"Gate of Ascension" • Part 3 in Ahuza stories

Introduction to the story "The Gate of Ascension"

Similar to most of the stories I have written related to the Ahuza neighborhood in Carmel, this story is also based on historical truth, but it also has additions of situations that happened during the 1948s. Starting with the establishment of the state in XNUMX, the illegal immigration of the immigration ships turned into a huge surge of immigrants from European Jews who survived the Holocaust. Many of them were unhappy, without parents or spouses or children who perished in the Holocaust.

In the country, many crossings were established, which we hereafter called "immigrant houses". In many cities in the country, large camps were set up including: tents, shacks, tins and even asbestos houses - (which were small houses made of the wonder material of the time, asbestos sheets). It was only decades later that it became clear that this substance was cancerous, but it was too late for the masses affected by the disease.

The immigrants came straight to transit camps. Shaar Aliya was the main and largest camp in Israel for the reception of the many immigrants. This camp, which was located in the area of ​​the Shprincek neighborhood and Neve David, was then called "David Camp". At the Aliyah gate, reception operations for the hundreds of thousands of immigrants took place. The immigrants would be examined by a medical team, and receive initial treatment. Registrations were made and after a few days they would move the immigrants around the country.

When we arrived, we were very impressed by the high level of hygiene that prevailed in the country. Many immigrants arrived with various underlying diseases, including ringworm and lice, so all immigrants had to receive disinfectants. At the time, the most common disinfectant was DDT, and everyone had to go through the process of having a white powder of DDT sprinkled on their heads.

The immigrants from Europe who were used to these sanitation operations, accepted this with understanding, because they were used to it in their countries of origin, and they also understood that these operations were being done for their benefit. On the other hand, some of the immigrants from the Eastern countries saw this as an insult and humiliation, and this is how crying developed for generations in our country.

Between 1945 and 1949, there were Holocaust survivors who lived in fairly good conditions in Europe. It should be noted that despite the great destruction, there were cities there that were not bombed at all, and in these places the Jewish refugees lived in a recovering Europe. The sudden transition from life in a modern European city to living in an immigrant camp without electricity, running water and showers reminded us immigrants of the difficult war days.

On the other hand, the city of Haifa, which was built by German and English architects, was very beautiful and luxurious, so Olim had hope of getting out of the transition to the modern and good life in the developing state of Israel. The story brings the first steps in the land of a group of children in their first year in Israel, against the background of the Carmel and the neighborhood The wonderful estate I would like to mention here that the Chinese boy (Grossman) mentioned in the story is a dear friend of mine even today after about 70 years.

The Ascension Gate

At last the ship "Gilila" dropped anchor in the port of Haifa. The gates of immigration to Israel were opened for us. The newly arrived immigrants went through a regular ritual. First they would make a careful, but not so accurate, record. They were asked their name, gender, origin and religion. For example, when my father was asked his name, he answered in Yiddish slang - "Mordecah".

The clerk didn't understand, and got angry: "Come back one more time!" And one more time... Finally the clerk registered him as "Moses", and at that moment my father changed from "Mordechai" to "Moses". Be that as it may, these are the names of great tzaddiks in Israel... At the end of 40 years, when my father, who at home was called "Monio" at all, passed away, and we went to order a tombstone to be placed on his grave, we gave his name to the "Macher Tombstone", and then my mother remembered that my father was A brother named "Moshe", who died even before the war. We immediately stopped the mace and corrected the inscription, lest there be two "Moses in white" in the Garden of Eden, and the angel Gabriel be confused, or rather - be confused...

After that... come on, everyone who came was taken to the Aliyah gate. It was a huge camp in the west of Haifa, in the place where Kiryat Sheprintak is located today. South of the Ascension Gate, an immigrant crossing called Machane David (Neve David neighborhood today) was established. These two places did not have such a good name. The immigration gate was a sort of border crossing for the State of Israel. The place was fenced with barbed wire, and those who passed by the road saw the poor immigrants looking through the fence with their faces downcast.

Is this the welcome of the State of Israel?! After all, the place looked, and actually was, a kind of concentration camp. There was one consolation for everyone: the stay there lasts only three days, no less and no more. The immigrants, World War II refugees from Eastern Europe, mostly from Poland and Romania, did not often complain. Between the years 1939-1945, they stayed in countless camps that were much worse...

