Recap: Aida’s friend Stella confides that she’s going to be in an international music contest. Aida suspects that if her best friend leaves Syria, she will escape and not come back. It’s so terrible for Jews in Syria. This could put Stella’s family at risk.
In school the next morning, Mrs. Abbar held her hand up for everyone to sit. No one spoke in school. Mrs. Abbar had replaced our Jewish teacher, Mrs. Cohen. Mrs. Abbar wore a heavy black burka, and her eyes had a sharp look.
“We are going to have a math exam to see that we are meeting the academic standards. The test will be tomorrow. I am handing out some sample sheets so you can see what types of questions will be on the test. You cannot keep these. You should just read them over once quickly and pass them back up. You have five minutes to read them, and you are forbidden to write anything down.”
Suri Newman raised her hand. “May I be excused to get a drink.”
Mrs. Abbar glared at her. “No one leaves my class for any reason during class time. Is that clear?” She spoke in a low, menacing tone of voice.
Suri’s eyes widened and I felt my stomach clench.
Everyone bent over the sheet, reading the math problems. The algebra was straightforward. One of the geometry questions was confusing as was a long word problem that covered over a paragraph.
She rang her small handbell, and everyone dutifully passed back the papers.
“Any questions?” she snapped.
I had a question. Should I dare to ask her? I raised my hand shakily. I repeated the long word problem and then I said I feel that there is a possibility of two operations and I’m not sure––”
She interrupted me, ringing her bell. Miss Nadav, are you still holding the sheet.”
“No, ma’am,” I said. I felt my heart start to thud as she strode towards me. “Let me see inside your desk.”
She bent down and rifled through my desk. Then she glared at me.
“It is dishonest to hold onto the paper before the exam. I will have to report––”
“I didn’t—” I stammered. “I d-d-didn’t hold––”
“Enough. You will stay after class and write a thousand times ‘I will listen to the teacher.’”
She resumed the class, and I felt hot tears streak my cheeks. Again, an adult was accusing me of lying when I had done nothing wrong. Of course, I was Jewish, and so I was already held in contempt by this Muslim teacher.
After school and my punishment, it was still early afternoon. I headed down the long dirt path towards home. Autumn sunlight glinted off the stones of the walls of our courtyard. I plucked a carob from the tree in front of our house and headed inside.
“The saffron and the other expensive spices,” Aba was speaking with Ima when I strolled into the kitchen.
Ima called to me. “There’s eggplant and some pistachio nuts for lunch.”
Ima turned back to Aba. “You think someone is stealing it?”
“In small quantities, yes. It’s so frustrating. If only I could put in a camera or something, but it’s hard to get hold of something like that.”
“You should put a watch dog,” I piped in.
“No, it will scare the customers, and I was speaking with Ima,” Aba admonished me.
“Sorry.”
I took my plate with fried eggplant and a handful of pistachio nuts and headed into the dining room. I didn’t want to intrude on their conversation.
I’d wanted to tell my parents about the teacher accusing me unjustly, but they were busy with another difficulty. I didn’t want to trouble them now. I would go to Stella. I can tell her anything.
“I’m going to Stella, “ I called over my shoulder as I headed outside. It was warm enough to take off my light fall jacket.
“Be back for supper,” Ima said. She strolled into the hallway. I saw worry in her kind, dark eyes. “How was school today?”
“Okay,” I lied.
“Send love to Stella.”
I nodded and ran out the door.
I love running because sometimes, when I go super-fast, I imagine myself taking off and flying above this courtyard, free at last. It was confining, being stuck here behind these tall walls. There had to be a place where we could live freely as Jews and not be taunted or treated like second-class citizens.
I raced past the Palestinian house on the edge of our neighborhood. A boy stood there jeering. I became his object of fun, but I raced past his jeers and the rocks he flung towards me.
I spotted Stella outside, hanging laundry. “Aida!”
“Want to play music with me when I’m done?”
“Sure.”
She hung a pair of her brother’s socks on the line. “I’m getting nervous. The try-outs are next week.”
“You’re a pro. You’ve performed in so many concerts.”
“But not like this one. This is highly competitive. It’s against young musicians from all over Syria.”
“If Hashem means for you to––”
“I know.” She hung the last pair of socks and then she signaled me to follow her inside.
…
Back home, Aba asked me to come to the shop with him. We strolled together down the main avenue towards Aba’s shop. The stone courtyard sparkled in the early evening fall light.“ Tell me, how is school going?”
“They fired our teacher, Aba. She was such an amazing teacher and now we have this, “ I leaned close and whispered in his ear. The walls around here could be listening. “This new Muslim math teacher picks on all the Jewish students.”
Aba sighed.
“How is your piano playing going?”
“Baruch Hashem, well. You know Stella is trying out for an international concert?”
“Yes, I heard about that.”
“You keep practicing and you’ll be able to try out for that, too.”
Aba’s words warmed me, but I couldn’t imagine ever playing as well as Stella.
As we stepped into the spice shop, Aba motioned for me to follow him to the basement. Jasmine anise seeds and cloves scented the air. I loved the way his shop smelled.
“Aida, I want to how you where I keep my important papers in the safe.”
We headed down the stone stairs into the dark basement. Aba pulled a cord that lit one bulb. “I have another business trip next week.”
“Do you have to go?”
I hated it when Aba left. Ima would be moping around, and the house felt so empty without him. My father was a tall, slim man with a kind smile and eyes full of joy and laughter. He was always upbeat, no matter what. Even when the sad thing happened that brought a dark cloud over our house. Aba’s rock strong faith pulled Ima and me through.
Aba showed me the papers. “It’s my kashruth certificate, you know I can’t display that.”
Of course not, it would infuriate the Arabs.
“And my license and my will.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Why, Aba, are you showing me these?”
“Look, Aida, you are old enough to know that it’s dangerous when a Jew goes abroad. Baruch Hashem, so far, all my business trips have been without incident, but there are spies everywhere and even in Canada, where I’m going, there can be people who hate us and report on our goings on. I wanted you to know where the papers are and where I keep the key, just in case...”
I felt an icy stone in my stomach.
To be continued…
Susie Garber is the author of an historical fiction novel, Flight of the Doves (Menucha Publishing, 2023), Please Be Polite (Menucha Publishers, 2022), A Bridge in Time (Menucha Publishing, 2021), Secrets in Disguise (Menucha Publishers, 2020), Denver Dreams (a novel, Jerusalem Publications, 2009), Memorable Characters…Magnificent Stories (Scholastic, 2002), Befriend (Menucha Publishers, 2013), The Road Less Traveled (Feldheim, 2015), fiction serials and features in Binah Magazine and Binyan Magazine, “Moon Song” in Binyan (2021-2022), and Alaskan Gold ( 2023-2024).
