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Hello, I'm Nitsana Bellehsen.
Today is May 15th, 2011.
I'm interviewing Nissim Kapiluto in the Old City of Jerusalem.
Our cameraman is Yaron Weinstein,
Eli Taragon is our soundman, and Alyona Bass is the producer.
Thank you.
Stand here.
Over here?
No.
May we?
Go ahead.
Waiting for Eli.
Please state your name
and our location.
My name is Nissim Kapiluto, I was born in the Old City,
a 4th or 5th generation Jerusalemite.
I'm standing...
I'm standing before Jaffa Gate.
In Arabic: Bab el-Khalil, meaning Abraham's Gate.
Khalil refers to Abraham. What does this place remind me of?
We started working at an early age.
Young Arab men would stand here,
baskets on their backs.
They were porters, or in Arabic "abu saleh."
They'd go with you,
to the market, load the basket,
and follow you to your destination.
We stood here.
Young Arabs waited here, for the Israelis,
and chased us with banana branches.
6 or 7 of us would gather,
and quickly run to the Jewish Quarter.
That was unpleasant.
I've experienced worse, though. I'll tell you about it.
First, please tell me
about going to work.
At what age did you start working?
14. -Please tell us.
I started working at 14. We were in distress.
Some left... we'll get there.
Some left the Quarter on foot
and some by bus.
We'll see where the bus was, in a minute.
It went from the Quarter to Nachalat Shiva neighborhood.
Here, by Jaffa Gate,
was a large Arab bus stop,
with buses to Hebron and Nablus.
There was one Israeli bus, too. "HaMekasher"
Bus number 1, to Romema.
The Arab bus
that went to Hebron.
Did you take it?
Certainly.
Another bus stop had buses to Jaffa.
The Arab buses were cheaper.
That was why.
Egged buses cost more.
We went to Tel Aviv rarely,
on special occasions only.
To us, Tel Aviv was like America.
We traveled often, though.
I had family there.
On holidays, we visited family in Jaffa,
Petah Tikva, or Givatayim.
My family were among the first settlers there.
You said "certainly."
Can you say...
"We took Arab buses..."
A complete sentence.
Did you take Arab or Jewish buses?
We usually took buses from...
the price was insignificant.
We usually walked back.
What did the buses look like?
The buses were narrow.
It had to go through the tunnel.
They had to enter the Quarter,
and make a sharp turn before Zion Gate.
We admired those drivers as if they were pilots,
maneuvering so as not to bump into the walls.
We took the bus back.
The bus was narrow, with seats on the side,
not in rows like today.
We sat along the sides.
They were always full. There were two drivers.
They were skilled experts on driving in the Quarter.
You said a group of you gathered on your way home.
Where? -At Jaffa Gate.
Can you repeat that? -It was outside.
Explain. -We met outside Jaffa Gate.
When everyone was there,
we knew who usually gathered,
we'd leave together quickly,
until we reached the Kishle.
That was the jail, left by the Ottomans.
It was the British police, so...
we knew they wouldn't bother us there.
What was here?
When you were a boy, in 1948?
Go ahead.
There were shops, all along the city walls.
There were ice-cream shops,
shops selling red fez hats.
There were cobblers.
This whole lane was shops.
And here, too.
I have to say that on Shabbat,
I don't know if you'll like this.
Relations between the Arabs and us were wonderful.
We cooperated.
I'll tell you later.
My father... -Let's pause.
My father... -One second.
Let the tractor pass.
My father... can I continue?
Okay.
My father followed tradition.
In the evening, before Shabbat ended,
we'd go for walks along the city wall.
We'd buy ice-cream on credit.
We'd pay on Sunday.
They trusted us to pay.
I have a question.
You said you feared the Arabs,
but you also say relations were wonderful.
Why is that?
I'll explain.
Guys like that,
they throw rocks these days.
But older people,
the shop-owners,
I'll show you a picture.
Relations were peaceful with them.
I can tell you stories,
but it's too much.
You'll censor them.
No, tell us.
Our relationship with the Arabs
was excellent.