The main ceremony at the Aliyah gate was the christening of the immigrant with the Israeli "oil". The process is done not with olive oil, but with white DDT powder. Along with the lice and the cutworm, the exile was also removed from the Olam. The Ashkenazi immigrants accepted this decree with full understanding - what's more, they experienced the use of DDT at almost every border crossing during their many wanderings in Europe.

Over the years, when immigrants from Arab countries arrived at the immigration gate, they did not take kindly to the white powder shining on their heads. They were often indignant about it, and as I imagine, they still do so to this day.

At the port of Haifa we were greeted by a relative named Yehiel, who was an all-powerful "macher" at the agency in Haifa... "Hey, Yehiel, how good to see you!" "Yes," answered Yehiel, "I'm happy to see you too, lucky you survived this war!" Well, I have to go, I have two thousand more immigrants to take care of today. Just a moment, where are you going, to which passage? 'David's Camp' or 'Ahuza'?" "What's the difference?" we asked. Yehiel answered: "Ahuza is more beautiful, but further away."

My mother told him: "Then we will live with my sister in Haifa for the time being. Come, Tolk, let's go to the Aliya gate, you will get white powder on your head. But be careful not to open your eyes, because the powder burns very much!"
"Wait," said Yehiel, "child, come here, show me your head... Regina, the child has no lice at all! Why do you need the entrance gate? Here, take a note signed by my hand, and leave the harbor wherever you want."

Within two minutes a new American Chevrolet limousine pulled up next to us. I saw such a car in Poland in the movies: "Tarzan the Monkey King" and "Tarzan in New York". We were so afraid of the lions that attacked Tarzan, but he tore them to pieces with his own hands. But his strength was not up to him, actually he was up against the "lioness" Jane, the beauty he met in the jungle, and she invited him to New York. Tarzan was stunned when he saw the Chevys passing by the Empire State, and was just as excited about them as I was...

We handed over the tsetale (note) to the ShG at the port of Haifa, and the Chevy slipped away to Iraq Street (now Kibbutz Glouyot) in the lower city. The further we advanced into Wadi Salib, the darker my eyes became. Is this the beautiful and promised Israel? This is at most a neighborhood in Baghdad, as which I saw in the movie "Ali Baba and the Forty Bandits".

We landed on Yarmuch Street at the aunt's, my mother's sister, and the story between the two sisters began anew. As they behaved towards each other during the war, so they lived among them in times of peace. The ritual included: kisses, tears of joy, conversations about problems facing the world, a comment here and a comment there. However, suddenly a big and loud argument would break out, until it seemed that another world war would break out. After that there was silence. Someone was offended, and he started "being annoyed with the world".

I was saddened to my heart and thought: we just arrived in Israel, and my aunt is already upset with her sister. What will happen, where will we go? After half an hour, the aunt said to me: "My dear Tulk, do you want to eat?" I watched my mother to see what she thought about it. She hinted to me that I would respond positively to the aunt's offer. "Yes," I answered. The aunt hurried to prepare food, and my mother followed. Both prepared the meal in a wonderful partnership, when the aunt did not give up preparing the entire meal herself, and in the process "taught" my mother how to prepare the best Polish food, in Haifa on Iraq Street.

After several weeks, we went to our relative Yehiel and received a referral note to the "estate crossing". Again the Chevrolet sped, this time up Balfour Street, through Ramat Hadar, the center of Carmel Heiki and the Herbert Samuel Estate, into the Green Carmel.

We arrived at the estate crossing. How many blows and falls can a person bear? From the ancient and magnificent house on the roof of which an anchor is stationed, in the beautiful square of the city of Walbrzych in Poland, we moved to Irak Street, where half of the houses are destroyed or about to fall, and from there to the crossing. However, she was considered the "Denya" of the transitions. Its location was on the Carmel, not far from Beit Biram, where the "Reali Hebrai - Tsena Lekht" school is located, on the narrow road leading to the Druze villages of Usfia and Dalia and near a small military camp with lots of antennas (today the antennas "radiate" IDF waves). The Haifaites among us will surely understand that the crossing was located at the end of Einstein Street, which is now a prestigious street.

