Teaching Music
December 1 ,2015
Pitango
“I have a chore for you today” Mom announced, “I need you to go Sa’adya and buy some oranges for us.” Sa’adya was the store owner next to the Okev’s place where we used to live (remember? My brother hit me over the head with a rake in his yard?) “Go visit with your friends Itai and Gabi” she said. “Don't stay too long, and on the way back home pick up 5 kilos of oranges. Sa’adya has the best navel oranges, and he gives us a good price. Here is some money and be careful on the road.”
I missed playing with Itai and Gabi. Ever since we moved to the “Se'ora” (Barley) Street. It was about a mile away. Both of them were in the orthodox school at the end of their street. I went to the secular school at the other end of our neighborhood, so we didn't have much time together anymore. There for whenever I had the chance to visit them it was a fun day for me.
Itai's father was working at the Moshav Avihayil milking cows and he used to bring us milk daily. Not anymore unfortunately, now we have another milk man who exchanges our empty milk bottles with full ones next to our door every morning.
Itai had a “Pitango – Surinam Cherry Tree” in their back yard. It was another reason I loved spending time with them. Their tree was big – much bigger than most. The Pitango tree usually is a bush they use for hedges. But this one was a tree with tons of fruit almost year-round. The Pitango is a red fruit with a distinct sweet smell and flavor. When it isn't fully ripe it has a very sweet and a little sour taste. I loved it when it was fully ripe dark red and juicy. It has a big pit a little bigger than the cherry but softer, so you must be careful not to bight through it, it is very bitter.
Itai was a very generous kid, if I expressed that I liked one of his toys he would immediately give it to me. In no time I had my pockets filled with all kinds of small toys. Before I headed home, I had to give them all back because his mother showed up and made a big scene about it and demanded I returned them. I wish I kept at least one as a memoir of my best friend. But this is another story I would tell you some time letter.
At Sa’adya’s place I picked up the heavy load of oranges and walked home for dinner.
***
Bulldozer
Today the big tractor came again. It was yellow, big and noisy. All the kids were afraid of it. Yona, the dirty boy called it a bulldozer. "You see," he said, "if it doesn't have wheels, it's a bulldozer." That big thing didn't have wheels; it had these odd-looking chains, one on each side, like the big old tank in the Hebrew Battalion Museum in Avihayil.
Last week when the tractor came for the first time, the driver dug a big hole in the ground and made a bigger pile of sand next to it. After the driver left and the tractor was sitting silently with its huge plow on the ground. (Dad told me that the reason for the low position was to prevent kids from getting crushed by the heavy plow when it's left alone after work.) We all went to play on the big pile. Yona, the dirty boy, sat on the tractor, made loud noises, moved his arms up and down, and pretended he was the driver. All the rest of us played on the pile. We would climb to the top of the pile and then roll down to the bottom of the pit, or sometimes, we'd slide down on our bellies. I found a big piece of cardboard from a large box and used it as a sled to go down the steep hill fast. It was lots of fun.
The next day the tractor covered the hole and left, but the following day it came again to the other side of the street next to Gadi's house near the newcomers' temporary settlement.
"They're building more houses for more newcomers from Morocco," Gaddi said. "That's what my dad told me," he added.
Again, at the end of the day, when the tractor driver left, we all went to play in the pile, going up and down, up, and down. Again, the next day the tractor covered the hole and left us without the pile. I remember how we all stood next to the temporary fence that said, "Keep out, people working" and sadly saw our favorite playground disappearing.
There for, we decided to protest. That day, before the tractor started to cover the hole, we would climb on the pile and play. As soon as we got back from school, we went to the site and snuck behind the one-armed foreman who was yelling at the driver, "Left, right, left, left, no, no, right!"
We climbed the hill, tumbled down to the pit and up again, just to roll down again. All that without knowing that the tractor had started to cover the pit.
"Get away from there, right now!" We heard the foreman yelling at Yona, the dirty boy, who was at the bottom of the pit. "You too," he pointed with his only arm at the newcomer boy from Morocco, Rammi.
Rammi and his older brother Pierre had been in Israel only two months, and they didn't speak Hebrew yet. I spoke French with them, and I was the translator for the children in our neighborhood. Rammi was only four-and-a-half, and Pierre was eight. He was supposed to be in the class above mine, but he went to the orthodox school and was kept back a year because of his difficulties with Hebrew.
"Out, out, all of you! All of you! Can't you see we are working here?" The foreman kept on yelling at us. None of us wanted to stop playing, but we had no choice. I translated the message to Rammi and Pierre, and they got out of the pit.
"Out there, behind the fence, all of you!"
He was a mean man. The foreman obviously didn't like children.
We all stood next to the fence and sadly watched the big ugly tractor covering our playground, when suddenly, Rammi jumped into the pit. He started climbing up the pile, while the tractor was pushing the sand into the pit. Before a moment passed the little boy was covered.
