Read Online Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz - Free Book Online Page A

grandmother held me to her chest and whispered she loved me, that she’d brought a gorgeous dress made just for me, a dress I could wear to the fancy party that followed the regular celebration. “Oh, Grandmother,” I whispered in her ear, “thank you! I missed you so much . . .” My parents also came down to welcome their guests; then we all went inside. The house was ready for the Bar Mitzvah.
    When I look back at the party, after all these years, I realize Eddie didn’t really want to be the center of attention. Every chance he got, he evaded the commotion, slipping out to ride his new bicycle, a gift from Richie’s parents. Richie, Eddie’s best friend, was the son of Mr. Hardy, my father’s boss. The Hardys lived in England and were only in Iraq temporarily. Iraq was administered via British Mandate back then, and Mr. Hardy was the manager of the Department of Water and Agriculture. The primary function of this department was to protect the Chidekel River from flooding. My father’s division was responsible for stockpiling sandbags, wood, bags of cement—materials that would allow citizens to protect homes and property when the river flooded, which occurred almost yearly. Aba was the department’s chief accountant, and it was his job that was responsible for our family moving to the big city.
    Eddie and Richie were best friends. They’d meet after school and hang out in the Hardy mansion’s courtyard. They went to movies and plays, and they fantasized about girls. Eddie dreamed of Farida; even then, he was in love with her. Farida was a real beauty: raven hair; alabaster skin; big, dark, curious eyes. Her good nature was apparent to everyone. In her heart, Farida was Ima ’s good girl, but because she tried to emulate me, she got into trouble.
    For the tefillin ceremony—the first time Eddie wore phylacteries—people thronged the house. We all wore our finest clothes. Grandmother made two dresses for Farida and me, one for each party. For the hanachat tefillin ,we both wore white muslin gowns with long pink sashes. Our evening frocks were made of velvet. Farida’s was blue with white trim, and mine was purple, to highlight the paleness of my skin. Eddie wore a suit to both events, but he changed ties; he seemed very confused. My sister Habiba looked resplendent, and she was very emotional. This was her eldest son’s Bar Mitzvah, the first of the grandsons. Habiba was a young mother; she was only thirty-one when Eddie celebrated his Bar Mitzvah. Today, women her age are just starting to become mothers.
    When Farida looked at Eddie, her eyes sparkled with pride and happiness. He was sneaking glances at her, too. When he first donned his tefillin ,the women trilled with joy. Eddie didn’t make a single mistake. Afterward, the rabbi of our community, Chacham Sasson, spoke of the importance of tefillin and Eddie’s responsibilities henceforth. Even after all these years, I still remember the details. That day is etched in my memory forever.
    Chacham Sasson blessed the entire family and wished Eddie health, wisdom, and a long life. And he blessed himself as well, asking for the privilege of attending Eddie’s future wedding. When the rabbi talked of Eddie’s wedding, Farida blushed. I remember monitoring her reactions. Her love for Eddie was a secret, and she hadn’t exactly told me about her feelings, but she always was—and still is—unable to hide things from me. Years later, Farida told me that on that day, when she was not even eleven years old, she imagined herself and Eddie standing under the wedding canopy, Chacham Sasson officiating. She dreamt of that day; she hoped and prayed for it. My father’s grandmother was betrothed at the age of nine, married at twelve, and had her first son at fourteen, so it felt natural to be in love at such a young age, even planning a wedding.
    After the tefillin ceremony, it was time for the festive meal we’d planned so long for. The tables stood stacked with