There was almost no hatred.
We worked together, trusted each other.
Many Jews spoke Arabic.
They spoke Yiddish,
and also Arabic.
Why then,
did those boys chase you with banana branches?
There was still hatred.
Our relations were spoiled by their muftis,
their rabbis turned them against us.
But the common people,
they were fine. We cooperated,
when it came to commerce.
Where do you want to take us?
Stand there and tell us.
Where to?
I want to take you to the day of the surrender.
Let's go.
How do you feel, walking here?
Don't ask.
Should I address you?
Yes. -I'll tell you.
I've fought in almost all of Israel's wars.
The War of Independence, the Sinai War,
the Six-Day War...
During the Six-Day War,
our regiment was in Hebron.
We heard our forces had taken the Old City.
I said to my lieutenant, "Listen, buddy,
"I have to go, I was born there.
"I was taken prisoner in '48.
"I want to go see my father's shop."
He gave me 3 days' leave.
I got to the Old City.
And it felt like...
the city was my girlfriend, my sweetheart,
and I had left her behind.
I was very moved, going into the Quarter.
The war in 1948 was hard.
Many of my close friends were killed.
We had to, we were just kids...
they'd lay the dead out,
and we'd look, to find out who died.
We'd eat breakfast together,
the next minute - dead.
Going into the Quarter was very moving.
The streets were bloody.
The Arab Legion had good snipers.
The wounded from the Old City
all had head-wounds.
Eye-wounds. Shot in the head, you die.
And so I was very moved.
I'll tell you something else, later.
What do you feel now?
I'll tell you the truth.
I... -One second.
Go ahead.
I want the people walking here,
all happy,
to know what it was like in '48.
I'll tell you over there.
Don't film it. -Oh.
Stop...
Let me carry it, I can't watch you.
It's fine. It's my job.
Is here alright? -Up here?
No, you stand there.
What are we talking about? -That building.
Let me tell you
about this area.
These are ancient buildings.
Nothing's changed here.
Not like in the Old City,
where it's all been rebuilt.
It was like this when General Allenby came
and conquered Jerusalem.
It looked like this back then.
Close your eyes
and imagine Allenby on his horse, with his men.
May we?
As a boy,
what did you think of these ancient buildings?
I don't want to exaggerate.
People came here from Europe.
Bulgarians and so on...
They weren't religious.
These balconies were Greek cafés.
The Greeks held dances and parties.
They could afford to.
According to legend,
Haile Selassie walked through those gates.
The alley we stood by
has a Roman stone in it, 2000 years old.
It's fenced off, with a Roman inscription.
It was an ancient road sign.
This isn't the history we're talking about now.
What did you feel,
as a boy, looking at these buildings?
Was it strange? What did you feel?
I didn't care.
I was only 14
when I started working.
Working conditions weren't like today.
I was a sort of apprentice.
They were doing me a favor, hiring me.
They expected thanks
for teaching me.
And at home,
the conditions were...
India might have better living conditions.
There was poverty,
it's indescribable.
I talk about it now,
my children make me write.
It's hard to believe, just 60 years ago.
Can we go?
Let's stand here.
You stand there.
I'll tell you about this street.
Let's go up the stairs and view the whole street.
I don't want to.
For the camera,
we'll have a better view.
You rather not go up?
That's alright.
I was saying,
about the Kishle,
the Turkish jail.
This was it? -It was called the Kishle.
Stand here.
We'll see better. -Alright.
Look at this.
Look.
It's not for you.
Why not?
Nice rooms, for couples.
If you want to meet strangers,
you'd be surprised.
Tell me when you want me to cross.
Here. -Alright.
Over here.
More... good.
See the sign?
Now listen.
We surrendered on a Friday.
We're going where they separated the men from the women
and took the fighters
in groups of three, to the Kishle.
There were around 300 prisoners.
We were put in three cells.
What moves me,
is that despite the poverty in the Old City,
Shabbat was always special.
A white tablecloth, special food.
We'd been fighting for two weeks.
Filthy, unshaven.
Then we heard the sound of "Lecha Dodi."