"Get out of there," I yelled in French, but Rammi did not get out; he was covered with dirt. "We have to do something," I said. But no one was there. I looked back and saw all the children running away yelling while Pierre was running toward his home crying, "Mama, Mama, Mama."
For a moment I didn't know what to do. I stood motionless, for what seemed a long time, I think. Then, I don't know how, but I found myself in front of that big monster waving my hands and yelling. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"
The driver didn't see me, neither did the one-armed foreman. The noise of the tractor was very loud, nobody heard me. So, I shoved two fingers in my mouth and blew a loud whistle I ran to the side of the tractor. The moment the driver stopped, I climbed on those ugly chains and yelled,
"Stop, stop. Th... th... there's a boy covered in... in the hole."
The driver immediately jumped out and said: "What? Where? Come with me."
We both ran down the pit and started to dig. From the corner of my eye, I saw the other kids running back from their homes, Gaddi with his father; Yona, the dirty boy, with his big mother; Moshiko with his father and his funny Turkish grandfather; and Pierre with both of his parents. As the driver and I started to dig, he yelled: "Someone, please get an ambulance!"
The sand was fine, and it was very easy to move. A few moments later, we pulled Rammi out. He was blue and lifeless. He looked like a rag hanging on the driver's arms. The driver laid Rammi flat on the ground and bent over him to blow air in his mouth. Is that how dead people look? I wondered to myself.
"What happened?" I heard someone asking.
"My baby!" his mother screamed.
The driver was still blowing air in Rammi's mouth when the paramedic arrived, and, at the same time Rammi opened his eyes, coughed loudly, and started crying.
"We will have to take him to the hospital. Who are his parents?" the paramedic asked.
"We are right here," Rammi's father answered in broken Hebrew.
The paramedic picked Rammi in his arms, and they all left in the ambulance. At the same time the police arrived and made their way into the crowd that surrounded me and the driver.
"Who saw what happened?" the tall policeman asked.
"I did," I said.
"You? Come here. We have some questions to ask you."
Well, the police were not the only people to ask questions. After the police took the information from me and took the driver to the station, I had to spend the rest of the evening, the next day, and the rest of the week talking about it.
***
Chicken without a head
I’m sure you have heard the expression “running like a chicken without a head”. It took me a long time to connect my memories with that actual quote, so believe me, it makes a lot of sense.
When it was time to take the leader of the flock to the “executioner” it was I who went with Mom to the Rabbi. This Rabbi was also the local “shochet” -- slaughterer. People would bring the chickens to him; they would pay him 10 Agorot per chicken and he would slaughter the poor fowl.
“I’m not going next to that rooster.” I told Mom as we were going to the back yard to get the chicken.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll get this one but it’s your job to catch his friend.”
Reluctantly, I agreed and we both walked in the chicken coop and started to look for the culprits. Finding the leader of the band was an easy task. He came out to greet us as we walked in. Immediately I positioned myself behind Mom.
“Would you please relax!” said Mom. “He won’t hurt you. Now go get the other one. Here’s the string to tie his legs with”.
Easier said than done: As Mom was snatching the leader of the band, I was trying to get his second in command. The noise that the leader was making probably alerted all the other chicken because now they were all gathered in one corner of the coop, as soon as I got there, they all moved to the other corner. All that time, still making even more noise. They were squawking and jumping one on top of each other that it was hard for me to see where the chicken is I was trying to catch. When I finally located him, I lounged at the pile of chicken and fell right on my face with all the chicken around me squawking and jumping and some were even on top of me. I rolled up, shaking all of them away and looked around me seeing chickens all over. It wasn’t easy finding the rooster I was looking for. All of them moved to the other corner of the coop. And again, I took a long plunge into the pile but this time I was able to catch the rooster by his right leg. He tried to pull away scratching me with the other leg. All the other chickens were trying to fly jumping and waiving their wings and making a big cloud of dust surrounding us. With my left hand I grabbed the rooster’s other leg and by that time Mom was ready to help me tie the string on his legs keeping them together and preventing him from moving far.
It wasn’t an easy task taking the chicken to the “shochet” either. You see, they were not light, each weighting about 10 lbs., big, balky, and feisty. All the way to the shochet they fought with us constantly trying to turn themselves right side up and sometimes they were trying to peck on our hands. I was constantly changing the arm that was holding the chicken. The struggling and the fighting took a lot of me. Mom, for some reason, had an easier time with her rooster. She just gave a big shake with her arm and the rooster relaxed and was quiet for a while until he forgot about the shake and tried again.
“Mom,” I said, “what happened to Itai and Eliezer?”
“They were in an accident.”
“What kind of accident, Mom?”
Remember? Itai who was my best friend before we moved from Okev’s house and his brother Eliezer just died. I heard about it from dad last night. There were talks about the kids who were just killed by a bus in our neighborhood for two weeks now, but we never connected it to my friends. They were walking on their way to the pharmacy to pick up medicine for Gabbi their brother when they were run over by a bus that took a turn a little too fast.