Inside her passage were concrete buildings with rounded corrugated iron roofs, hot in the summer and leaking in the winter. Every drop of rain that fell on the tin made a drumming sound similar to hail. These buildings were previously used as warehouses. We got a "huge" family room in the terms of those days - approximately 3x6 meters. Usually, even 3 families were accommodated in a room like this, but we were equipped with Yehiel's "protection" note, that's why such a large room was made available to us.

The flow of immigrants increased and many additional housing units were built in its transition. These were the huts, dozens of which were erected in the crossing area. The shed was made of simple wood, similar to buildings found in private gardens and used as warehouses for tools. The size of a shack was about 3x3 meters. It had an entrance door and a small window. One family lived in each shack. If the family included only two people, add another couple, or an individual. There were shacks where 5-6 people lived. Inside the hut were several beds, one next to the other.

These were "agency beds", each of which had an iron frame. A net was spread between the bars, and an "Agency" mattress was placed on the net. The knowledgeable would say that the mattress filling was wool with horse hair, and the cynics said that the filling was just dry straw. Be that as it may, these mattresses contained everything: cloth fabric - material from the plant (straw), as well as from the animal - bedbugs! He who has not experienced this blow, has not experienced torment since his days.

You would sleep on the mattress just like that, when you are wrapped in a Polish blanket, and you are warm. It was raining outside, but you would not get wet, because you placed your bed in such a place that the drop leaking from the tin roof would not fall on your forehead, but into the "noznik", which is a night pot made of white enamel. You would dream of Poland, or rather, of a decent meal. And suddenly - move... a bug bite. What is it about this little bug that is so painful? He has a kind of pincer, with which he sucks your blood. After you removed it from your body, the place is itchy, and from many scratches, you don't notice, and another pinch in the body.

You have no day and no night. At night it stings, and by day itches. And we, the children, would sing the bedbug song: "I'm itching here, itchy there, itchy my butt..." The truth is that we didn't sing the word butt, but another word, describing something "small" - but it's not nice to spoil little children Pronouncing "rude" words.

In addition to the agency beds, which were usually four in the room, the family room had a wooden box or two in the hallway that were used as closets. There were nails stuck on the walls and clothes and "miscellaneous" hung on them. There was also a fuse - the only "high-tech" accessory in the passage. It was a cooking device - a 19th century invention. The wick consisted of a round container containing oil. It had a small button that raises and lowers a thread of woven fabric. Above the fuse was a black tin burner. First we set the height of the fuse to two millimeters and video a wet fuse.

Then light it with a match. If the fuse was wet from kerosene, and not from my little brother peeing on it, it would ignite and burn. It took a lot of skill to light the fuse - which had its own desires. If the flame was too small, it went out as soon as the burner was put on it. If the flame was too big, the wick would soot up the room and cause a refinery-style stench. We gained experience, and after six months we already knew how to light the fuse, boil water in a kettle and make tea. The process lasted about an hour, and we so missed the gas burners that were installed in our apartment in Poland.

At the entrance to the passage was the "grocery" hut. It was a simple grocery store and sold only basic products such as bread and wonderful rolls made by the "Migdal" bakery that was in the estate at the time. The grocery store also had some dairy products, olives, oil and simple detergents, among them the "Oma" liquid soap. Most of these materials were produced by the "Sheman" factory in Haifa. The liquid soap was only used for cleaning dishes, because we used laundry soap to wash the body. "Emma" had a well-known advertisement: "Every woman chooses her mother, every woman knows why."

In the shack that was next to the grocery store, lived a Russian family, whose sons were such a powerful group of boys and they started with everyone. They did, but they had four huge killer dogs, which swarmed around the grocery store. Just like their owners, they sniffed, barked and chased anyone who passed by
the grocery store

One morning, at an early hour, my mother asked: "Run to the grocery store - they are bringing the good rolls from Migdal bakery now!" (Forbidden by "Shechter"). I walked in the cool of the morning, birds were chirping in the trees, and her passage was still dozing. Indeed, the grocery store was open, and I found a box full of rolls. I immediately chose six warm and fragrant units. As I was walking towards the "house", I suddenly saw the angry dogs running towards me while barking loudly. They came to me.

