Too Far From Home by Naomi Shmuel

Author:Naomi Shmuel [Shmuel, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Chapter Book, Chapter Books, Jewish, Judaism, Kar-Ben, Kar-Ben Publishing, Older Readers, Religious, People & Places, Middle East
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2020-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Roots

The next morning at school Ariella held up a big picture of a tree and said, “If we compared our families to this tree, who would be the roots? The trunk? The branches? The flowers?”

If a tree symbolized my family, I thought, then the roots would be Grandma in Katzrin and Grandpa in America. I looked at the picture Ariella was holding. The roots were thick ropes stretching deep into the earth. If the roots are the grandparents, I thought, then the trunk must be the parents, and the flowers are the children. But I didn’t raise my hand. I knew that if I did, thirty-seven pairs of unfriendly eyes would turn toward me.

A bubbly, blue-eyed girl named Shira raised her hand, pointed at the roots, and said, “Those symbolize grandparents.”

“Very good!” said Ariella, “Like a tree, a family grows from its roots, the family ancestors. Over the next few weeks we will examine our own roots and each one of you will prepare your very own family tree. I want each one of you to start thinking about how to draw your own family tree. Talk to your parents, your aunts and uncles, and grandparents! Ask them to tell you about where your families are from.”

Then Ariella handed out copies of the president’s family tree. Under each name, there was a description of where and when that person was born. I stared at the diagram in front of me and wondered how exactly I was supposed to get through this assignment.

That very afternoon, I worked on my family tree. I started with Grandpa Dave in America. Grandpa Dave is wiry and tall and has wild, bushy white hair. He likes us to call him Dave instead of Grandpa. He always sends us presents on our birthdays and for Hanukkah, but because he lives so far away, I’ve only met him four times in my entire life. The last time I saw him was two years ago, right after Grandma Rose died, and he was very sad.

I try to remember Grandma Rose. I can almost see her surrounded by all her grandchildren, dishing out freshly made cupcakes. I can’t quite picture her face, but I can hear her hoarse voice calling me “Shayna maidel, my beautiful girl.” All the furniture in their house was covered in lace doilies, and when I was a baby, my favorite blanket was a pink-and-white knitted afghan that Grandma Rose sent me.

My thoughts wandered to my grandma in Katzrin. I saw her every day for almost my whole life until we moved here. Ever since I could remember, I spent hours at her house, every day. She’s lived there for years; she settled there just after she arrived in Israel.

Grandma escaped from Ethiopia during the civil war with a group of young people, including my grandfather. I never met my mom’s father because he was killed by robbers on that journey, long before I was born. He was a real hero. Grandma told me

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