“Nanou,” said Mom, “it happened too fast for anybody to know exactly what happened.”
“I was wondering how come Itai didn’t come to play with me last week and the week before.” I said quietly.
“Well, we didn’t know about it until dad went to Sa’adya to get some oranges. He was very upset, as you saw yesterday. Dad and I are going to visit with their parents this evening and you’ll have to watch over your brother.”
“Why can’t we come with you, Mom?” I asked.
“Well, it’s an adults’ thing, it’s not wise to have kids around when someone died.”
“But Gabbi is there too.” I persisted. “Why can’t we go?”
“Because it’s going to be too late, and you know that you have school tomorrow.”
We continued walking quietly and I kept on thinking about the last time I played with Itai and how we picked the little, red, and sweet fruit of the Pitango tree. Now I wished I kept at least one of the toys he gave me.
When we finally arrived to the shochet’s house we were tired and scratched – me more than Mom. The rabbi probably saw us coming because he came out to great us as soon as we got to his doorstep. “Hag Same’ach!” he said. “Same to you” we both answered.
“I see you have 2 chickens here do you want to do the ‘Kapparot’ ceremony?”
“Oh, I forgot all about it.” Said my Mom. I should have brought my other son here too.
The “Kapparot” ceremony is a special tradition that we do around the high holidays. The rabbi kills the chicken so we would live. Just in case we sinned, and we were about to be punished or die.
The next thing that the rabbi did was he called me to come closer to him. He picked the poor rooster and held him by his legs. He put one hand over my head and with the other hand waved the rooster over my head, making circles around my head and mumbling some prayer. Next, he started to handle the rooster and check it for blemishes. He felt under his wings and around its belly. He looked at the legs and made sure nothing was broken. He tilted the chicken’s had and with a very sharp razor blade he quickly cut the poor rooster’s neck. It was a small cut under the head, but it bled a lot, the rooster didn’t even have a chance to protest. The rabbi threw the foul to the floor and did the same thing to the other one. I couldn’t believe what happened next. The moment that they hit the floor they started to run (the shochet had taken the strings off) They ran all over the place. They fell and got up rolled over, jumped and kept running.
“Mom!” I said looking at her with a questioning face. “They are not dying.”
“They are dead already” said the shochet. It’s just a reflex. Their nervous system is causing it. They are dead the moment I cut their throat because they don’t get the blood supply to their brain. But the muscles are still active and since they are not getting any signal from the brain, they are just going wild, but it will stop very soon.”
It took forever. I don’t know how long it took them to stop, I felt like it will never stop.
The running chickens were still on my mind when we got home, and even weeks after that. All the time I was thinking of my friend Itai and his brother Eliezer dyeing. Probably running and tumbling all over the street like the dying chickens. Then, after the holydays when we went to the movies, it was very difficult for me to understand how come Snow White didn’t jump around, after eating the poisoned apple, like a chicken without a head.
***
Dragon Slayer
We were dismissed from school early. The teacher said that it was too hot to learn anything.
"It's above 40 degrees Celsius. It's a Hamsin," she added. "So, go home everybody, drink a lot of liquids, and stay in the shade."
I hoped that the children from the orthodox school were also dismissed early. I didn't want to play all by myself, and Avi, my brother, was still in the kindergarten, they never got dismissed early. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to tell you today. What I wanted to tell you is about what happened when I got home.
Mom was working with Dad at the diamond factory. She worked only half a day. She left the key hidden on the floor behind the propane tanks next to the door. All I had to do was to reach behind the gas tank and get the key. It was a big key. It didn't need a key chain.
Like I said, I came home early, and just as usual I reached behind the tanks to get the key. But, unlike every day, I felt that the key was too smooth, too slippery, too... it moved!
Without thinking about it I pulled it out and then dropped it on the pavement. It was a little snake, a viper, a common local poisonous snake. It was a baby, colorful and slimy, and it didn't have its venom developed yet. But how am I supposed to know, I am a young kid too!
There were only the two of us, the dragon, and the dragon slayer. I ran quickly to the back yard, picked a pitchfork, ran back to the front of the house, and...
"Ahhaaa!" I poked the dragon in his stomach.
"Ahhaa! naa! waa!" I poked him again and again, but the dragon didn't die. He just bled a little and wiggled, probably laughing at me. What am I to do? This Dragon is too strong. I ran to the street and the first man I saw I asked,
"How do you kill a dragon? I mean a snake."
"Oh, that's simple. You crush his head," the man said.
"With what?" I asked.
"With a rock or a brick like this one, Why are you ass..ki..ng?"
I didn't have time to answer him. I had an important fight to finish. I dropped the pitchfork, picked up the heavy rock and dragged my feet to the fighting ground.
"There you are," I struggled "I'm back. Don't think that I was afraid of you." Without another word I dumped the rock on the snake's head, incidentally, covering practically its whole body.
Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I put my leg on the dead dragon, I mean the big rock, and waited proudly for Mom to come back.
***