I couldn't run away from them and I had no chance against them, although you never know - sometimes they just wanted to have fun, along the lines of "bread and fun". I threw one bun at them. They pounced on her and quickly devoured her, while fighting over which of them would get a bigger "bite". Meanwhile, I advanced another ten meters. In this way, time after time, I was saved from the dogs' terror by offering them another bun. I got home and handed my mother the last two rolls I had left.

To her question: "Where are all the buns?" I answered: "I ate them." "What, you ate four buns?!" "Yes, I was so hungry. You don't believe me?" "Well, if you've eaten so much, then give the two buns to your brothers, you're already full"... I looked enviously at my brothers eating buns smeared with "Blue Band" margarine. Since the scary incident, the dogs have become my friends.

The period of "austerity" began in Israel. Store owners removed the products from the shelves and placed them under the table. When you came to buy something, the grocer would ask and wink: "You buy with 'points',
Or maybe 'black'?" (referring to a secret purchase on the black market). If the penny is in your pocket - then you are a king. If not - you only eat bread and salt.

Since we arrived at the crossing in the "terrible days", we, the children, did not really study, but had forced vacations. In a building not far from us, a makeshift synagogue. I went there and saw men wrapped in turbans, swaying and praying while sobbing. My parents informed us that Yom Kippur has arrived, and on this day eating is forbidden. We, the children, remained hungry. The truth is that we were hungry almost every day, but on Yom Kippur we didn't even eat the slice of bread with jam. Suddenly, at the age of nine, I discovered that there is one day which is the "Hunger Strike Day" called "Yom Kippur". His name is so similar to "Purim". Didn't find a better name? My parents announced that they are fasting and do not touch food. If the children want to eat so much, let them prepare for themselves, and so it was. I spread "Shechter" bread, gave it to my brother and we broke the forced fast.

In the synagogue - the sky is shining! Why are these Jews crying so much, from morning to evening? Is anyone listening to them? If so, why today, what happens on the other days? Apparently there is no listening. And in general, this God, who is said to be omnipotent. How can he understand what they are praying, and how can he listen to hundreds of thousands of people at the same time?

Apparently the prayers of one woman, whose name was Hannah, were answered - although it is doubtful whether she participated in the prayer. Maybe she prayed in her own way? At the end of Yom Kippur, the shofar was blown, and on the eve of Sukkot, two people from an agency came to our "room", accompanied by an unknown woman, and said: "You know, this is Hana Zalatex. She is a woman in disguise, a Holocaust survivor. She has no relatives - all of them were murdered by The Nazis... She is a bit problematic. We are trying to integrate her with some family, and so far without much success. Of course, it is not possible for her to get a separate room, since we do not have rooms. You have a large room, and you have room for her."

The man spoke freely about the woman, who seemed not to be listening to him. And added: "She is deaf-mute." Until then I had never seen a deaf person. The impression she left on us was particularly strong. She was not completely mute. They explained to us that since she can't hear, she couldn't learn to speak. She would make many loud noises. When she was excited, she would immediately raise her voice and let out a sort of loud scream. Sometimes she would laugh excessively or get very irritated. She didn't hide the
her feelings and was loud, even without speaking.

Little by little, I started to somewhat understand the language of the deaf. A certain word was common in her mouth - "tat", which means father, manager or leader. If she said "Tat" and saluted with two fingers near her head, she was probably referring to a soldier, policeman or officer. To my surprise I discovered that my mother knows the language of the deaf. My mother would sit with Hana and they would talk for hours. What they talked about - I could only guess.

We children, as well as my parents, did not feel comfortable when she lived with us. Two blankets were hung on the side of the room, making a kind of tent for Hannah. Suddenly we felt as if we were not living in our house, but in her house. Her presence broke the family harmony. Despite her deafness, her entire environment was constantly noisy. Voices of joy were heard there.

One morning, the adults left the house and I took care of my two little brothers - the five-year-old and the two-year-old. In our room there was a window that faced the inner path of the transit, where the residents of the transit went to the Hafzam district. My father probably went to look for work, my mother went to the local grocery store and Hana was not at home either.

