When we came to Israel, in Lod, at the…airport, then she (unnamed person) had a boy aged…ten months old. And we got down from (out of) the (plane)…he was such a beautiful boy…they (unnamed people) took him. They told him (unnamed person)…

(In) July we arrived to (in) Israel. They took the boy…his name was Nahum. They took him (and) said, “(he is) sick”. They took (him)…they took him to the hospital. In Petah Tikva, I know (I assume). We were…and we went to the Beit Olim (new migrant housing) in Atlit. And they (unnamed people) didn’t know what had become of the boy. They took him…when they (the family of the boy) asked and asked…they (the people who took the boy) said to them, “(he) is sick at the hospital…in Petah Tikva.” So my mother and father went to Petah Tikva. (They were) new immigrants (to Israel). There was…an Iraqi…nurse. She said to them, “take the boy! He doesn’t have…he’s not sick. There’s nothing with him (nothing wrong with him). Take him!”. They took the boy and came to the Beit Olim. The hospital and police and this (so on) followed them, (and) came to take him again. And…afterwards…they took him from (the) Beit Olim (and) didn’t let…my father, and my uncle…and my grandfather…they didn’t let…they didn’t let them take him (the boy). But…they took him in the ambulance…forcefully. And that’s it. They took him, (and) after a few…after a few days, they said to them. “he’s dead. The boy died.” But where did they bury the boy? Where? Not (even), not, no document of…death or…a grave or nothing. That’s it…they took him and went.

On Shabbat, they (Arab neighbours) (would) bring us tea. We didn’t…we (didn’t) make…tea, they (would) bring it to us. They (would) make it and bring it to us on Shabbat to the…to the house. And there was…at the end, before we left to…to come to Israel, I don’t know (if) my father…(installed) a tea brewer. (It was) forbidden to open the shop. And there was…a guard…in the…in the neighbourhood. ˁAwǧe (was the name of the neighbourhood). He (would) sit (and watch) at night, so that thieves wouldn’t come. He said to my father, “don’t be scared!”. My father’s shop was…leading to a house inside. He would…rent the shop, and from the shop (people would) go out to the house of (the person) he rented it from. He said to him, “don’t be scared!”. I…(the neighbour told my father) ”come at night…enter from there, from this house, and I…(will) guard…I will take care (so that) nobody comes…and removes…(comes) to take…(so that nobody) takes food.” We brought them (our possessions) to the house at night. (He) entered…my father entered…and we brought the things home. Every day we brought a little bit. Every day a little bit. We didn’t (have the opportunity to) sell (the) house, and we didn’t sell…nothing.

I was born in Jerusalem in 1936. In the immigrant refugee camps. I was born in the first immigrant refugee camps. I was three years old (when my family) took me to Baghdad, and I was five years old (when) the Farhud happened. My sister, (who was) younger than me…every two years my mother was giving birth. We were…I was two years old (when) my sister Margit was born…and we came to Baghdad, and the Farhud happened. After the Farhud, another younger sister was born. She wasn’t (yet born) in the Farhud. We were not rich. We were not rich. But thank G-d my father was a landlord, and was a man (an upstanding family man) all his life until his last day. My father was born in 1901, and died in 2001.