We were in prison.
They took us out at around 3pm,
in groups of three.
They didn't tell us where we were going.
At 3:00, they were still trying,
the Hagana, Etzel and Lehi,
trying to get into the Old City.
Through the New Gate.
Over there.
We heard the blasts,
and were put back in the cells.
When they saw our men were retreating,
we were taken down this street,
where those people are laughing.
Let's wait for the music to stop.
May I?
When these people move.
After this car.
Okay.
In groups of three.
They wouldn't say where.
From here to the market.
From the balconies people threw buckets of urine
and orange peels.
Their Arab radio announced they had conquered Jerusalem.
As we walked and people threw things at us,
to the market, where people had been so nice.
I can't forget that moment.
Walking here, with my father,
who was also taken.
He held my hand.
We walked like...
like in the Bible, like the exile to Babylon.
We hadn't yet processed the deaths of our friends,
and everything we'd have to leave behind.
We walked, sad, to Damascus Gate,
then on to the prison camp.
A story for later.
Who threw things at you?
The people who lived along the market.
A great triumph,
conquering the Old City, for the Arab Legion.
A great triumph.
They lost everywhere else.
This was the rabble.
Once the Legion entered,
Once they entered,
we knew. That was it.
We surrendered, by Zion Gate.
They didn't keep their end of the bargain.
I remember a fight
between an Arab soldier and my mother.
"Don't take him, he's a child."
Buses like that? -No.
The soldier said... -What happened?
There was a passage, I'll show you,
where we were sorted.
A soldier pulled me, my mother pulled me,
one on either side.
My mother was yelling: "He's just a boy, don't take him."
But they did anyway.
I was held captive for 10 months, at age 14.
Were there others your age? -Yes.
2 or 3 other boys.
I wasn't some lone hero.
There were others.
How did it feel?
Honestly?
Like a work camp.
Why?
I had no wife,
nothing a wife might involve.
I had no children.
I had nothing to worry about.
What I left behind was no palace. I didn't have mutton every day.
I hadn't lost that much.
Anyway...
after we were grouped,
came the people from Gush Etzion.
We reached the prison camp at Um al Jamal.
A remote place, by the Iraqi border.
Prisoners from Naharayim were there already.
Rutenberg's place.
What happened wasn't pretty. -Tell me.
Rutenberg's power-plant in Naharayim,
they had an agreement, with King Abdullah.
They took them as prisoners.
All the engineers were at the prison camp
when we got there.
From Naharayim.
Then came the people from Gush Etzion,
which was taken. All four kibbutzim.
What we did have there,
were important men, like Ben-Zion Tomer.
Ben-Zion Tomer, the writer,
and Uriel Ofek, the poet.
We started...
we had a social life.
Classes, lectures.
But we were really...
we boys were mischiefs.
We weren't involved.
We'd torment the adults.
We'd say bad things I can't repeat on film.
As I understand it,
the problem wasn't...
your captivity. It was the war.
The war was hard and bloody.
The histories are inaccurate. We had no guns.
When the Arab commander, Abdullah al-Tal,
saw the guns, he said,
"Had we known, we'd have attacked with sticks."
That's a popular story.
They'd have come with sticks.
We knew that.
I wanted... once you're done.
Finish your story.
They couldn't believe it.
Our forces were exhausted.
The Old City was under siege
since early 1948. It was closed off.
No one coming in or out.
The British sent armored cars with food through Zion Gate
to the Jewish Quarter.
But you couldn't come in or out.
We're standing by the police.
Here since the time of the Turks.
The Kishle.
What was here when you were a boy?
The police. -What police?
This was the British police.
There were horses here.
A Jew was in charge of them.
It was a prison for criminals and thieves.
It had been a Turkish prison.
Once, I tried going in.
My friends wanted to hear my story.
I wanted to show them the square where we were counted.
They wouldn't let me in. No entry.
Walking around here, as a boy, before the war,
what was your opinion of the police?
What did you feel?
Look, Nisana, yes? -Nitsana.
We had no opinions.
I don't mean we were stupid.