The room door was not locked, nor was it completely closed. There was a space of about three centimeters between the door and the frame. I stood in front of the window and looked out. My five-year-old brother was sitting on the windowsill, and even he was looking at the "street". My little brother was in his playpen, and as always - happy and kind. Suddenly I heard that he was particularly jubilant. I looked back, and noticed something creepy: through the crack in the door, a striped gray snake crawled. He crawled slowly into our room, and he just didn't end... he was so long - at least three meters, and continued crawling inside.

Although I didn't see a water snake, I immediately knew this was a serious problem. We couldn't run away, because there was nowhere to go. We didn't dare approach the door, because that's where the snake was hiding. To escape through the window seemed to be too difficult, as the window was at a great height above the ground, and I could not succeed in getting out through it together with my two younger brothers.

I immediately began to shout loudly: "Save him, snake, save him!" The five year old shouted along with me, and the little one continued to be amused. He was exceptionally cheerful and shouted with joy, laughing loudly and jumping in the coop.

Passersby who heard our screams wanted to call for help. None of the immigrants dared to enter our room. Finally, two racial Israeli agency personnel arrived. The snake in the meantime got behind a cupboard and hid. The "agencyniks", who looked to me like two Tarzans dressed in khaki, brought sticks with them, and asked me: "Where is the snake?" I pointed at the closet. They checked and did not see him. "Boy, are you sure?" (Are you sure?) "Yes, yes," we shouted. My mother appeared, but was advised not to enter. A crowd of curious immigrants gathered outside.

The "agency cleaners" were moving the furniture in the room, and suddenly one of them shouted: "Ar is do!" (He is here). At that moment, the snake began to be beaten vigorously. What vigor and strength they had! I really adored them. Finally the snake was shredded. They hung him on a long stick and left in a triumphal procession in the passage. My mother was grateful and said: "Oh, you are really heroes!" "Ma'am, it's nothing! We've already hit a lot of snakes - they're plentiful here." It was a viper, which is extremely dangerous. Anyone bitten by it may die in a short time. It was so scary! I learned my lesson from this case.

I encountered poisonous snakes many more times, and thank God, my hand always had the upper hand. (In German it sounds like "Oberhand"). For a little while we were in the center of things in Mebara, a kind of local heroes... They asked me: "How come you weren't afraid, and didn't run away?" I answered proudly: "How can I run away and abandon
You my little brothers?!"

The hot summer days led the transit children to play and walk around the shacks, mostly idly. The children of the transfer did not study at all, as they did not fit into the only state school in the vicinity - "Zikhron Yosef" in the estate. None of us knew Hebrew. What language did we speak? We spoke in a "transitional" language. We would converse with each other in every possible language we knew. Despite the low image we had as refugee children, we knew many languages. The wanderings and the wars in Europe taught us languages. "If there is no bread - learn languages. If there is no food on the lips - there are words on the lips." The Polish children spoke Polish to each other. With the Russians we spoke in their language and with the Romanian adults and children we spoke Yiddish. In general, most of the residents of the migration were Romanians. In Mebara there was only one family whose origin was not from Europe. It was a family from Turkey that had many children, almost all boys.

In the center of the transition, children's yard games would take place, a kind of power play, when the children would chase someone or something. They didn't have game balls, so hundreds of children just wandered in the passage, as well as in the surrounding fields and woods. Loud brawls often ensued. I stayed away from them, because firstly, my parents did not allow me to participate. Second, those involved were much more young
Older than me (I was only nine years old).

I was in contact with my Polish friends, who always came to our house, and we found different games for us. Next to the room was a pile of white quarry sand. It is sand made of small grains of limestone. When this sand is wetted, it turns into a pleasant to the touch mud, from which you can plaster and build sculptures and models. I built a system of miniature roads from this sand. We brought tiny toy cars from home, and we would imagine to ourselves that we were inside a miniature settlement with houses and roads, and that's how we played.

I met often with my friends Sinai and Gyura. I wondered where these Hebrew names came from. Giora explained to me that his mother called him by that name, because he was mentioned in Jewish history. Giora was a boy who didn't talk much. He was somewhat sad. Like many other children, he too did not have a father, because he disappeared somewhere in the middle of the war.

