Daughters of Iraq by Revital Shiri-Horowitz

Democracy is more important. It’s hard for you to understand, so let me explain it. Democracy is being able to walk through the streets and say whatever you want, without being afraid. Now do you understand? Money isn’t everything. This is where we belong. Here, nobody calls you stinking Jew when they pass you on the street. Do you understand what this means?”
    Ruthie sat, mute, gazing at Farida’s impassioned face, listening.
    “Ruthie, nothing’s like our country, because it’s our country. Remember what I’m telling you,” she concluded in a decisive voice, “even when you’re a big girl.”
    After a long silence, Farida resumed. “Now, let me tell you about the ball. But just remember: I have never missed Iraq, not once. Deal?”
    Although Ruthie didn’t really understand what her grandmother meant, she said, “Deal.”
    “Good. Now I can go on. So, for this party . . .” Once again, Farida’s face was calm, with no trace of her recent outburst. “We needed even more help. Everyone sent their servants to our house for several days. You’re going to laugh when I tell you which was the hardest job of all.”
    “Which?” Ruthie was relieved to hear her grandmother’s voice return to normal.
    “Cleaning the gigantic fish. Shevit they were called. Turbot.”
    “What kind of fish are those?” asked Ruthie. “I’ve heard of carp. Once, at Grandmother Rosa’s house, I saw some carp in the bathtub. We ate them on Rosh Hashanah.”
    “They’re not exactly the same,” laughed Farida. She stroked her granddaughter’s hair. “ Shevit are giant fish that live in the rivers of Baghdad. They don’t have them here. Should I go on?” She arched her eyebrows.
    “Yes, Grandmother,” Ruthie said. “Tell me more.”
    “First, we had to clean the fish; then we had to fry them. And you know why we needed so many?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Because eating fish is a mitzvah —a good deed. And do you know why it’s a mitzvah ?”
     “No.” Ruthie’s stared at her grandmother.
    “Because fish are a good sign. They bring good luck—the more fish, the better. Also, whenever there was a Bar Mitzvah or a wedding, all the Jews were invited. The poor people would get a hot meal, which is also a mitzvah . There were a lot of people to feed.”
    “But Grandmother, wait a minute.” Creases furrowed Ruthie’s brow. “Why didn’t your mother take care of you?”
    “Ah, that’s a good question,” Farida said. “We were very rich and well-respected in our community. You’re right, even though our mother was in charge of the household, it was a servant who bathed and fed us. That’s how things were over there. My mother supervised everyone: the kids, the servants, my father.” She gave a bitter smile. “My father was in charge of discipline. He was like your school principal. Can you imagine that?”
    “My father and mother aren’t like that, are they?” Ruthie asked.
    “No,” Farida smiled. “Definitely not. But things were different in those days. My father was one of the most important men in the community; people trembled in his presence. As for my mother, well, my mother was always busy, going to tea parties, visiting her neighbors, someone was born, someone died… she was hardly ever at home. She also liked to entertain. Anyone lucky enough to receive an invitation to our house was considered important, because he had been hosted by Um Anwar .That’s what they used to call my mother. It means ‘Mother of Anwar’—Anwar was her first-born son. My sister Farcha, who was already married with children of her own, also rarely took care of her kids. She was busy going with my grandmother, Samira, to many different parties.”
    “And your mother never missed you?” Ruthie had a puzzled look on her face. “When my mother comes home from work, she always tells me how much she missed me. But my mother has to work, she says. So why did your mother leave you all the time?”
    “A