All we knew was going to and from work.
All you cared about
was your family's hardships.
You can't imagine it.
The living conditions in the Old City,
no one lives like that anymore.
What we call poverty today does not compare.
Our pants were patchwork.
Our mother spent hours darning socks.
Do you know how?
Tell me.
When a sock had a hole,
you'd take a cup. -Wait.
I didn't imagine it could be like this here.
Buses never came through here.
No one owned cars.
Only the High Commissioner had a car.
How did she darn?
You put a cup,
inside the torn sock,
and stitch it.
When your sock tears now,
you throw it out.
Our pants were all patchwork.
We couldn't tell the original fabric from the patches.
Can I go on?
We're following you.
Does this interest you? -It moves me.
What can I say?
Does it move you? -What?
Are you moved? -Every time.
I see, in my mind's eye,
how I walked, looking down.
I hadn't bathed in two weeks.
I didn't know where I was going.
What was nice...
when we got to Damascus Gate...
I'm going off topic. Do you want to hear?
No. What you said...
what interests us is what you said earlier.
How you walked here.
How we all walked here.
Depressed. -She means going to work.
Both are good.
We walked here, depressed,
heads bent, covered in orange peels,
and the urine they poured on us.
Hearing their cries of victory.
Jerusalem was theirs.
When we crossed Allenby Bridge,
reaching Salt, and then Amman.
There's no need to describe it.
Can you try?
They tried to lynch us by Allenby Bridge.
There was a refugee camp by Allenby Bridge.
Where the Jericho police stands now.
On the way from the bridge to Salt.
The Jordanian city, Salt.
And to Amman.
Mobs gathered there
to slaughter the Jews.
Why didn't they?
The one who saved us
was King Abdullah and his armored cars.
He forbade it,
harming a Jew.
Go on, we'll follow.
After you.
You go first.
You can go ahead.
When I tell my children,
they tell me to write about my childhood.
About what life was like.
They're right. -My daughter started crying.
Sure, knowing what you went through.
I told her it made me stronger.
Back then,
life had its way with you.
It was like being tossed into the ocean.
Sink or swim.
No help. Nothing was given for free.
Even after being prisoners.
Being there 10 months as a boy,
away from home, in the desert,
life was...
but that's another story.
And then,
when I tell them about it,
Sure. -They ask, "Was it that bad?"
I say, "Yes. That bad."
We know what we owe you, -What?
We look around and see what we have,
and know it's thanks to you...
you sacrificed your childhood so that...
To be honest,
it wasn't much of a childhood.
Being young wasn't about going to discos and bars.
That's my point.
These windows, -Yes. -Stand back.
Those windows?
Those? -What? -Those windows?
These.
These were the windows to our cells.
100 people in each cell. -Oh my God...
I could still hear
the hymn "Lecha Dodi" on Shabbat evening.
Tell us about the windows again.
These are the windows to our cells, before we left for the prison camp.
It was Shabbat evening.
I remember hearing the "Lecha Dodi" hymn.
It went...
"Come, my beloved..."
There was no beloved.
We were so depressed. No one said anything.
No one yelled or complained.
We were all silent.
When we reached the prison camp,
we started counting those who fell in the Old City.
This main street is the same.
When I walk past these windows,
I keep expecting to hear "Lecha Dodi."
But I don't.
I have a question.
Did you walk here as a child on your way to work?
Of course.
Tell us about your route.
This was our route.
What did you do?
Or we took the bus.
This was the route. The only one.
Did you play or just walk through?
We didn't play. I'll show you,
be patient. Telling you everything
might take a while. -That's fine.
You don't mind? -You don't scare me.
Onwards.
You're not from Jerusalem? -What?
You're not from Jerusalem?
I lived here for 18 months. -That's all?
Are you?
If you need to pause and rest,
tell us.
I'm on a roll.
I can see that.
Watch out.
Here.
Turn to us, Nissim.
Look at me.
The bus had to go through here,
I want to show you.
You can see the marks,
made by the bus.
They're still there.
Nobody asks,
what made these marks?
Let's see them,
then turn left.