Sinai said that his name is very original. This is the name of a desert where the Jews walked for forty years. What, where is the desert? So what, we too will live in Mebara for forty years? Very quickly the conversation turned to the question "Who is a Jew?" An old joke says that a child is never bored. Even when he doesn't have a toy, he has something to play with... A Sinai said that a Jew is a child whose "pishka" has been cut off (in Polish it sounds like a changed organ). And here is proof - look at how a gentile's pishka looks compared to a Jew's, which is cut and shaped by the juice.

In our group there was another boy named Muti, who also participated in the conversation. Suddenly he felt very unhappy: "Why do you have a Jewish organ, and I don't? I am also Jewish and want a Jewish "Pishka"!" Saying this, ran home and brought small scissors for trimming nails. He grabbed his "pishka" and began to cut the edge of the foreskin. We were dumbfounded by seeing his actions. He managed to cut off a small piece and immediately let out terrible cries of pain. He threw away the scissors and ran home crying hysterically. His mother came out of the hut and started shouting at us: "Bad children! What did you do to him?" Go and explain to her...

With the passage of time, the frictions and riots between the children of the transition increased. The Turkish children were at the center of things. They, as well as a group of Russian children, were powerful, and dominated the entrance plaza to the passage. We, the Polish children, who were smaller, tried not to interfere in what was going on, and simply did not get close
to the cauldron of violence.

The Turkish children always scratched their heads and there were rumors that it was lice. However, the Poles claimed that the Turkish children had "parech" (head lice), and indeed it was so. Many children were infected by them, and suddenly every second child was infected with the disease. The cure for ringworm was shaving the head of the infected person and applying medicine to his head. The play was really unpleasant to watch. Indeed, suddenly, many children in the passage had a shaved head, repulsive and smeared with white paste.

Slowly two large groups of children were formed: the Romanians against everyone else, who were mostly Russians. Between the two camps, there was no common language. There was a rumor that every child had to belong to one of the groups. We, the Poles, naturally belonged to the Russian group, because we all also mastered this language. One of the boys, named Alex, was very special. He was several years older than us, maybe 14 years old. He came from Bessarabia (now Moldavia). Alex spoke Russian and Romanian, and actually belonged to the Romanians, but over time he got tired of them. I don't know why this strange division into Russians and Romanians was created. Maybe it's the character
The human, pushing to divide into groups, similar to the parties in the adults? Either way, Alex, who was a natural candidate to be the leader of the Romanians, got tired of them, as mentioned, and began to connect with the Russians. The Romanians did not forgive him for his betrayal and the Russians did not trust him and even suspected him. The result was that Alex, the hero of the transition, became hated by everyone, but nevertheless did not give up his position as a leader.

After many fights in the crossing, the heads of the hawkish camps met for clarification talks, where the future of the crossing was discussed, and it was decided to stop all the small fights, and in their place it was decided on a frontal confrontation - a big war between the two camps, which will be held on Friday at the end of that week. A clearing was found on the west side of the road to Usafia, where Ramat Golda is today. That morning hundreds of children and boys went out to the battle site and lined up in two lines facing each other.

We, the little ones, were not allowed to participate in the battle, but were instructed to stand behind the fighters and hand them ammunition. The signal was given, and the warriors began to throw stones at each other, there was a real hail of stones, and it is difficult for me to understand how children were not injured or killed by the impact of these stones. The distance between the two groups may have meant that luckily most of the stones did not hit. There was a feeling of elation in the air: here we are fighting! It seems to them.

We will defeat them, they will lose the battle and see what it is, and that way they will know that we have won. No one knew what and why they were fighting. We knew that this was a matter that the elders understood and decided, and that it was our job to assist in the war effort. I collected stones and piled each time a pile, which would be available to the throwers. I felt myself as a partner with equal rights, but not obligations. I was careful not to get a stone in the head. And what happened to Alex? No hero like him would give up the war. The question was which camp he would belong to.

