Written by : Azad Karimi
When I came back from university in the evening, I was so tired that I almost fainted. My mother quickly came up to me and said, give me?" Did you bring the candles?! I replied: No! I forgot! My mother was very upset, obviously not expecting me to respond like that.
Hanukkah celebration
Written by : Azad Karimi
When I came back from university in the evening, I was so tired that I almost fainted. My mother quickly came up to me and said, give me?" Did you bring the candles?! I replied: No! I forgot! My mother was very upset, obviously not expecting me to respond like that.
She passed me and went to the room opposite the living room, the room where my grandfather's picture hung in a wooden frame, and since I opened my eyes it has been in that frame hanging on the wall. When our house was in Saqez and now in Tehran, this picture is in this frame and on the wall of the room where my father rests and sleeps. Of course, my father only rests when he is asleep, otherwise, he will be doing what he thinks is necessary until he sleeps such as reading historic books, Dusting his pants, Ironing his clothes, calling printing houses, and equipment for writing items such as the office of Bick, various paper companies, colorful papers, classic Thermal, paper needles, glue, paper tape, notebooks, and pencils.
Since he bought a mobile phone, our household space has calmed down, a little bit...But the crisis occurs when the mobile phone line is cut off and my father gets angry in the middle of the conversation and angrily but sensitively throws his mobile phone on the softness of the furniture mattress and starts under his lips muttering. Every time Dine, my older sister's daughter who has been with us for two years and is six years old, hurries to pick up the phone, but my father quickly warns her: Don't, girl! don't touch it! It's not a children's toy!
Poor Dine is also ashamed and sometimes she gets angry and breaks into herself and goes to a corner and doesn't come back to the gathering. My mother blames my father and says: Why are you angry with that unfortunate child? If you didn't want us to keep her, we would have handed him over to her aunt from the very first day. My father is embarrassed and goes to his room and sometimes closes the door behind him. He often turns off the light and sleeps on his bed, and sometimes his voice reaches the resting room as he reads the prayer of the Psalm or reads a book or falls asleep and talks in his sleep.
My mother always talks to Dine, holds her hands, and kisses her... I have seen her wipe her tears many times. My mother has been depressed since Shadi died and has forgotten some things... but she has never forgotten Shadi's die tragedy. My older sister Shadi died two years ago in a car accident along with her husband Yomtob.
Our son-in-law's family, Yomtob, including his sister, kindly gave my father the right to raise Dine. Since Yumtob had only one sister in Tehran and the rest of his family lived in The United States of America. They called from time to time and asked how Dine was. My mother would shiver and her face was white with fear whenever she heard the phone ring. I knew she was afraid they would come and tell us: Give us back Dine... or let us take her to the US... My mother brought me a glass of water. She said: Well, I told you early in the morning not to forget the candle! It's not how much you remembered your mother's recommendations!!!
I drank the water... My mother was still watching me. I handed her the glass and went to my father's room. I said, Maman! Don’t bother yourself! Tomorrow evening is the first night of Hanukkah. I'll buy you a candle. I promise you men’s honor! Well? ... I started laughing, laughing at myself for promising my mother so deeply! My mother didn't laugh, but I heard her voice: You take simple everything and laugh at it! Even if it's your mother's recommendation! Who knows what will happen tomorrow: either you forget again or the shop closes, or I don't know if a thousand more troubles will arise. Shadi used to buy candles and bring them, but she died and now she is in the underground...
I came back into the living room and saw my mother crying. She by her scarf is wiping his tears. I don't know where my mother gets all these tears. Shadi is part of my mother's excuse for crying... My father called her "Maama Khame"... My mother's crying is always on the edge of her heart and eyes. She gets sad and cries over everything. She even cries about many things that others don't care about. I remember Shadi telling me "Newroz night 1988 my mother committed suicide in front of the television".
I don't remember that time because I was a child, but Shadi said: “My mother was so sad and cried when she saw the situation of the Halabja people on television that her eyes turned red like a pool of blood, like when she goes to Synagogue and the Rabbi reads the Torah and speaks aloud about the plight of the children of Israel in Egypt”.
Unfortunately! There is no Shadi to tell her our mother's heart is fuller and sad than ever and her death is the cause of our mother's endless sadness.
I remember a Kurd from the south( Iraqi Kurdistan) once came to my father's shop and asked for the white paper. A friend of my father's from Sna (Sanandaj) was sitting there and talking to him in Kurdish. The Kurdish man said happily that he was a Kurd too. When my father learned that the Kurdish man was a refugee and had come from Karaj, to comfort him, he said: My wife cried a lot for your situation on Newroz night, she did not come to light the fire and jump over it. . . She brought the candlestick for your solidarity, put candles in them in the kitchen, lit them, and sat with them until the candles were extinguished. When we came inside, we saw that the candles in the candlestick are gone out and my wife was asleep on the table with her head on her hands. She blamed us and said: It is time for mourning, not celebration.
My mother was still crying... I was sad... I said: Maman, don't cry, now I go to bring you candles for tomorrow night, for Hanukkah night... My mother looked up and looked at me, she was happy...
When I went outside and went into the alley, my mother opened the window and called me, "David!" when I looked up, my mother said, "Look!" I said, "What?" My mother said nothing but pointed to me with both hands fingers... that is, buy seven candles!.. I laughed, and said okay! and I took the road.
A passerby was walking down the alley, looking at my mother and me wonderingly... My mother went inside and closed the window. I heard the sound of this closure... The man passed by me, but he looked like he wanted to ask me what your mother wanted you to bring her and it is seven?!
But If I talk about Mom, Hanukkah, the Hasmonean dynasty, and Maccabees, it's midnight and the closed doors of the shops are likely to make fun of me.
The End...
Maama Khame: A Kurdish folklore character. He is a symbol of grief and sorrow. He grieves and cries for the problems and sufferings of others. Once he sat down for a calf that was born without a tail and cried for hours. He is someone who can never be happy.
This story was written in Kurdishin 30th December 2005 in Saqez and was published in the book of Borsuen Prison in Erbil in 2012. This story was also published on 25 December 2016 on the www.Qelam.com and now you are read its English translation.
