Read Online Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Revital Shiri-Horowitz
Tags: General Fiction
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delicacies: all variety of meat and fish, vegetables, fresh fruit, dried fruit, different kinds of pickles—like mkhalela , turnips steeped in saltwater—and tum ajam —garlic marinated in salt and curry. Everyone enjoyed the lavish hospitality and gorged themselves. We kids focused on the desserts served after the meal, which included all the sweets we loved so much. We stuffed ourselves with ginger, marzipan, baklava, and mlabas .These days, I still go to Petach Tikvah every now and then to buy these treats, usually right before Purim.
After the big meal, we capped the glorious day with a European-style dance party—a Bar Mitzvah gift from my parents (Eddie’s grandparents) to Habiba and her husband.
My mother, whose expertise and authority made her the natural choice, was in charge of putting together the impressive invitation list. Needless to say, it included all of the Baghdad bigwigs, many of whom were not Jewish. We waltzed, tangoed, and danced all of the couples dances just becoming popular at Iraqi-Jewish parties. The men wore elegant suits, and the women were garbed in fantastic dresses modeled on Paris and London catalogues and made by the best seamstresses in Iraq. Farida and I, in the dresses made by our grandmother, looked much older than we were, which made us giddy. We waited nervously for men to ask us to dance.
I will never forget the excitement that seized us that day. Farida, I remember, was even more emotional than I was. Around her neck she wore our mother’s pearl necklace, and her blue dress brought out her lovely dark eyes. She pinched her cheeks to make them red, outshining the other girls at the party. Eddie wore his Bar Mitzvah suit, with a flower in his lapel. He wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of festivities and acted very flustered, although it may have been Farida’s beauty that stunned and unnerved him. Her looks certainly had the same effect on the other boys. Eddie couldn’t stop watching her. He was good-looking, with an attractive personality, and, because he came from a well-known and respected family, he was considered an excellent match. Many girls vied for his attention, but it didn’t matter. Farida was the only one who interested him.
Farida stood next to our mother, waiting for an invitation to dance. I’m sure she secretly hoped Eddie would approach her. I danced with neighborhood boys. I felt radiant; my dress accentuated my body, and my long hair, usually tied back, was loose. I felt womanly, no longer a little girl playing in the mud, running around, getting into trouble, but practically a real woman. And Eddie . . . Well, Eddie asked Farida. He danced the first dance with her, and the second, then the third and the fourth. Eddie danced with her the entire night. Their feelings were so intense they were on the verge of tears. This was the first time Eddie’s face was so close to Farida’s, the first time they’d touched like this—not as part of a game, not as a way to annoy each other. This was different: a mature touch, a loving touch. I heard Ima whisper to Aba that they’d have to pay closer attention to the kids, to their eldest grandson and their youngest daughter. Many romantic relationships between family members weren’t seen as peculiar back then—forty-five years ago in Iraq there were marriages between cousins, between uncles and nieces. But with Eddie and Farida, something wasn’t right. Marriages between nephews and aunts, those were unusual.
In any case, it was Farida and Eddie’s night. I remember it in great detail. Maybe because the two of them were so close to me, or maybe because I envied them. I, who had always formed a vital part of our happy trio, was left out.
Chapter Nine: Noa
Ofir
N oa returned to her small dorm room exhausted; it had been a long day. Her roommate, Ofir, wasn’t home, and she was glad. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk. The diary was buried deep inside her bag. Noa wasn’t planning to
After the big meal, we capped the glorious day with a European-style dance party—a Bar Mitzvah gift from my parents (Eddie’s grandparents) to Habiba and her husband.
My mother, whose expertise and authority made her the natural choice, was in charge of putting together the impressive invitation list. Needless to say, it included all of the Baghdad bigwigs, many of whom were not Jewish. We waltzed, tangoed, and danced all of the couples dances just becoming popular at Iraqi-Jewish parties. The men wore elegant suits, and the women were garbed in fantastic dresses modeled on Paris and London catalogues and made by the best seamstresses in Iraq. Farida and I, in the dresses made by our grandmother, looked much older than we were, which made us giddy. We waited nervously for men to ask us to dance.
I will never forget the excitement that seized us that day. Farida, I remember, was even more emotional than I was. Around her neck she wore our mother’s pearl necklace, and her blue dress brought out her lovely dark eyes. She pinched her cheeks to make them red, outshining the other girls at the party. Eddie wore his Bar Mitzvah suit, with a flower in his lapel. He wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of festivities and acted very flustered, although it may have been Farida’s beauty that stunned and unnerved him. Her looks certainly had the same effect on the other boys. Eddie couldn’t stop watching her. He was good-looking, with an attractive personality, and, because he came from a well-known and respected family, he was considered an excellent match. Many girls vied for his attention, but it didn’t matter. Farida was the only one who interested him.
Farida stood next to our mother, waiting for an invitation to dance. I’m sure she secretly hoped Eddie would approach her. I danced with neighborhood boys. I felt radiant; my dress accentuated my body, and my long hair, usually tied back, was loose. I felt womanly, no longer a little girl playing in the mud, running around, getting into trouble, but practically a real woman. And Eddie . . . Well, Eddie asked Farida. He danced the first dance with her, and the second, then the third and the fourth. Eddie danced with her the entire night. Their feelings were so intense they were on the verge of tears. This was the first time Eddie’s face was so close to Farida’s, the first time they’d touched like this—not as part of a game, not as a way to annoy each other. This was different: a mature touch, a loving touch. I heard Ima whisper to Aba that they’d have to pay closer attention to the kids, to their eldest grandson and their youngest daughter. Many romantic relationships between family members weren’t seen as peculiar back then—forty-five years ago in Iraq there were marriages between cousins, between uncles and nieces. But with Eddie and Farida, something wasn’t right. Marriages between nephews and aunts, those were unusual.
In any case, it was Farida and Eddie’s night. I remember it in great detail. Maybe because the two of them were so close to me, or maybe because I envied them. I, who had always formed a vital part of our happy trio, was left out.
Chapter Nine: Noa
Ofir
N oa returned to her small dorm room exhausted; it had been a long day. Her roommate, Ofir, wasn’t home, and she was glad. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk. The diary was buried deep inside her bag. Noa wasn’t planning to
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