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23 Kislev 5761 - December 20, 2000 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
NOSTALGIA
The Children of Teheran

by Yisca Shimony

The winter of 1943 was a sad one. The war in Europe was raging and the terrible news from abroad reached us daily. Here, in Yerusholayim, we feared the Germans conquering us, a horror which was compounded by tales of what was being done to fellow Jews abroad. Helpless and unable to change things in any way, depression settled into the hearts of people. And so the cold winter dragged on and on...

Purim arrived and the sun shone brightly. The clouds dispersed and spring was in the air. However, the bent backs of people in the Holy City did not straighten. The cold hand of winter still gripped their hearts. It was a sad Purim for us, but life went on and now people began thinking of Pesach. Food was rationed as dictated by the ruling British government, and all knew that the ration of a few eggs and potatoes and a scant slice of meat would not suffice for the holiday needs. The Shimony family was determined to find means of purchasing more food, and Abba and Ima Shimony planned ways of earning some money to buy necessities.

Shabbos after Purim arrived and we, sad girls of the Shimony family, huddled together in the big room and tried to pass the time in a way suitable for the Shabbos atmosphere. In the twilight of the fading day, at shalosh seudos, we sang. The singing was sad as Abba taught us a new song called "Hareinu Hashem chasdeicha." "This song," he told us, "was brought over from the European concentration camps." He sang it with great ecstacy.

We girls sang it together when he went off to shul, and taught it to some of our friends who had come over. After havdola, after the chores were done, we went to bed, not knowing the changes which would take place very shortly.

"Get up, Yisca! Chedva! Get up!" Tzila called.

"What is it?" Chedva mumbled sleepily.

From the big room we heard moving of furniture. "What's going on?" I was fully awake by now.

It was extremely early, and dark. Why was Ima bustling about and moving furniture around in the front room? The commotion soon brought us all to see what was going on. We jumped out of bed, washed our hands, and ran to see the action.

Ima was pulling and pushing the beds out to the courtyard. The wooden chest of dishes followed soon after.

"Erev Pesach?" Chedva volunteered with half closed eyes.

"No. Go get dressed and clear out all the clothing, sheets and quilts into the courtyard," Ima ordered. "And be quick. I have no time for explanations."

We did as bidden and soon the big room was empty. Bare. Mother was extremely busy and would volunteer no hint of what was going on. Soon a big truck arrived and through the back entrance and into the big room began a trek of workers hauling in boxes and boxes of matzos. These boxes soon filled up the entire big room and we all stood there watching, bewildered, at the fast paced workers. In less than an hour, the huge room was filled to capacity, from wall to wall.

Ima stood there smiling. "We did it!"

"We did what?" asked Chedva.

"We rented out the room as a storage place until Erev Pesach. The money will help us cover the extra expenses for yom tov," Mother finally explained. As soon as Abba returned, we began organizing the front room. We placed our extra belongings on a neighbor's porch, hoping that neither the sun nor the rain would ruin them. We bundled up the bedding and took it into the front room. We piled it high on top of mattresses and arranged the bed frames sideways against the walls. There was barely any space to move, but Abba and Ima were happy. We girls were not very happy about being evicted from the big room but we kept our feelings to ourselves.

Soon another piece of news took our minds off our crowded conditions. A group of children from Teheran, escapees and refugees from the European concentration camps brought to a way station in Teheran, arrived. All winter long we had heard of efforts to save these children and now they were here! They were placed in a temporary residence not far from our home.

We went to visit the girls amidst mixed feelings. They were a sad sight. Most looked gaunt and ghostly, their heads shaven to prevent lice. Some looked skinny, their bones protruding, while others actually looked fat. We were told that they were swollen from famine. But their faces and hands looked pale and sickly.

Chedva, my oldest sister, brought some of these girls home to our crowded front room and mother showered loving attention on them. Milk and cookies were served, out of our ration, of course. Chedva suggested to let them sleep in our place but they refused.

Not knowing their language, we were helped by our parents, who spoke Yiddish fluently. Sarah was a tall, good looking girl, but she never smiled. A permanent sadness seemed to have settled on her face and in her eyes. She refused to take part in our singing and when we coaxed her, she said, "How can I sing or smile? I can't forget my mother's last words: `Give me water...' But I had no water to give her. And she died shortly after."

We managed to communicate, somehow, mostly by sign language and pantomime. Much singing took the place of regular conversation.

It was Henya, one of the girls with a beautiful and powerful voice, who taught us the song, "Habeit mishomayim urei... -- Look down from Heaven and see how we have become a laughingstock for the goyim..."

Being busy entertaining the group and being entertained in turn, we completely forgot the crowded conditions in our home. A few days before Pesach, we got back our big room along with a sum of money which enabled us to celebrate yom tov with more than the starvation budget.

Somehow, Pesach was a happy climax to a very sad winter. We felt that the welcome we had given the girls had enabled us in some way to offer indirect aid to our fellow Jews in Europe by helping and encouraging those who had managed to escape. Our guilt feelings were eased. The Festival of Liberation was upon us, and we felt the freedom of our newly appreciated expanded quarters.

 

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