Savta waved to us from the window as we walked down the path through the garden. Two blocks away from my grandparents’ house, we came to a large square, which was already busy at eight in the morning. Stores lined two sides of it, and on the third stood a bus stop. A crowd of people dressed in bathing suits and holding towels was gathered there. In the center of the square, elderly people sat on benches, talking to one another.
My mother led us into one of the small shops. Saba came out from behind a long wooden counter to hug us. He wore baggy pants and suspenders and a gray felt hat. Thin, muscular arms stuck out from his loose white shirtsleeves. Behind him, a tiled tub stood attached to the wall. The tub came up to Saba’s waist. Ben ran over to it and peered in.
“Molly, come look. Fish!”
At least fifteen enormous fish swam around each other in the tub. I had never seen fish so big and so alive—usually they were lying flat on ice in a supermarket case.
“They’re carp, Ben. Bubbe makes her gefilte fish out of them,” Dad explained.
I couldn’t quite imagine how the thin slices of sweet gefilte fish that I loved so much came from the ugly, gray carp swimming in the tank. Their eyes looked like yellow marbles flattened into either side of their heads.
A woman with a scarf wrapped around her head walked into the store. Saba introduced my parents to her. He pointed to Ben and me and beamed. The woman put her hands up to her face and shook her head back and forth, talking in a high-pitched voice. I looked to my father and raised my eyebrows.
“She’s an old customer of your grandfather’s and can’t believe we’re here all the way from America. She says she remembers coming to the store on the day you were born, Molly.”
I smiled at the woman, who continued crooning over us. Saba motioned toward the tank, and the woman raised one finger. Saba picked up a large net with a long wooden handle and leaned over the tank. Suddenly he brought the net down into the water and scooped out a flapping fish. The fish beat against the mesh, spraying water on the floor. Saba dumped the fish on the table and held it down with one hand. Then he took a wooden club and hit the fish quick and hard on its head. He wrapped the fish in newspaper, and I saw a few spots of blood appear on the newsprint. Saba handed the fish to the woman and took her payment. She was still chattering as she walked out the door.
I turned away and looked at Ben, who was staring at the fish swimming in the tank.
“Do you think it hurts them?” he whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think they know what’s going to happen to them?”
“Of course not.” At least I hoped not.
After a few minutes, we left the store and walked around the square. We passed a butcher, a tailor, the post office, a vegetable market, a shoemaker, and a store filled with cookies and candy. Mom said there was a toy store in the back of the candy shop. Each business owner greeted my mother warmly, with a shout and a hug. At the butcher shop, Ben and I waited outside, afraid of what we might see if we went in. A burly man with gray hair came out to see us and pinch our cheeks. The candy store was my favorite, especially since the elderly couple behind the counter immediately began filling a bag with a whole assortment of sweets for us. I also got a glass bottle of Coke. I had never drunk Coke from a bottle, and I loved the Hebrew writing on the side. I decided to save it for Bubbe to see.
Walking home, we passed Savta on her way to the store. She spoke briefly to my mother before she continued on her way. Back at the house, Ben and I sifted through our strange new candy. Ben found several pieces of Bazooka bubble gum, with the wrapper printed in Hebrew. We bit into a few delicious chocolate wafers and candy bars until Dad made us promise not to eat any more before lunch. We played checkers on the cool stone path—and couldn’t help squealing as tiny green lizards darted around us.
At noon, Saba and Savta came back from the store and we all sat down to lunch. Lunch looked like what I usually call dinner—salad followed by chicken and potatoes. Savta passed around a plate of pickles to go with the meat. There were regular pickles—the kind made out of cucumbers—plus small, green pickled tomatoes and chunks of something pink and green.
“What is that?” Ben asked when he spotted the chunks.
“That’s pickled watermelon, a Romanian specialty your grandmother makes.” Mom took a piece and popped it into her mouth. “Try it. It’s salty, not sweet.”
“No, thanks, it looks weird,” Ben said, wrinkling his nose.
“You’re making a big mistake. This is great stuff.” Dad took several pieces and put them on his plate. “I’m stocking up before you realize how good it is. I want to make sure there’s enough for me.”
I pierced a chunk with my fork and held it up in front of my face. It smelled like the other pickles. I tasted it. The white rind was soft and chewy, and the salty, garlicky watermelon flesh tasted delicious. This was certainly my best discovery yet. I quickly took three pieces and put them on my plate. Dad laughed.
“I’m not trying it, no way,” Ben said adamantly.
“Good,” I retorted, “then there’ll be more for the rest of us.”
Ben threw his napkin at me. I rolled my eyes and was about to ask if that was the best he could do, but Dad put his hand on my arm. I kept eating instead.
After lunch, Savta served cake and fruit compote. “This is such a big meal!” I blurted out in amazement, even as I helped myself to dessert.
“In Israel the main meal is eaten in the middle of the day, and dinner is much lighter,” Mom explained. “Everyone comes home for a few hours in the afternoon to eat and rest, and then the adults go back to work.”
“What about Saturday and Sunday?” I asked.
“People here work five and a half days a week, so it’s not like our weekend.”
“Five and a half days! What about kids?” Ben said, with an expression of pure horror on his face.
Mom laughed. “Guess you didn’t know how good you have it.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “I bet they go to school all summer too.”
“No, Israeli kids have summers off just like you do. They have plenty of time to play.”
“Can we go play now?” Ben asked, already out of his seat.
“Yes, go ahead.”
Ben and I left the table, looking for something to do. Ben settled down to read some comic books he’d brought from home, and I wrote in my journal until I realized I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. I lay down on my cot to rest for a few minutes.
I ended up napping until supper, when Savta served the same mixture of vegetables, yogurts, and cheeses we’d seen at breakfast. We all ate together, then sat outside in the warm air. The sun set in shades of red and orange, and crickets began to chirp. While the adults talked in Hebrew, I played checkers with Ben on the front stoop until it got too dark to see the board. The first full day of our visit was coming to an end. Breathing in the smell of roses, I heard my parents’ voices and felt myself relax for the first time that day.