The Romanians did not want him, and neither did the Russians. We were all amazed when we suddenly noticed Alex on his eastern side
of the field, right in the middle of the road between the camps. Ahead of time he prepared a lot of ammunition and began throwing stones - a stone at the Romanians, and another stone at the Russians. He was strong, and indeed knew how to hurt. The dozens of youths who were standing on both sides were stunned, stunned and confused. They didn't know what to decide - should they throw stones at the opposing side, or at Alex? The result was that stones flew in all directions.

Suddenly there was a turning point in the war. Both camps started throwing stones at Alex. He stood the battle quite honorably, himself, against about a hundred boys. Everyone shouted in Russian and Romanian, and he cursed each group back in their own language. However, Alex was not Samson the hero, and also had ringworm. Suddenly he began to run away, followed by the two camps, seeking his life. He runs among the rocks, bushes and trees, and we follow him. Suddenly the "Romanians" did not seem to us as enemies, but as partners, in the face of the common enemy - Alex! At the very last second, he managed to evade his pursuers, entered the shack where he lived with his family and locked the door behind him. Dozens of pursuers gathered around the hut and ambushed him until evening.

The protests dispersed, and the wars seemed to be over. We came to our homes, full of "masculine" experiences. It was interesting that the adults did not know anything about the riots. None of them knew, nor did they want to know. It was common in Europe for children to join groups and gangs. This kind of phenomenon was not known
in the Israel of those days.

The next morning, the news spread like lightning. In the dead of night, boys came to Alex's house and knocked on the door. As soon as he opened, a large stone was thrown at him, which hit his head. He was seriously injured, blood gushed profusely from his head and his parents rushed him to medical attention. Luckily he recovered from the injury. The whole transition happened - how did this happen in our places? There was a meeting of parents with many participants, and everyone came out with a call to restrain the children, educate them and take care of them, and so it was. I was warned: "If you pick up one stone from the floor, God will punish you, and your mother will die." I was scared, and I didn't throw any more stones at Alex.

Be that as it may, the summer has come to an end, the fall has begun, and school has finally begun in Mebara. For this purpose, a large barrack was established, which stood next to the military camp of the Navy, in the place where the "Einstein" school and the IDF radio antennas are today. The barrack had two rooms. In one, the little ones, aged 6-10, studied, and in the other, the older ones, aged 11 -15. We entered the class, dozens of children, when we had almost nothing in common. In fact, we had one thing in common - none of us knew Hebrew. They brought us a teacher with a very strange accent, probably Yika, or maybe he was American? When he asked me my name , I answered: "Anatol".

"Annette what?". "A-N-Tul". "Yes, I understand," said "Anto," pronouncing it like "Winto," the Indian hero from Carl May's stories. "Antho" would call me from time to time, and I try to correct him in a weak voice: "Anatole". Did he manage to teach us Hebrew? It's hard to say. He at least gathered us together, kept us busy and thereby prevented us from throwing stones at each other. And here, crying, I met my old friend - Muti. It turned out that he was the jerk of the class. He understood nothing, and knew nothing. He sat quietly and did not disturb.

On one of the days, there was a calculus class, which was a favorite subject for us and in which many students made a soldier in their studies (according to the best educational tradition in Eastern Europe). The teacher wrote an exercise on the board that was very difficult to solve. All the students were united in their efforts to solve the exercise. She cried silently. The teacher asked for the sixth time: "Well, students, have any of you managed to solve yet?" quiet and silence No one answered. And suddenly Muti pointed. Teacher: "Yes, Muti, what are you saying?" - "I have to go to the bathroom." All the students burst into loud laughter. I thought to myself: maybe Muti runs to the toilet frequently, because he is missing a piece of his "pishka"?

The days passed. My father opened a quilt shop in the center of Carmel and the family also decided to settle in Carmel. Following the large waves of immigration, it was almost impossible to get a vacant apartment. Luckily for us, Yehiel found an apartment for us in Aharon Alley in the Ahuza neighborhood. When we first came to see the place, we were really fascinated. The house was at the end of a beautiful alley that was all covered with purple flowers. From the end of the alley there is an amazing view of the western slopes of Carmel. The sun had already begun to set, and everything seemed painted a reddish orange. The sea looks big and endless, bluish-green. It seemed to me that this was the most beautiful place I had ever seen, a real paradise. We immediately fell in love with the place, and we never stopped loving it.

