סדרת איראן - זכרונת הילדות שלי

"Parked Munda" - that's what my grandmother was called when she was 14 and had not yet been taken by a man. She was then the kind of object that had to grow up to get married and leave the house. To be the wife of a man, to bear children and to withstand the fixations of a pauperic culture. "Stayed at home," was a kind of derogatory name, "did not take her," not good enough. And beyond that it also did not supply the goods, soiling the family "showcase." So she was a type B, and a mother-in-law with my grandfather who was a 35-year-old widower with 2 children, and she was only 14, an eighth-grade girl - come on in to read more about this creepy story

In my childhood I always wanted to be belonging, belonging is a survival existential need, it made me want (want), give up on myself, on who I am to enter into the social circle mostly. Today as I try to figure out why, I begin to discover the roots of desire within my home. I wanted her (mother) to smile, to see the emotion, to be happy, to say something, even to be angry ... That's where I started wanting, a trait that is acquired in adolescence. It took me years to get myself out of there and belong to who I am - come on in, take a look

We grew up because we had to be big, mostly healthy and sturdy. In their parental toolbox was authority, maybe even authoritarianism and most of all a lot of desire to raise us according to their understanding to be their next generation. We were for them a kind of "business card", a family "showcase". And that’s how they shaped and influenced who we grew up to be. A lot of good things it has done for us in our adulthood, in our ability and in our ability to survive the realities of life. At the same time emotions were not there, they were and were afraid to take them out of the heart, their way of loving was expressed in a different way than we needed to.

My childhood memories are filled with a moment of shame, moments when I cringed all over and wanted to disappear. Today it is called boycott, shaming and more. For me these were difficult experiences that I suppressed deep in my soul. Today, I manage to put them on the record, look at the girl I was then, 10-year-old Leora, and tell her she has nothing to be ashamed of. Tell her that the prizes are not stingy and also tell her that she can be very proud of the Persian community, the Persian culture and its amazing customs. Today, when I am 45, I can look at myself then, and tell myself that even though I often cringed when derogatory words were thrown at me: stingy Persian, Persian Midoni, Kililaiy and more I was a hero, I dealt alone, pushed, hurt and moved on with my head held high despite everything. Invites you to get to know this community from a brighter angle.

Quite a few times in my childhood and at different stations in my life I was ashamed of my Persians, I heard the phrase stingy prizes quite a few times in my childhood. So, it hit me, I was shrinking all over and I wanted to be like everyone else, neither stingy nor Persian. Without any labeling, I wanted to belong. And to be like everyone else, like the "good guys", in some places I took care to hide what made me feel different.