Reunited at Last
Just before the start of WWII, my Uncles Moshe and Anwar, who later on Europeanized their names to Maurice and Edward, decided to emigrate to America. With their father’s blessing, they set off on their journey. They travelled from Baghdad to Beirut, whence they boarded a ship and sailed across the ocean to New York harbour. They landed underneath the shadow of the Statue of Liberty in the land of the free and the home of the brave. They needed to be brave, because by the time they landed, the United States had entered the WWII. The United States offered them citizenship in lieu of becoming soldiers defending America. Being young, adventurous and foolhardy, they jumped at the opportunity.
They fought valiantly during the war. I know for a fact that Uncle Eddie had earned quite a few impressive medals, for they were placed upon his casket. When the war was over, they lived the lives of the young bachelors they were. They were handsome and they were tall. Since they had studied at the Alliance Française in Baghdad, they had the added attraction of having thick heavy French accents. Inevitably, they both fell in love. They both wanted to marry the women they loved. Alas, the young ladies were not Jewish and my grandfather was a rabbi. He vehemently forbade them from marrying outside the religion. Uncle Eddie obeyed his father and broke off his relationship with the young lady in question. He never married. Uncle Maurice, on the other hand, married the lady he loved. The outcome was our grandfather sat shiva for him and forbade everyone to ever mention his name in his presence.
My father used to tell us of their escapades, and there were so many. He would chuckle as he spoke. One story he told was quite alarming. Roofs in the Middle East are flat. Summer evenings are cool. The roof was the area everyone slept on summer nights. Above them the stars winked and twinkled alluringly. One was tempted to stretch out a hand and pluck a star or two from the deep velvet skies. One could gaze at the stars and fall into an enchanted sleep. There were iron beds there during the summer season. It was a large roof. One area was for hanging laundry and thickening tomato paste and jam. There was a sitting area filled with pots of delightful plants with heady aromas that wafted through the air in the breeze. During the day the boys sometimes used to play on the roof of their home. From there they were able to watch the public hangings that took place at a square a distance away. One day, they decided to play hangman. Now all the boys in the family were tall except for my father and Uncle Harry. They rigged up a hangman’s noose and since my father was the shortest, Uncle Eddie and Uncle Maurice chose him to hang. They were quite young then. When my father began to choke and flail, they thought he was imitating the victims of the real hangings. They howled with laughter at my father’s enactment of an actual event. This could have ended up quite tragically if an adult hadn’t come up just then and rescued him.
In New York, a wide rift formed between Uncle Maurice and Uncle Eddie because of some business dealings. Sadly, the resentment between them ran so deep that they never spoke to each other again. I would think the edict of my grandfather against his straying son Maurice did not help matters. We never saw our Uncle Maurice. To us, he was like a character out of a fairy tale.
During the revolution in Iraq, my parents and toddler me fled Iraq for Iran. In 1978, we once more had to leave the country that we called home. This was the second time. Within a few weeks, we hastily packed and left. My father’s side of the family had mostly settled on the East Coast of the United States, in New York. Thus, we left for the United States. We landed in New York in the middle of a snowstorm during the month of January 1979. My little family stayed in New York while my parents headed to California to be with my siblings.
In October 1980, my grandmother passed away. My father and I flew in from Los Angeles. I was there for my brother’s wedding when our grandmother passed. At the funeral home, we divided into two groups, our parents - the mourners, and us - the cousins and our spouses. We stood outside waiting for the services to begin to enter the chapel where our grandmother lay in her casket. My grandparents had seven children. Each one of them, except for Uncle Eddie, had children. Our grandparents had twenty-one grandchildren. The majority of us were attending the funeral. They also had numerous great-grandchildren. When I say we are a clan, it is true. We are truly a clan. It is impossible for us all to be together at once unless we rented a hall.