We settled in it for the next fifty years. At that time, the Meller family lived in the house, immigrants from Germany. As was customary at the time, almost every family would rent part of the apartment to another family. In this way, two families lived there. The members of the Meller family, who had a teenage daughter, became very friendly with their tenants, a young couple, who rented one room in the apartment from them.

In a short time both the Meller couple died, and their daughter was left an orphan, and continued to live with the sub-tenants. The young couple decided to adopt the orphaned girl, who had no other relatives. The tragedy forced the couple to leave the place. Since they couldn't afford the rent, they moved to a small apartment in the Neve Shanan neighborhood and took the orphaned girl with them. We also became friends with them, and liked the orphan girl.

From time to time we would meet her when she came to visit her late parents' home in the magical alley. As mentioned, we settled in an estate, where only two families from the move settled. Most of them moved to Kiryat Haim, and a minority - to the Neve Shanan neighborhood. Giora moved with his mother to Ramot Remez, a newly built neighborhood At that time, Vasini moved to Hadar Carmel, and the relationship with them was severed.

Once a month or so, the silent Hana Zeltax used to visit us in our new home, and she would start a "conversation" with my mother with loud voices and screams. It turned out that Hannah had suddenly found relatives in the US, and every month she would receive a letter from them in Yiddish. Since she could not read and write, she would bring the letter to my mother, who would read the text to her, and translate into sign language. As a result, she began to receive packages from America. At that time It was customary for Jews from there to send packages to the immigrants to help them. From reading the letters, I understood what happened to Hana Zaltax. She ran away from the Germans into the forest, and throughout the war she sat on a tree, where she was not discovered. At night, she would go down to look for food, and during the day she hid in the tree, literally Like "Tarzan the Monkey King". She had unusual energy and strength. How did she survive the war, and how did she not attract the attention of the Germans with her screams? To God the solutions.

Hana Zeltax was very enthusiastic about our apartment in Aharon Alley, and asked to move and live with us. But my parents said - that's it! She stayed to live in our room in her transition, and then moved to live in the Bat Galim neighborhood. We became boys. We loved the sea and the shops. Sometimes I would visit Bat Galim beach. There was a small kiosk in the square on Aliya Street. Behind him, stood Hanna Zeltax, and in front of her were cartons of fresh eggs. She was a good merchant, and made a decent living selling eggs. Who knows, maybe she got experience handling eggs when she lived next door to poultry, while hiding in the treetops in the forest?

Financially, the packages she received from America also helped her. When she saw me passing through Bat Galim, there was sadness in her voice, and a broad smile on her face. On one of the Shabbats, when we were all resting in our quiet house surrounded by greenery, there were loud knocks on the door. Hana Zeltax stood in the doorway screaming with all her might, and she had strength... she was upset, right on the verge of madness. We haven't seen her for a long time, and we wondered what brought her to our house, and with such loud shrieks? Her hand waved a letter from America, and as if she shouted: "What have you done to me?" My mother read the letter, and there was nothing unusual written in it, which could arouse her anger. My mother asked: "What are you so angry about, Hannah?"

Hannah excitedly explained that the letter she received from America, she gave to a neighbor to read it for her. He explained to her, or so she understood, that my mother wrote negative things about her to her relatives, so her relatives stopped sending her packages. All my mother's explanations and attempts at persuasion were in vain. Hannah shouted continuously. Finally she got tired and went her way, never to return. Saturday night came. Evening fell on the beautiful little mansion. As boys, we loved swimming in the sea at Haifa's bathing beaches.

The most popular beach was the "quiet" beach next to the Rambam Hospital. Transportation to this beach was available and the sea water was calm. Sometimes we also went to bathe in the "Casino Bat Galim". It was always happy there, because all the "good guys" "Mehader Carmel spent time there. It was a large, Olympic-sized pool. It had only one drawback - it contained salt water. I went to the casino pool, I would sometimes see Hana Zeltax standing by her egg crate. She no longer smiled at me, and did not wave at me. Goodbye. I walked past her, waved my hand at her, but she didn't respond, and didn't reciprocate here. Finally, the deaf became mute as well.