Spring 1945, noon, mother brought me back from kindergarten. On the way she tried to explain to me about a disaster that happened to the Cohen family. Her friends son, volunteered for service when he faked his very young age and fell on his watch. The screams of tears from Cohen's apartment echoed throughout the building. Sometimes I went into them with cash, feasting on various oriental pastries and sweets, which Mrs. Cohen was an expert in making. I entered the house frightened by the screams. I didn't dare go in to visit Mrs. Cohen, as is my custom.
A picture of her beautiful friend, wrapped in a black ribbon, hung in the center of the wall in the large foyer of their apartment. Until we moved to Emek-Hazitim Street when I was about six years old, I was unable to look directly at the picture of the late Yedidia Cohen, who was always so kind to me. These days, more than sixty years after the incident, I made one of many small roots tours and arrived at the shoe store of The Cohen family. I walked in. I was greeted by Adam Ben Gili, the nephew of the late Mrs. Cohen who treated my injuries in my infancy. The nephew said that to the best of his knowledge, the late Yedidia was murdered by Arab rioters before his enlistment. I could not find what really happened to my beloved neighbor.
HaShem Street is an alley from Sirkin where the center of life is. Our Beit Karaman is on this street corner. A large stone house with several entrances. A minute's walk away sits a very old Arab on the sidewalk selling his wares. On the sidewalk is a small suitcase with a huge supply of seven packs of cigarettes for sale. Two of them are open for selling single cigarettes. There was never a queue of buyers near the old man.
On the daily walk with my mother I always aimed at the old man and sometimes I won an empty cigarette box that the old man kept for me. It was used to store small stones with no logical purpose. A child of three or four, or something in between, does not need logic in everything he does and no one will come to him with claims about it.
An immigrant couple from Ireland had a baby. The year 1911 in northwestern Illinois in the United States was named Ronald Reagan. Everyone knows that before being elected president of the United States, Reagan had an acting career. Many do not know that before becoming an actor he saved seventy-seven people from drowning. In high school, Reagan excelled in swimming and for five years served As a lifesaver, he saved many lives, but it is interesting. We went to the Carmel beach and we went into the water, and at once there was a big hole Up to my father's chest and covered me.
My father began to sway and I felt that he was trying to stick himself in the sand to avoid a strong current that was sweeping him away. I clearly remember the panic on his face. At that time Reagan was far far away overseas and the end of the act is that we got away without him and I allow myself not to remember how.
The apartment in Beit Karaman has three rooms and a family lived in each room. The tiny kitchen served everyone. There was no refrigerator and the cooking was done on two outdated wicks. For eating, there was a table for a man on the side, and a child was pushing too. It turned out that the family room was used as a living room, a bedroom, a children's room and a dining room. And yet we came out healthy, beautiful and smart without a PlayStation and without Barcelona and Messi football uniforms. No one complained or accepted, everyone was content with what they had.
My best friend of four years was Nabil. His only parents in the building who owned a convertible. I didn't understand the meaning at the time, but over the years I learned. Nabil's family lives on the third floor in an entire apartment without roommates. As the discourse on the establishment of the State of Israel increased, the family members went down on a bright morning with some movers and sailed in their car to Lebanon, it is said, and from there to Turkey, perhaps. This is how I experienced at a young age a coexistence experience that collapsed before my eyes.
An interesting historical story.
Dear Jacob!
I lived in Beit Carman from 1941 to about 47
Do all the names you have in your glorious memory match?
I will mention a number of figures in Benin: the Efrati, Pertziger, Sandovsky, Mauriver - Adv.
My name is Weiss Jacob. I lived at 27 Sirkin, corner of the sun 5, in Beit Karaman. I knew the Cohen family well (Gaula, Nechama, Akiva, Yedida and more). Our kitchen balcony overlooked the kitchen of their house and I could see Ms. Cohen grinding coffee on the balcony. On the holiday of Sukkot, he used to set up a nice sukkah in the courtyard of the building in front of another balcony.