But I digress. At the funeral home, all of a sudden there was a stir amongst our parents. Uncle Eddie assumed a very displeased look upon his face. Uncle Albert looked like the cat who had lapped the cream. He could not contain a satisfied smile that kept appearing upon his face. The rest of them had a most amazed and delighted look upon their faces. A man ambled towards them, and they all rushed towards him. They hugged him and they kissed him. They all spoke at once in happy and excited voices. At that moment, it did not feel as if someone had passed away, but rather like a celebration. We, the cousins, were puzzled. What was going on? Who was this man who was approaching them? Then it dawned on us. This was our Uncle Maurice! Our grandfather had passed away many years ago. Now, our grandmother had died also. There was no longer any reason for the siblings not to reunite with their estranged brother! They had kept their promise to their parents. Now, they could become one. They united on this occasion, thanks to Uncle Albert.
After that, whenever my father came to New York, it was arranged that Uncle Albert, my cousin Edmond, and Uncle Maurice would come to my house. They would visit. I especially remember one winter evening. It was cold. In the living room the fire was lit in the fireplace. The logs crackled, and sparks flew behind the screen every now and then. I had set out bowls of pistachio nuts, walnuts, and dates, and other snacks. I also prepared the favorite winter dish of turnips slowly cooked with date syrup, along with eggs cooked overnight until they were a deep golden brown. These were accompanied with fried eggplants, Persian salad, and hot barbari bread. I was in the kitchen preparing the latter and listening to their voices as they talked and cracked jokes. Every once in a while, they burst out into loud laughter. Even now, all these many years later, I smile at the memory. I remember the feeling of warmth and love. I remember the smell of the burning logs and the heady aroma of the cooked turnips. I remember their sheer joy of being together once more. I experience the feeling of happy contentment I felt that day. They are all gone now, but in my memory, they are so very much alive. They are all sitting in the garden of my grandparents’ home. They are gathered together cracking the eternal jokes they loved to tell. Platters of food are set on a heavy wooden table. The breeze from the river cools the summer air.
Uncle Albert only had Uncle Maurice’s office number. That’s where he called him, for Uncle Maurice never mentioned to his wife and children that he had a family and that they now lived in New York. Years passed. The day came when the phone rang and rang and rang. The ringing seemed hollow. There was no answer. They all became concerned. They all began calling that number incessantly. Despite their hopes, they had to finally admit that Uncle Maurice had passed away. No one had his home address. They only knew he had a wife and two children.
Well over thirty years have passed since that time. One day this past winter, my brother Jacky received something on Ancestry.com. It was Uncle Maurice’s daughter Julie. She asked him if he was perhaps related to a Maurice Tawfik. Upon further conversation, it was definitely established that we had found our long-unknown and mysterious cousins! Telephone calls flew back and forth across the continent of North America. We all wanted to talk to her. Gilda had previously planned a trip to DC. My cousin Ola’s son, Jonathan, joined her there. It became an opportunity for Gilda to meet Julie. She came back with Jonathan. When they returned to New York, they contacted Julie. She lived in New Jersey. She arranged to meet them and had lunch with them. She was thrilled! From not knowing anyone from her father’s family, she now has become part of the Tawfik clan! She hasn’t met us yet for the pandemic started, and that stopped everything in its track. But we talk.
I know her father never told his family that he was Iraqi. He never told them that his father was a rabbi. He told them that he was French and that he was born a Jesuit! I wonder how he could control not sharing his rich and warm childhood experiences with them. We come from a warm caring, in-your-face, garrulous family. From the stories that my father told us, Uncle Maurice was a fun-loving prankster and jokester as well. What happened? Why did he not share the richness of the Tawfik family with his wife and children? Did he feel rejected and resentful because his father ostracized him for marrying outside the faith? But how could that be? As a son of a rabbi, he definitely knew that would happen.
In the meantime, Julie and I have had many a long telephone conversation. I discovered she was a Jehovah’s Witness. I asked her if she knocked at doors and tried to convert people. She said yes. I told her I find that quite insulting. Just like I would not impose my beliefs on others, I resent others trying to impose theirs on mine. At first, she did try to preach at me, but finally, she realized that I wanted to be her friend and cousin. If she continued to try and convert me and my siblings, it would cause a great strain in our newly formed family ties. Eventually, she understood where I am coming from. She is a gentle, warm-hearted, and sweet person, yet somehow I feel that she carries a lot of pain within her. I guess everyone does. I am looking forward to meeting her one of these days. ‘’Welcome to the family, Julie dear! I hope you will love being a part of us.’’