had a can that he could speak to, and it was connected to all the houses that had a radio.
Well, a box was not a problem. I had that shoe box that came with my new shoes for the holidays. I took a piece of cloth from Mom's sewing box and three bottle caps. I made glue from flour and water. With mom's scissors, that Mom told me to be careful with, I cut a hole in the box. Then I cut the cloth to fit the hole. The problem was: How do I stretch a thread from the hole in the wall to my radio box? The thread is too flimsy. I looked all through Mom's sewing box, and then in her extra material pile and even in her knitting bag. There was no thread that could stretch from the hole in the wall to my radio box. I decided to sneak into my parents' room and check the radio out one more time.
They were both asleep. I walked on my tippy toes and looked at the back of the radio.
"What are you doing here?" Mom asked quietly, so as not to wake anybody. But she made me jump. I always forget that Mom is a very light sleeper, and I could never sneak up on her.
"Nothing," I said, "I'm looking at the radio. I want to know how it is made."
"O.K.," she said, "just don't take it apart like you did with grandma's clock."
"O.K." I said and left the room.

    It was so simple. It had an electric cord like I saw yesterday when Dad was fixing the light. I went to Dad's tool drawer. It was in the back of the kitchen. I opened it, and there it was, an electrical wire. This one was not even flimsy. It was hard, and it had a copper cord on the inside. I took dad's cutter, and with both hands cut a long piece. I put everything back in place. Dad didn't like it when I don't put things back where I got them.

    Back in my room, Vivi was still looking at the air, only this time he was following a fly that was bothering his younger sister.
I took the wire, pushed it in the back of the box, and made a knot on the inside like we did with the can phone so it wouldn't fall out. I straightened the wire. It will be better than mom's radio because it is straight like my can-phone. Now, all I have to do is to plug it in.
The hole in the wall was too high for me to reach. I got a chair from the kitchen, stood on it, and plugged the straight wire in while I put the box next to my ear. The sound I heard was not the sound of Mom's radio, nor was it even close. This sound had power! It was vibrating so strongly that it shook me up and threw me across the room yelling "whaaaaw!". I fell on Ines's back, and she jumped up screaming.
Mom, Dad, and Aunt Marie rushed into the room.
"What happened? What happened?" they asked, and just before Dad grabbed the radio from my hands, I heard Aunt Marie saying,
 "Shut up, Vivi! What are you laughing about?"

***

 

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