“Making Saba Happy”

Aliza Palmer

Art of Creative Unity Award 2022 - Youth | Honorable Mention

Making Saba Happy

“I’m from Israel” I typed, then quickly pressed send. How long would I wait before she replied? I couldn’t believe I’d sent this. It was our first bit of personal details we shared with each other! We’d met online, talking about one of our favorite books. We’d started IMing ever since then and became instant friends. First it was mostly book talk, we found we had a lot of favorite authors in common, we liked the same genres, she even had the book I was missing from our favorite series! Then the conversation led onto other things, like family, school life, hobbies. We agreed not to share any personal details of our whereabouts, not until we were ready. I learned that she had an older brother, and twin younger sisters. she lived in a big house, had her own room, and even had a puppy! Her family seemed perfect, like the kind I only dreamed of.

I lived with my grandfather, he was old, and I had to care for him. My mother comes and goes. Well, she more so goes, she comes to visit us every couple of years. I don’t miss her though; we don’t need her. I’m fine with Saba, even though....he doesn’t really understand the kind of things I go through, and when I complain, and think that I’m so fat my clothes don’t fit, or get upset because they were out of my favorite ice cream at the store, he sighs, and rocks himself back and forth on the chair. I understand it. Saba went through the holocaust. He didn’t have time to worry about his size, he didn’t understand the joys of ice cream......well, I don’t think he did anyway. Saba doesn’t talk about it. Not to anyone. I know my mother tried when she was younger, but Saba just said, “nu nu” and brushed it off. When he’d hear loud noises, he’d jump, and I’d have to sit by his chair, talking, calming him down until he stopped shaking. Saba hated anything German, or Polish. I think he was born in Poland, but I'm not sure. Whenever we’d go shopping, we’d always have to look at the manufactures and make sure they weren’t German, or Polish. When Saba would hear tourists in the street talking Polish, he’d turn frightened, like a young child who didn’t know where he was, and we’d have to walk out of there really quickly. When it came to these things, Saba was a very bitter man, and it made me bitter too. For example, when we were offered to take a German course in school I went and complained. Why should we, Jews, learn the language of the Nazis, the ones who wanted to kill us? The ones who made my grandfather like this?? I wrote a long complaint to my principal, and she changed the course language to Spanish. I was very proud of myself. So was Saba....at least, I think he was. When I told him, all that registered was ‘German’ and I don’t think he got the rest of the story. But it’s ok, it’s ok because now I don’t need to hurt my grandfather when I do homework. And it’s ok because now I can talk in Spanish and not have to worry about my grandfather getting all “Saba” on me. And it’s ok, because now my class won’t be connected to this language. This terrible language that murdered 6 million of my people. And, even though my class shut me out after that, because they, for some absurd reason, wanted to learn German, and even though that shut out lead to my.....spiral, it’s still ok because it didn’t hurt my Saba. Me doing that was Ok.....right?

I heard a ping, and opened my screen. She was replying, she’d seen my message! “I’m from Green” it read.
Greenland, wow, that’s so interesting.
“*Germany *facepalm*”

.....

No

No

No no no.

This couldn’t be happening.

You’re telling me that this girl, the one who’s been my best friend, the only one I’ve been able to turn to, has been from that country?

Now what?

“Hello?” the message read. I started typing, then stopped. What do I do? I couldn’t be friends with her anymore, not now that I knew where she was from. If I told my Saba he’d.....well, I don’t know what he’d do. I shut off my phone. I couldn’t be friends with her anymore. My eyes started prickling, and I felt a lump in my throat. I walked five steps to our tiny rusty kitchen and grabbed myself some juice. Then I heard Saba mumbling in Yiddish. I couldn’t do this to him...I just couldn’t! But......maybe I could? No, no. I can’t be friends with someone German. But.....maybe I could. I’d been friends with her all this time not knowing where she was from, and.......am I really one to ruin the first real friendship I’ve had because of our past? If I stopped messaging her, I’d go back into that dark spiral, and I’d go back to being the bitter outcast! I know he’d want me to be happy, and maybe, maybe one day she’d come visit me in Israel, and we’d show Saba that not all German things are bad. Maybe, by forming this friendship, we’d show future generations how we can live in peace, that we should all just love and respect one another. After all, we are all just humans.

“Cool.” I replied.
Maybe, maybe it’s time to look towards the future.

Aliza Palmer is 17 years old and lives in Israel. She lives with her mother and father in a small village, near the center of Israel. She is passionate about a lot of things and hopes to inspire others with her stories. She loves writing, reading, and performing.