A Family Story
By: Yaakov Nisani
My father, Nisan, was born in the city of Nakhchivan in Azerbaijan. When he was a small child, his younger brother Menashe died. Not long afterward, his mother also died. His father, Yaakov, entrusted him to his uncle Avraham, who raised him together with his four children. At some point, he sent him to a traditional school, where he learned to read and write. As a teenager, he began helping his uncle with his work.
In the city of Urmia lived my maternal grandfather, Mashiach, with his wife Navat. He owned a fabric shop, which he operated in partnership with my father’s uncle.
My grandfather had a daughter named Yocheved. When she was about twenty, my father married her, and they lived together with her entire family.
To earn a living, my father and a partner opened a wholesale and retail grocery business. They kept their earnings in clay jars hidden in the shop, since there were no banks at that time.
One night, the Bolsheviks arrived, broke into the shop, and stole all the jars containing the money. They then set the shop on fire. In the middle of the night, my father’s partner was called. He entered the flames in an attempt to save the money and found one jar that the robbers had missed. He divided the small amount of money he managed to save between himself and my father.
News of Jerusalem’s liberation by the British in 1918 reached the Jews of Urmia. Many Jewish families left the beautiful city of Urmia, which was nevertheless filled with hostility toward Jews, and set out for the Land of Israel.
My father took my grandfather Yaakov, my mother, and my sister Shoshana, and together with my mother’s entire family they set out for Jerusalem. They crossed Lake Urmia by boat and reached the city of Maragheh, where my sister became ill and died at the age of only five. They then reached Hamadan, where my grandfather Yaakov fell ill. My father stayed beside him to care for him. On the third day, my grandfather took my father’s hand and placed it on the pocket of his garment. My father felt the pocket and found three gold coins. Immediately afterward, my grandfather passed away peacefully in his old age.
After many hardships on the journey, the entire family reached Baghdad. Their journey had lasted six months, traveling on donkeys and carts and sometimes on foot. They spent another six months in Baghdad, using the time to regain their strength and prepare for the next stage.
My father worked for a while and saved several dinars. With them he bought tickets for a train that traveled through Damascus and Beirut and eventually reached Haifa. From there they took a bus directly to Jerusalem.
Life in Jerusalem was difficult. My father worked for a while in construction and as a peddler. After several years, my parents moved to Tel Aviv. In 1934 I was born, and two years later my brother Mordechai was born. In 1936, severe disturbances broke out. My parents, who lived in the Manshiyya neighborhood, fled and returned to Jerusalem. There, my brother became ill and died at only six months old.
On the 5th of Iyar 5708, David Ben-Gurion declared the establishment of the State of Israel. The War of Independence broke out, and Jerusalem was under siege, making it impossible to obtain basic food supplies. My father went to the market to buy bread. On the way, three shells fell near him, and he was killed instantly. He was fifty-four years old.
My mother lived to an advanced age and became a grandmother to six grandchildren. When I turned seventy-five, my family—my wife, children, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren—celebrated my birthday with me.
I hope that, in our days, peace will soon dwell in the Land. Amen.