Too Far From Home

I looked out my window, trying to soak up the view. If I craned my neck, I
could just about see the grassy tip of Mount Hermon, where my sisters and I
go sledding every winter. I just couldn’t believe that tomorrow I would be
waking up in a completely new bedroom. In an apartment building. In the
city. With a view that I could not even begin to imagine. So, on that
morning, when everybody else got up, as usual, I stayed in bed.
“Meskerem, get up! You know what a big day it is today!” My mother’s
anxious voice reached me from the living room, or what was left of it. The
house was already almost empty. All of our belongings were neatly packed
away in dozens of cardboard boxes lining the walls and piled up in the
hallway. Even my room looked unfriendly. The bare white walls looked so
shabby without all my cute animal posters.
I knew that other people were coming to live in our house, people I
would never meet. Another kid would sleep in my room, and I would be far
away, living a different life a long way from all of my friends.
“Macy, you need to get up, sweetie.” My dad gently patted my shoulder.
Only my dad and my American cousins called me Macy. In Katzrin
everybody knew me as Meskerem.
“Please get dressed quickly. I need you to look after your sisters while Ima
and I nish up the packing,” he said, sitting down heavily beside me on the
narrow bed. His face was red and sweaty, his thick blond hair dusty and
disheveled. I could hear my sisters, Abeva and Lemlem, shrieking as they
chased each other through the boxes.
“I know this must be hard for you . . .” Abba started rubbing my back,
but I quickly yanked the sheet over my head and muttered angrily, “If you
know it’s hard for me, then why don’t you just leave me alone!”
My dad said nothing more. I felt the bed move as he got up and heard
him walk quietly toward the living room.
“Adise, come and talk to your daughter,” he said.
I waited for my mother, thinking about all the things I wanted to say to
her. Not that it would help. It’s not as if I hadn’t told her a million times
already how totally unfair it was to make us all move because of some stupid
job she got and how it was ridiculous that I couldn’t just stay in Katzrin with
my grandmother. But then I felt her hand gently stroking my braided hair,
pulling the sheet off my face. I saw that, like me, she was crying.
“Meskerem, honey, I understand how you feel. It’s hard for me to leave
our home too.” Her voice was soft and gentle, her beautiful dark eyes shiny
with tears. “Sometimes people have to choose between two things that they
really want because they can’t have both.”
“I chose to stay here with Grandma,” I pouted, “but you won’t let me!”
My mother sighed heavily. “We’ve been through this already. You’re our
daughter. We love you. We want you with us. You’re only eleven, too young
not to be with your parents.
I’ll always be only-something, I thought resentfully, but I said, “You grew up
with your grandmother in Ethiopia, so why can’t I grow up with my
grandmother here in Katzrin?”
“Yes, I grew up with my grandmother in Ethiopia, but not because I had
a choice! You know my mother’s story, how she walked with her friends to
Sudan to reach Israel. She couldn’t take me with her. I was only a baby. She
was afraid I would not survive the long and dangerous journey. It was seven
years before we saw each other again, and it was so hard to make up for lost
time. I could never be separated from you like that.” Ima hugged me tightly.
I could see it was painful for my mom to remember, and I sensed that
somehow the empty white walls and the boxes piled up in the corner made
it even harder.
The silence that followed was full of her sadness and mine. Eventually,
instead of continuing to resist, I got up and got dressed
After I washed my face, I lingered in the bathroom, studying my
reflection in the mirror. My almond-colored eyes, just like my mom’s, stared
back at me as I wondered, How would it be, living somewhere else? Would it
change me? I shook my head violently. “No!” I said aloud as my long braids,
threaded with colored beads by my grandma, clicked and danced on my
shoulders.
My mom is an educational counselor. She works for Israel’s Ministry of
Education and manages the placement of the new immigrant Ethiopian kids
in all of the public schools in the Golan Heights and the surrounding areas.
People from different schools all over the country come to Katzrin to meet
with her. Ima created this successful educational project, putting Ethiopian
kids into regular classrooms even though they don’t speak Hebrew that well
and their parents are unfamiliar with what the schools expect of them. Her
program helps these kids enter in and be successful.
I helped Ima design the year for the project. My sister Lemlem’s photo
was even on the front page with the caption, “Young people should know
about their roots and be proud. Their culture of origin is a source of
strength, not a weakness.” I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but now
I’m really sorry I helped. Turns out the Ministry of Education decided to
adopt my mother’s project and use her ideas all over the country. She got a
big promotion, and now we have to move to Herzliya.
“Good! You’re up!” My dad opened the door and peeked over my
shoulder. “Ima’s waiting for you in the living room.”
My mom was standing in the living room wearing a faded T-shirt and old
jeans for the move. Her tall body was bent over trying to separate my baby
sister from the small potted plant she was holding. Ima did everything so
patiently, but I could see the stress lines fanning out from her eyes across her
temples to her short, tightly curled hair.
“I could take them to say goodbye to Grandma,” I offered. Ima smiled.
I bent to distract Abeva, and she immediately let go of the potted plant
and turned to grab my beads instead. Abeva had just started walking last
month. Her tiny hand grabbed mine as her chubby feet made awkward
hesitant steps, and she smiled at me, revealing two endearing dimples.
“Take me with you! Me too!” shouted Lemlem. Running toward me, she
grabbed my other hand. She was wearing the new red-and-white-striped
overalls Grandpa Dave had sent her from America for her fourth birthday.
With her tight curls and skinny legs, she looked like a boy. Lemlem was tall
for her age and very mischievous. Everybody said that she was just like me.
“Are you sure you want both of them?” Ima asked.
“Yes. We should go visit Grandma together.” I insisted, marching them
toward the door. I knew Grandma would be pleased to see us.
“All right.” Ima smiled. “Lemlem, make sure you give Meskerem your
hand when you cross the street, and come back quickly. The movers will be
here soon.” I balanced Abeva on my hip, took Lemlem’s hand, and we set off
to Grandma’s house.
When we reached the park, I let Abeva slip to the ground and walk
beside me. With my free hand, I ran my fingers along the wall, the hedge,
and the owers.
“What are you doing?” asked Lemlem.
“I’m memorizing how beautiful everything is here.” I took a deep breath.
“I want Katzrin to be inside me, no matter where I go.”
Lemlem looked around us and then closed her eyes and took a deep
breath, copying me. She ran her little fingers gently over the flower petals.
“Now Katzrin is inside me too,” she declared earnestly.
I patted her hair and smiled. “Let’s go,” I said.