[Originally published in the "Daroma" monthly by the Har Hevron Regional Council]
What do you remember of your childhood in the Haret al-Yahud quarter in Damascus?
It's interesting, I have many pictures of my childhood in my mind, but I spoke to my parents this week and it sharpened many memories for me, but also dispelled some myths that I thought I remembered… I was born in Damascus, Syria in 1985, the fifth of six children. We lived in the Jewish Quarter, Haret al-Yahud, and only rarely went out to the big city; we played, studied, and did everything else in our neighborhood. I remember the sense that while we were surrounded by Jews, we also had to be wary of the Arabs. Sometimes, after there was an 'incident' in Israel, we saw that the adults were very tense. I remember days of curfew, and how Ima [Mom] warned Abba [Dad] to remember to take off his kippa on his way back from the synagogue.
What do you remember of family and communal life?
Abba had some important positions in our community: He was a teacher in the Jewish school, and later the principal, as well as a shochet [ritual slaughterer], mohel [performer of ritual circumcision], chazzan [ritual prayer cantor], conductor of marriages, and teacher of Torah in the synagogue. Everything changed on the last day of Pesah in 1992, after the Madrid Conference, when the Jews of Arab countries were granted official permission to move to Israel, via the United States. Many Jews of Syria remember that our financial situation was very bad, and it was only the money from the United States that got Assad to allow us to leave. The Jews of Damascus were now free!
My parents told me that from that moment on, the Jews began working on obtaining all the necessary papers and permits to move to the United States – specifically to Brooklyn, New York. Some of them planned to remain there, and others planned to move from there to Israel. I clearly remember the atmosphere in Damascus at the time: secret plans to leave, people selling what they could, and then the Saturday night exits – we would wake up every Sunday and happily discover that another few families had left for freedom. As for ourselves, we received the long-awaited permit only in 1994.
The Sad Reason for the Delay
"The truth is," Geulah recalls, "that I always thought the delay was connected to the fact that my father had been in Syrian prison when he was young. What happened was that as a teacher in the Jewish school, the authorities demanded that he tell them about pupils who were absent from school – so that they could discover which Jews were trying to sneak out of the country. My father refused to divulge the names of the missing pupils – and on the night of Tisha B'Av, police broke into his home and arrested him for "not preventing Aliyah of Jews to Israel." Just 25 at the time and engaged to my mother, he sat in jail for nine months. He was finally released only because the State of Israel intervened somehow. When they let him go, they simply threw him and some others who were with him at the entrance of the Jewish quarter. My father and his friends were afraid that if their families would suddenly find them, it would frighten them too much, so they gave word of their release via the Jewish grocery owner. Their release was of course celebrated with great festivities and with the traditional slaughter of three sheep and thanksgiving to G-d.
"But the truth is, that wasn't the reason our permits were delayed in 1992. The reason actually lay much closer to home: Many Jews in our community simply didn't want him to leave! Many important people had already left, and those who remained tried to convince him to stay, promising him a raise in salary and the like. But he refused. So some people activated their ties with government officials and got them to withhold his permits, because he was needed in the community.
"In any event, we finally left for the United States, and moved to the large community of Syrian Jews in Brooklyn. My mother's family had escaped from Syria to Brooklyn several years earlier. I remember that my mother wanted to remain there with her family, but my father was determined to leave for Israel. They offered him jobs and pressured him, but nothing worked. There was a concern, however, that my brother would be drafted to the IDF in Israel; we were always fairly scared of soldiers and the like, and he decided to stay in Brooklyn. I remember my mother crying that she would be leaving her family and her son to move to Israel… My father spoke to my brother and explained to him the importance of honoring parents – and he agreed to come to Israel. In our culture, honor of parents was always a top priority, and my brother in fact gave up many of his dreams for this. In general, my parents taught us to honor and respect everyone, and it was always clear that whatever they said, we would truly accept. I hope my children will also adopt this value!
How did your family acclimate to life in Israel?
When we arrived, my married sister was already here, living in Bat Yam, and my father's sister was living in Holon [both in the Tel Aviv area]. We started out in Holon and then moved to Bat Yam. My father had actually dreamt of living in the Golan Heights, but they wanted to live with the other Syrian Jews.
Among my first memories of life in Israel was the holiday of Hanukah. In Syria, we used to light candles in a small menorah, relatively out of sight – but in Israel, every window shined with Hanukah candles. This was truly a public enhancement and broadcast of the Hanukah miracle!
My parents, Yaakov and Batya Atar, sold all their property in order to make Aliyah. The Jewish Agency and Israel's Ministry of Absorption helped us very much. My father became a teacher, teaching Hebrew to new immigrants and Arabic to Israelis, and my mother took a job as a seamstress. My parents knew it would be hard; they had no expectations, and therefore were not disappointed. They were motivated by faith and their own inner truth. I remember seeing my parents taking a pen and paper and going to ulpan [Hebrew-language classes for new immigrants]. In retrospect, it amazes me how at age 50 they started all over in 1st grade – just like Rabbi Akiva!
And you – how did you get along when you first came?
To me it seemed very natural. We lived among many other new immigrants, and I found my place very easily in the milieu, and I quickly learned Hebrew and even the Israeli mentality. Looking back today, I see how hard it was for my parents at first. My brothers and I got into things much more quickly; we used to take care of technical things for them, such as with Bezeq [the phone company] and the Electric Company.
How did you end up moving to the Har Hevron area?
After I got married, we lived for a year in Gush Katif [the former Jewish bloc in Gaza], in the community of Ganei Tal, and after the expulsion, our town moved to Yad Binyamin. But my husband and I wanted to live somewhere in Judea and Samaria, and I specifically had a longtime dream that my children would go to school in the Kiryat Arba-Hevron area. So we checked out the possibilities, and the beautiful scenery of Adurah really captured our hearts – as did the integration between religious and secular, and young and old. We moved here nine years ago, and I really love Adurah and its communal life.
Is there something in your parents' home that preserves the culture they absorbed in Syria?
I mentioned the value of honoring parents, which is something that greatly typifies Syrian culture… There are also many recipes they brought with them from Syria; my mother still prepares kubot and stuffed foods – these bring us the delicious taste of home, spiced with a lot of lemon… My parents' home has a very relaxed atmosphere, serenity, and mutual respect. Some of my siblings preserve the mentality they grew up with – they like the Arabic language and the music; one of my brothers plays Arabic instruments.
One of our beautiful traditions is the Seder night on Passover. In Syria, the Jews first read the entire Haggadah in Hebrew, and then again in Arabic. This is the way to preserve the longing for Jerusalem. My parents still keep this tradition, and I see this as very symbolic: We're here in the Holy Land, but we still remember where we came from.
What would you like to transmit to your children as a legacy from your Aliyah?
It is important to me to pass on my parents' total dedication, their choice to move to the Land of Israel even when it meant giving up on being close to family and financial comfort. I am an Israeli in every sense, but I have been studying my ancestors and I would like to know more about my past and about my family. It is very exciting to know that I am part of a chain of generations of people who made history.