What did you think, walking though there?
It was fun. It was dark, the bus was small,
with two benches.
It was fun.
This is a pretty Armenian church.
The place was called
the Armenian neighborhood.
The Armenians have a lovely church here.
But we won't go in.
Show us the marks.
Come look.
Up there, be careful. -Yes, don't worry.
Those marks were made by the bus?
Yes.
See?
Watch out.
Okay. -Where?
Don't film me.
I won't.
Show me.
Those marks. See?
Over there? -Yes.
Imagine the size of the bus
going through here.
Let's go
somewhere wider.
The Armenians lived here.
Armenians.
Hang on.
Nissim, what was here?
The Armenians lived here. We're going somewhere,
somewhere interesting.
A flour mill.
Before 1948, you couldn't buy packaged flour.
You'd buy wheat.
And this was the mill.
Let's go. -What? -Let's go there.
It's gone. It burned down.
But we'd walk here to make our flour.
That was the custom.
To come from the Quarter, head in here,
to the mill.
Did you have other relations with the Armenians?
The Armenians are nice people.
There were TV shows about them.
Now we know what the Turks did to the Armenians.
They're very nice people.
Did you have Armenian friends as a boy?
No Armenian friends.
No Arab friends. Only Jews.
But families were large. -Hang on.
What were you saying?
Old City families
didn't have one child and a dog. No pets.
They had 10 or 12 children each.
Our family of six
was considered modern.
No only child or pet dogs.
Let's keep going.
Another interesting thing.
Look at this pavement.
Natural stone.
No mosaics or ceramic tiles.
Look.
What's good about these stones?
What? -Good.
The stones in my house were even larger.
We'd scrub them. We had no cleaning detergent.
My mother took a brush, on all fours,
and scrubbed.
It was always smooth and cool,
pleasant and nice.
And I'd imagine the different shapes were people.
May I? -Of course.
The flour mill was here.
On one fine day, there was a fire.
The mill burned down.
Everyone used this mill.
You'd buy flour and grind it here.
What could we do?
What did you do? -Well.
In the Geula neighborhood,
by Schneller.
There's a flour mill there.
Our mothers were hard-working, never lazy.
They didn't do laundry by pushing a button
or have a gas stove.
Everything was... you wouldn't believe it.
You can't imagine today how we lived back then.
Now there's the Old City Museum.
No one there knows
what those tools were used for.
When I talk, 10 people gather around.
If you want to go there,
it's interesting.
Only if you want to.
It's up to you. -No, you decide.
You have to pay. I get in for free.
Because I fought in the war.
Money isn't a problem. -Let's go, then.
Respect.
One more thing.
Walking to the city,
this was the best path.
Not everyone could spare that 1/2 grush coin.
I'll show you.
I'll tell you stories whenever we stop.
It was like this.
There was the Sephardic Hakura
and the Ashkenazi Hakura.
If you were Sephardic, you wouldn't dare walk there.
We'll talk more when we get there.
Excuse me.
Just make sure you stay out of the frame.
Carry on.
We had no electricity
until 1948.
We had no running water until 1948.
When we were taken prisoner,
we had wells.
I'll show you the picture.
A man came from the British Health Ministry,
called Asahiyeh.
Occasionally,
he'd pour disinfectant into the wells.
The wells had snails all over the top.
We'd use that water for drinking, bathing and cleaning.
What was the problem?
Diseases.
Lots of diseases.
Dysentery, eye-diseases, ringworm, skin diseases.
Open sewers.
There was no drainage.
So we got sick.
What did I get? Ask me. -What?
Worms. 30 centimeters long.
Where did we go?
To the rahabat in Mamilla. That means nuns.
There's an abbey
where they treated the sick.
We'd go there.
No food for 24 hours.
They gave me a red solution,
to drink.
Like a zoo!
What did you think?
The worms all came out.
How old were you?
Eight. Then I had eye diseases.
I'd wake up, eyes filled with pus.
I couldn't open them.
There were remedies. Drinking tea,
or dripping baby urine in your eye.
Many babies died here.
