The story of Gizela - Afik Shiraz. Abinun Shmuel

Dror

Many of my childhood memories of Deda and Baba are around food, because we would travel to them for Friday and Saturday dinners for my paternal grandparents. My maternal grandparents would stop by, exchange kisses and a few words and continue on their way to Tel Aviv. My strong memory is how, even though I am not a basketball or football fan, I was there at the historic day when Maccabi Tel Aviv defeated the CSKA in game. That same evening, an alliance was also made to friends' daughter, and Baba told that they wanted to leave, but I sat mesmerized in front of the television and refused to move, so much I was excited about the game. I remember the honey candy we loved there, kept in the sewing machine drawer, the pickled homemade pickles stored in large honey jars and the Shlivovich bottle on the table. Throughout the week we would collect pomelos and grapefruit shells to bring to Baba, to prepare her famous ‘Slatko’, confiture, and for her part she would collect comic strips of "naughty Danny" from the Yugoslav newspaper and translate them for us into Hebrew. In the background was Yugoslav music playing from a tape recorder. When Dad and Mama went overseas they would separate forces between Kfir and me - one of us would stay with Baba and Deda and the other with Grandma and Grandpa, (Deda = grandpa, Baba = grandma, used to ease the children to differ between the two sides grandparents. ‘Deda’ and ‘Baba’ used for the Yogoslav side while the other for the other side), because we would go beating like any pair of brothers. When I stayed with Baba and Dada, I would watch them work with their sewing machines and even helping them - they would give me pants loops that they sewed, and I would turn them face out with a screwdriver. Because I'm not very tall, when I was recruited I would bring them the uniforms to shorten for me, and from those cut strips they made a huge pillow for me, that extended days to a year ago. The only times Baba talked about the Holocaust were in the context of leaving religion, becoming a faithless. Deda came from a family of rabbis and realized that during the Holocaust they lost faith.

The trip to Serbia in 2016 was the first time I traveled with the whole family. The views were beautiful and lush and I was glad to see Baba beaming happy.

I believe I got my peace and quiet from Baba.

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