JEWISH COMMUNITY CENTER
OF METROPOLITA N: DETROIT
EdItoR's NoTe
The Smell
Of Almonds
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5/1
1998
76
D. Dan & Betty Kahn Building • 6600 W. Maple. Road • West Bloomfield, MI 48322
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am not certain, but I think it is
something particular about Israel.
In just one moment, it all seems to
come back.
When I was younger I loved to tray-
: el. I went to the Soviet
Union, England, Italy,
France, Greece. Today, the
taste of a certain mint
reminds me of England, and
a particular scent — a too-
1 sweet smell, heavy and pun-
gent — reminds me of the
subways in Moscow. But
always the most defined, the most
vivid, are those passing moments that
bring to mind my years in Israel.
I used to love to wander in Mahane
Yehuda, the market in Jerusalem that
terrorists recently bombed. It was a
kaleidoscope of fruits and vegetables,
second-hand treasures, fresh fish and
dates. I had a friend who lived there,
the daughter of a famous Soviet-Jew-
ish dissident. She kept a turtle in her
bathtub and served me jam, straight
from the jar, when I came to visit. Her
name was Sonia. Whenever I was in
Mahane Yehuda, I stopped to drink
thick, white almond juice, which I
I found only there. Even when I was
not thirsty I would drink it, and now I
look for it wherever I go, but I cannot
find it. So embedded is this taste, this
sweet fragrance, that whenever I smell
almonds I think of Mahane Yehuda.
I made another friend named Avra-
ham. He was an older man, distin-
guished looking but rough, and frag-
ile, too. Once I chanced to sit next to
Avraham on the bus. For reasons I still
do not know he asked if I would read
a copy of his yet-to-be published life
story and I said yes. He wanted to
know whether I had been to Yad
Vashem, the Holocaust memorial.
-"There's a picture there, three men in
a bunker at Auschwitz. Do you know
it?
"I do," I said. "It% famous."
"That's me in the middle," he
said. "I took my son to Yad Vashem
and I showed him the pic-
ture and he couldn't believe.
it was me. And after awhile
I found myself staring at the
photo and I, too, couldn't
believe it."
And so, whenever I see that
picture, I think of Israel, of
Avraham.
There was a certain smell, Turkish
coffee with cardamom, in the Arab ---
market in the Old City — I can find
this now in certain shops here, and I
go, and I linger. I am there to drink in
the smell. Its the same with the taste
of sachlav, an orchid-flavored dessert,
soft as a cloud on the tongue.
I still have a few tapes that I used to
listen to — Shalom Hanoch, my
favorite Israeli rock star back then,
when I was in my 20s. I have played
one tape so many times that it skips in
spots. All I have to do is play a song
or two and it all comes back.
But to see Israel I have to close my
eyes, and then I imagine the cool,
quiet forest, and the little stationery
and tourist and coffee shops on Ben
Yehuda Street in Jerusalem, and the
warm sea in Tel Aviv, where the smell
of salt preserves memories for eternity.
I miss Israel each day. Always, I
think, you leave with an ache, a pal-
pable sense of loss, a kind of sadness
— vivid, yet indescribable — that
hurts your heart. ❑
I/
Elizabeth Applebaum
AppleTree Editor
(7'