You had to live past a certain age.
If you didn't...
Should I wait?
Let's wait.
One of these books
has a picture of me on the cover.
Okay. -Alright?
I have the picture.
I'll take it out when you want.
I have a question.
Getting sick, as children,
how did you react to that?
Did it scare you? -No.
We had a hospital in the Jewish Quarter,
called Misgav LaDach.
A doctor came once a week.
A regular hospital.
He'd treat severe cases once a week.
They had the strangest treatments.
But when we had stomachaches,
we'd go to the rahabat.
To the nuns.
Were they more skilled than the doctor?
I don't know. They had medicine.
Were they cheaper? What was the difference?
I think it might have been for free.
This street, we won't go here,
leads to the market.
We'd better not go there.
Let's go this way.
We're entering the Jewish Quarter.
Go on.
Let's go before him.
Did you get the long shot?
Yes. -Don't you want...
May I? -Yes.
Is the museum open? -It's behind you.
What? -Behind you. -Are you interested?
Yes. Just a few short stories, though.
that would be great.
Wait outside.
Is that okay?
Come in.
Alright.
This is the living room. -Really? -Yes.
Let's look at these items.
Look.
We had no running water.
So here's a pitcher.
Do you see the pitcher?
Filled with water, with a cup beside it.
Let's look at other things.
These dishes.
Look at that.
This is pathetic.
This was for washing hands and dishes.
You wash your hands. The water drains,
down to this vessel.
Water drained down there.
I'd like to pause.
I just think...
Maybe you should wait outside.
It's crowded.
We have a guided tour.
It's cramped here.
I'm afraid you'll get in the frame.
Nitsana, let's have a quiz.
I'll ask 10 questions.
You get one right, you win. -Okay.
I know I'm going to lose.
He should be free to move.
Stick close to us,
so he can do what he wants.
These decorations are hand-made.
Did your house look like this?
Do you want to make me cry?
Let's get this.
Okay, Eli? -Yes.
Now it's really good.
This is a living room.
The water-pitcher was used for drinking at night.
You drank some water.
This is the incense.
Look at these coffee pots.
These metal coffee pots.
These coals kept the room warm.
It was simple,
but belonged to an important man.
The common people had this. This is what matters.
But did your house
look like this?
Not at all. -Why?
The rooms in the Quarter were big.
5 meters... and high ceilings.
The same room was a bedroom, a washroom,
a nursery. It was all one room.
These are interesting. Watch your step.
What's this, Nitsana? -Hang on.
I won't ask questions.
This was our fridge. -How?
Air came in on all sides, when you put it outside.
It was called a namliya.
Let's move on.
These jugs, -Is it okay?
We can hear him.
These jugs... -Wait.
Can you go over there?
Yes. -It's noisy.
See the stone floor?
Homes looked like this.
Now...
Can you tell us about that again?
That's an air closet.
It was like a fridge.
You put food out in the wind... it's funny...
That's what we used. What's on top of it?
That's a lantern,
inside a tin.
Maybe they have it?
You put the sabbath stew on top of the tin.
It cooked over the wick.
You had to remember
to fill the bottom with kerosene,
then light the wick.
When the wind blew,
the flame was safe,
but everything got covered in soot, including the sabbath stew.
Did that happen to you?
Yes, of course. I'll explain later.
We called these sfartasim.
What are they?
Going to work, you didn't get lunch at a restaurant.
Your mother or wife would give you food.
A first course, soup, salad and rice.
You'd take it to work in these sfartasim.
You put your cutlery on the side.
These were the cooking pots.
You cooked like this.
It always appalls me.
I pity my mother.
Look.
No running water, right?
We had no running water.
You got water from the well,
poured it into this barrel.
Wash these dishes.
The water drains here,
it gets full.
you empty it in the sewer.
I'll show you that later.
In Ladino, we called this a tanaja.
We used this sheet,
to strain and clean the water.
There was always a cup,
you'd dip it in and drink.
We used this jug, with the ladle, on Passover.
Why?
See that ladle?
Just on Passover.
That's an egg basket.
