The story of Gizela - Afik Shiraz. Abinun Shmuel

until she even faced a crowd at Holocaust Day ceremonies and told what she had been through. I know how deep is her pain, because once, I do not remember on what subject, God was mentioned (after all I’m a repent) and just came out of her mouth, "I'm angry on God!" At this point one can see her soul screaming to rediscover, even in the most dark past that Baba went through, she still believes it exists (otherwise she would not relate to him) and how will the forgiveness come to be, only God knows. And more than that, she didn't fully grasp that anger, because I know she was afraid later that it hurt me, though I wasn't hurt even a little. On the contrary, I felt her sorrow. I mean that she sees me beyond. Connection with me is more important than anger, and if through me it has any connection to God, then that anger is marginal and the real Baba behind this anger will be revealed. Recently when we met, she even surprised me and told me about customs left from childhood. "For example," she told me, "I still don't understand how I got the habit of not cutting my nails in order and not on Thursday." Baba's quiet power is also reflected in the way she overcomes difficulties. She coped very well with the fractures in the pelvis - beyond the exercises she received, she used to do more exercises as she could at any moment; and her willingness to learn to operate a computer and smartphone was very impressive and enriched her life. We have a special interest in the family with Nissan month, Passover: in our family: I was born on Passover, a few years later I swallowed a token on Seder night (starting Passover evening ceremony) and thus we spent the holiday in Tel Hashomer hospital, my brother Kfir broke a leg on my Bar Mitzvah (13 years birthday) day, Deda passed away on Seder evening, Baba broke the pelvis three times pre-Passover. I do not know what that means, but it is clear to me that it has a meaning. For me Deda and Baba are one unit. I remember when Deda passed away, the first time we entered the house it felt like he was still there. I don't know how to explain that a person is still there, because it’s not the five ordinary senses, but I felt his presence, and not in a specific place but in the whole apartment, as if he was there. My childhood memories of Deda and Baba revolve around the Canasta game Baba taught me to play, and around her typical food: Shnenokle, chocolate balls, slatko, pickled peppers (that I didn't appreciate at that time) and matzah pie with cottage cheese and spinach, to this day I don't know if I would like. Sometimes I slept with them in the living room, and in the morning I would join Deda's morning gymnastics. Every year I joined them for Yugoslavian encounters in the Ben Shemen Forest, where we would do the fire and I would play with my age kids. Today I arrive at Baba's home in Jaffa in full band or with some of the children on Friday noon, before the Sabbath. Dinners are held at my parents' place, and Baba stays with them for the weekend.

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