Nothing for wimps! «Is written under the WhatsApp photo. Another show-off message from my brother in Israel, this time you can see the whole family dragging furniture at 40 degrees in the shade.
A week ago they made Aliyah, and while I, the decadent little wimp, was paddling in front of me in the gray drizzle, my brother had already planted a number of orange trees on his new terrace, furnished his neat new apartment in Ra’anana, and handpicked his children Enrolled in elite schools and of course also found a job with a princely salary.
Oranges Nice for him, not so nice for my poor, dented ego! I also want to harvest oranges on my patio and have beach barbecues every weekend! The whole thing is starting to whack my appetite, and when I recently stopped asking for two apricot dumplings, my mother began to feel sorry for me. She put a tray with almond tarts in front of me and told me the story of her own alija.
The year is 1948. The immigrant ship has just entered the port of Haifa with my grandparents and my two-year-old mother. They are assigned half of a crooked wooden barracks in Pardes Katz, without running water, with a latrine behind the house. Just a few days later, my grandmother started her new career as a dishwasher, and my clever grandfather – a proud graduate of the Budapest Business Academy – was also assigned a job, but he didn’t yet know which one.
men’s suit He appears on his first day at work in his most beautiful pale green suit and yellow shoes. He is put on a truck that stops about five kilometers from Tiberias. Then my grandfather receives a shovel and is supposed to pave the road. Next to the street are some American tourists who are busy taking photos and admiring the pioneering spirit of the new immigrants, while my grandfather’s calluses grow on his hands.
Without further ado he decides to look for a new job and is employed in a cigarette factory. One day later he takes my mother to kindergarten for the first time. She’s doing a lot of theater, doesn’t want to walk through the hot sand (most of the streets weren’t paved back then, see above!), But rather my grandfather should carry her on his shoulders when the temperature is 30 degrees. “Do you want me to break down?” He snorts after walking a kilometer. “Yes!!” shouts my mother, the spoiled little brat.
playground As soon as she arrives at kindergarten, she breaks free and runs to the playground with the many other children. My grandfather is left stunned with empty arms. A small tear pops into the hot sand and evaporates immediately. But my mother is the uncrowned queen of the kindergarten after just one day. She even has a little admirer who carries her kindergarten bag home for her.
How exciting it all is! I munch on the last almond tart and think back to my first day in kindergarten: Back then I was stuck crying for hours in a corner until my mother had to pick me up again, the other children arched with laughter. And what do we learn from this? Not everyone can always be tough and successful. No, there must be charming wimps like me too. A world full of winners would be just boring, wouldn’t it? Just. And now I go to the kitchen, where my mother is waiting with a new load of almond tarts.
– .