These are trays, and that,
is a pot for making couscous.
Let's go. -One second.
I have a question about the fridge.
What did you put there? -What?
What did you put in the fridge?
What you cooked for Shabbat.
Chicken, meat, or fish.
It was open to the wind.
Open on all sides.
There was wind.
When did you get chicken?
Before Yom Kippur,
After the Kapparot ritual, you'd eat the chicken.
The chicken was your atonement, but you ate it.
I have a question.
How long could you keep food in the fridge?
Not long.
It was temporary.
You'd put vegetables there.
We rarely ate fruit.
We can assume
no one had fruit.
We never ate bananas or apples.
We didn't have them.
Stop.
He has the battery. -Good.
I want to ask...
You're telling us amazing things.
It's alright. Can you use it? -Yes.
It's not like outside.
Just background noise.
You know what I mean?
Yes, but we know this is a museum.
Okay. -Can I?
Nitsana... -One second.
Your house didn't look like that.
Did it look like this? -No. I'll explain.
For a married couple.
This is a wedding bed.
A family sleeps on the floor.
This is for the baby.
The couple did their thing,
a baby was born.
They put the baby here.
This was called, in Ladino,
a kuna.
The mother would rock it back and forth.
You wash your hands there.
There's no shower or bathtub.
You get up
and cleanse your hands.
Now...
I want to talk about these beds.
What was your place, among your siblings?
The eldest.
So the smaller children had that kind of bed?
It's just for a newborn baby.
You put him there.
We had no baby stroller.
In your house,
when babies were born,
did they have one of those?
As I recall...
I was the eldest
and my siblings were a year or two apart.
So I don't know.
Mother carried them.
This was for wealthier people.
This is a canopy.
Did you have a canopy bed?
There was no room.
How did you sleep?
We had beds.
I'll describe it.
We slept in one bed, and lay in opposite directions.
And another bed to the side, where they lay the same way.
Our parents.
That's all.
A large table in the middle, a nice carved closet.
And an empty space in the middle.
The paila was here.
What's a paila?
It's a laundry tub... -Again please.
What's a paila?
It's a big laundry tub.
We'd bathe once a week.
We had a Primus stove with a boiler.
We'd boil the water.
My mother washed me,
using Nablusian soap.
What's Nablusian soap?
It's made of olive oil waste,
named after Nablus (Shechem).
The city.
It smelled awful.
It was waste, from making olive oil.
It was 1000 times stronger than shampoo.
They have that soap, in the market.
Nablusian soap.
She'd scrub, rinse, send you to bed.
Wash, and to bed.
What did we eat that evening?
Lentil stew with bread.
We'd bake bread. Only rich people bought it.
The bakeries were Angel and Hoizman.
She'd bake on Thursdays, for the whole week.
We'd put the bread in the lentils,
with lots of hot pepper.
"Mom, it's spicy!" "Have more bread."
My mother was strong.
She was from Saloniki.
She'd squeeze us some juice.
We had plenty of oranges, and citrus fruits.
She'd squeeze juice,
it was like narcotics.
After the lentil stew,
and a big cup of juice,
we'd fall asleep.
Every night?
Once a week, on Thursday, before Shabbat.
What? -We'd bathe.
Say the whole sentence.
In the Old City, we'd bathe once a week, in the paila.
Of all the beds here,
which looks like the bed you had?
None.
This is...
That's a bridal dress.
What about the one on the floor?
Those are blankets.
On the floor,
those are wool blankets.
Blankets made of wool.
Over time, they'd become lumpy.
Arabs would come,
with a tool like a big viola,
and break up the lumps of wool.
He'd spread it out, and sew it up again.
That was once a year.
We'd recast our copper pots
and smooth out the old blankets.
We had no electricity.
This is a karaya. -What's a karaya?
We'd light it before Shabbat, using oil.
We had no electricity,
so we used oil, and lit candles.
This was called a karaya.
Synagogues had no electricity, either.
They had karayas.
You had a closet like this?
No. I have to say,
our closet was much nicer.
I'll tell you why.
I'll change the tape.