Recap: Aida runs to Stella to tell her what Rabbi H said. Stella suggests the woman named Beth in Canada may be able to help if her father is arrested. Stella is leaving for the music concert the next day. Aida’s uncle comes and tells her he needs her to run her father’s spice shop, as he doesn’t have time to do it.
The next morning, I rose to the sound of a rooster crowing. There was a slim pink ribbon peeking beneath the black curtain of sky. The moon was still shining as I rose and slid on my slippers. I washed and said the morning Brachos. Then I headed outside into the early morning. Stella was leaving today. I had to say good-bye.
When I reached her house, the pink ribbon had widened into a gorgeous sunrise interwoven with gold. Stella greeted me at the door. We hugged and Stella whispered in my ear. “My stepmother will be up soon. I wanted to tell you. I have Miss Beth’s information pinned inside my shirt.”
We hugged again and our tears mingled. We didn’t know when we would see each other again. Stella was letting me know that she hoped Miss Beth could help her stay in Canada. For Stella it made sense not to come back. She had no family here except her stepmother. Her father died last year, and her stepmother wasn’t the kindest person.
I left waving and trying to smile at her as I headed home. I wanted to be back home to daven and help Ima before I had to go meet my uncle at the spice shop.
When I stepped inside the door, I was surprised to see Ima bustling around in the kitchen. “I made you some oatmeal with cinnamon,” Ima said to me.
“Thank you but, Ima, you look so tired. Please rest. You didn’t have to do that.”
“You are going to work. You will need your strength.” Ima was out of breath just walking across the room. She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Thank you for making the oatmeal. I have to go daven first.”
“Stella is leaving today?” she asked.
I nodded. Stella leaving was like the end of summer, when all the fun, carefree days end and dark clouds portend winter rains and long school days.
I davened with all my heart that my father should be well and strong and free. I davened for Stella to have a safe trip and that she should be able to stay away from Syria, and that one day I should be able to get together with her again.
And I davened that the doctor should be able to help Ima. Medical care in Syria is not the best, and I hoped her needs would not exceed what the doctor could provide.
“Good luck with the doctor,” I said, as I headed out into the now sunny morning.
“Good luck at the store, Meidele.”
I hugged Ima goodbye and noticed how thin and frail she had grown.
I strolled towards the main street. There were shopkeepers just opening their shops and stalls. I used the key my uncle gave me to lift the grate in front of the spice store.
Uncle Dov showed me how to work the register.
A woman wearing a brown burka strolled in.
“Can I help you?” Uncle Dov asked.
“I’m looking for cumin.“
Uncle Dov went over to a table and scooped a cup of cumin and poured it into a plastic container with a lid.
He pointed to the lettering for my benefit. Each bag was labeled.
Then he pointed to the price chart and he rang up the sale.
He wrapped the container with brown paper.
“Shukran lak,” the woman said.
“You’re welcome, afwan,” my uncle replied.
She left the store. The bell on the door tinkled as she closed it behind her.
“So, you see how to do it?” he asked. “The pricing chart will help you with what to charge. The spices go into those plastic containers.” He pointed at the pile of containers. I’d been in the store many times when Aba was here but then I wasn’t the one in charge.
Thinking of Aba made me sad. I had to focus on work now.
“I have to go now, Aida. Good luck.”
I felt my stomach clench. I wished my uncle could stay longer.
Part of me wished that no customers would come, but just as I thought that, two Arab men strode into the store.
“A kilo of oregano,” one of the men said. He was holding a list.
I turned towards the bags of spices. I wasn’t sure which bag held the oregano. I had to read the labels.
“Can’t you go faster? I’m in a hurry,” the man said.
I nodded, but when I’m nervous it’s harder for me to do anything.
I handed him the container and he started towards the door.
“Wait, you didn’t pay.”
“Your problem, Musawi” the man said, laughing with his friend as he walked out.
I bit my lower lip. I wanted to throw something at that mean man, but of course that wouldn’t help anything. How did Aba put up with customers like this? Did he have people coming in and taking spices without paying?
The rest of the day went better, with three other customers who came, found their purchases, and paid.
There was a long stretch with no customers. I sat down on one of the stools behind the counter and pulled out a book I’d brought. It was a good story, and I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice that someone had walked in.
“Excuse me!” a familiar voice screeched.
I looked up from the book right into the dark, beady eyes of Mrs. Abbar, the Arab teacher.
“It’s you,” she said. “It figures you’re slacking off your job.
I wanted to yell at her and tell her to leave, but I tried to keep my composure.
I remembered a teaching Aba had said: If you are insulted and don’t answer back, you have the power to give a brachah.
Right now, our family needs a lot of brachos. I thought to myself: “Hashem, I didn’t answer back. Please send Aba home. Please let him be okay and not in any prison, and please heal my Ima.
“We need a four-kilo container of chili powder and garlic powder.”
She strode over to the other end of the store to examine some cookbooks.
I began pouring the garlic powder into a container. I hadn’t noticed that Vanna had come in with her aunt. She sidled over to me and whispered in my ear. “Hi, how are you?”
“Baruch Hashem,” I said, even though I was talking to an Arab girl.
She cupped her hand near my ear. “Remember, if you need any help ever, please come to me. I want to help.”
I nodded, wondering how she could ever possibly help me.
Mrs. Abbar strode back. “Those cookbooks are overpriced. She handed me the liras and I handed her the two spice containers.
She slid them into a cloth bag.
“Aida was in our class, Aunt. Don’t you remember her?”
“We don’t need Jews in our school,” she said loud enough for me to hear.”
Vanna shot me a look that seemed to say I’m so sorry and so embarrassed.
I waved at her as she left with her awful aunt.
…
At the end of the day, as I was about to close up, Rebbetzin H appeared. “I would like some cinnamon,” she said. As I passed her the container, she slipped something into my hand.
After she left, I plopped down on one of the stools behind the counter and opened the palm of my hand. There was a folded note.
“Your father is in prison. We will do what we can.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. My neck muscles tightened. My father was in the Syrian prison!
To be continued…
Susie Garber is the author of an historical fiction novel, Flight of the Doves (Menucha Publishing, 2023), Please Be Polite (Menucha Publishers, 2022), A Bridge in Time (Menucha Publishing, 2021), Secrets in Disguise (Menucha Publishers, 2020), Denver Dreams (a novel, Jerusalem Publications, 2009), Memorable Characters…Magnificent Stories (Scholastic, 2002), Befriend (Menucha Publishers, 2013), The Road Less Traveled (Feldheim, 2015), fiction serials and features in Binah Magazine and Binyan Magazine, “Moon Song” in Binyan (2021-2022), and Alaskan Gold ( 2023-2024).