We were about ten children/teenagers (Nathan Fuchs, Haim Reisler, Shimon Bonan, David Siman-Tov, Zvika Kurtz and his sister Meira, Meir Atias, Meir Peretz and many others). We played coffee ball, soccer, Stanga, 7 stones, 4 sticks, Duda, hide and seek in Milorot... and what not? Everything as imagined. I was naughty and earned the title 'group leader'. As such, the neighbors who knew how to mention my name as the person behind every trick we performed were also chironic. By the way, for photography purposes I climbed along the water pipe and entered our house through the bathroom window. I will state a full disclosure: we lived on the fourth floor. Yedidya Hatzair (whose name is probably derived from the name of the deceased Yedidya above) was one of the boys above. Well-known names (some of which were mentioned by a number of respondents): David Almani - spice shop, Ducha (he was a football player in the 40s) - grocery store, Another name, Dukha, was the bearer of the Rozman family - a kiosk, the Zebak family - a fish store, the father of Eliyahu Dayan - falafel, located under my grandparents' house at Sirkin 32, the corner of Yehiel 12, the Meno family - a delicatessen at 9 Sirkin, and more and more, the Dayan families lived at 29 Sirkin , on the other hand (who took care of the establishment of a synagogue on the second floor) and even... the teacher Yitzchak (nicknamed "Yitzhak the Crazy") and lived in the triangle below the stairwell and was an educated person who helped the neighborhood children with their mathematics and physics studies. In short, many of the familiar games and/or pranks, and those that were not, were played on By the way, the boys in other groups received the kosher from the beginning. By the way, at the time I wrote the book "Forgotten Childhood" - a book about nostalgia in the Haifa alleys, in the Talpiot Market area. It's worth reading.
Hello Jacob Weiss,
My name is Moshe Bunan (after the grandfather), I am the son of Shimon Bunan.
I would be very grateful if you could tell me some more things that you remember from your childhood about the late father Shimon Bunan or his family.
Thank you
I lived next door at 29 Sirkin Street.
My father was the first falafel seller in Haifa. Maybe there are pictures of the falafel stand somewhere.
I remember the Cohen family very well, some of the girls were my friends.
The brother of her friend, the late Avraham Cohen, tore out his hair and has been wearing a casket ever since.
Thanks everyone for the responses. I am excited. I would like details about the circumstances of the murder of Yedidia Zel. The subject concerns me.
Pretty
A particularly exciting story, especially since part of the character I knew from afar.
I got to know the Cohen family mainly through the shoe store where they bought us shoes twice a year.
Thank you
As the nephew of Yedidia Cohen several corrections.
The late Yedidia was killed in 1948 in the War of Liberation as an IDF soldier in the battle in Menara, where the tank he was traveling in was damaged.
The late Yedidia is buried in Rosh Pina in the military plot and his family goes to his grave every year and will continue to do so from generation to generation (this is our heritage).
Interesting story, Ilan Segal. Have a good and blessed week everyone
Ilan, well done for the article, you brought me back 60 years, thank you very much, Chaya Figenbaum, the little sister of her late friend
Wow…. Wow…. I went back 70 years, I lived in the Carman house a floor above the Cohen family, I remember (they lived on the first floor) I remember the screams that came from the apartment. The name Ilan Segal is familiar to me, maybe we are the same age.
A lovely story..
Touching..I liked to read.
Reminded me of my innocent childhood..
My name was Ruti Rafalovitz at that time.
I lived on 3 Hashem Street, I remember Beit Karaman which bordered our house with a small wall,
I don't remember Ilan Segal, I was born in 1950. I remember her friend Ben Gili, who was named after his late uncle. It was a magical childhood, simple without luxury, but we were happy children.
Who remembers the ice cream factory, Almani's grocery store, and Dukha, Magen David,
And of course Talpiot market.