My birthday falls on Memorial Day Weekend. A time to remember and honor the brave men and women who gave their lives so we can live ours in freedom. May their memory be blessed. In these troubled times, we must stand united and resolved to combat those within and without, who threaten our liberties. 🙏🌹🕊
This is the last weekend before my birthday, and I am ready to rock n’ roll 🎂💃💐 Another year flew by 😲 As I look back at my childhood, worlds away from where I am now, it seems like a dream suspended in time. The images of those years remain permanently engraved in my heart, and with the years, I have come to appreciate my youth as a precious gift.
I grew up in the vibrant Kurdish neighborhood in Nachlaot, in the heart of Jerusalem, where the first wave of Kurdish Jewish immigration settled in the 1920’s. This was the center of my universe, filled with family and friends, bright ethnic colors, intoxicating aromas, a cacophony of sounds and constant hustle and bustle. On Friday evenings, everything came to a halt and holiness descended on the neighborhood for Shabbat. The Kurdish community is deeply rooted in traditional values, kindness, hard work, and dedication to family. Their love and wisdom gave me the foundation to face life, forever cloaking me with a vision of a happy world.
Jerusalem in the early 1950’s was a diamond in the rough, hilly and wild. We explored it carefree and happy. I went to a neighborhood kindergarten run by Yehudit, a young woman who embodied the emerging Israeli spirit. Her passion for music, dance, art, and nature, instilled in us the love of learning. This was a time of innocence that was laced with hope for a glorious future, for me and for the new country.
Photo: Age 5, 1958 nothing much changed, I’m still writing, counting bitcoins, and talk, talk, talking…😍
