Personal Narrative - Noa Fay

Tumbling over herself once more, Sophie looked up at me with admiring eyes and a toothless smile. Her head was round and hairless, her cheeks flushed with a rosey pink. I looked out the window and saw the telling orange and pink clouds of dawn. Taking her legs in my hands again, I swung them back over her head. Her fourth backward somersault in a row! At 9 months old she was not much bigger than an American Girl, and at 4 years old I was considerably larger. It was not the first time I had snuck into her room to play this game. Her giggles bubbled, growing contagious. Soon we were laughing together as two young sisters. As I went back in for one more backward roll she grabbed my wrist and yanked my golden bracelet with the letters N-O-A on the beads. They each slid off of the chain and rolled across the crib. “Sophie!” I chided, and she looked up at me with the same admiring glint in her brown eyes, the same toothless smile. As I quickly gathered the beads I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. “Noa…” my mother scolded. “Look at my bracelet, Mumma!” I told her. My mother took one glance at Sophie’s rosey face and the mischievous twinkle simmering in my eyes and sighed with a smile on her face “It can be fixed.” She told me and gathered the shining remains from my hands and walked out. I returned the woman’s stare with a curious one. It was wrinkled, resembling an ivory paper napkin that had been folded too many times. I looked to my grandmother who, unlike the woman on the cover of the book, returned my assessing stare with one of her own. She looked down at the book, sorrow reflecting in her eyes. I had just claimed that everyone sees the same things. She disagreed. I argued “Everything looks the same to me as it does to you. See, this book is blue.” Amusement in her eyes she said, “Look at this woman. What do you see?” In a matter-of-fact tone I claimed “I see an old woman, what do you see?” The twinkle in her eyes disappeared, yearning replacing it. “I see a face of sorrow and grief. One of broken memories and sadness,” she said. I stared at her, bewildered, and blinked. I attempted a careless smile that came out sheepishly. Taking me into the next room she placed my hand in hers, palm upright. I felt the cool tickling of metal against my juvenile skin and looked into my hand. A gold Magen David necklace. She brought me back into the previous room and looked at the book. “I still see an old woman,” I claimed. “One day, you’ll see something more,” Lucie told me, the glint in her eyes returning. I laid my Magen David next to the book, Auschwitz, wondering what connection she had made up in her mind. The course water reflected the moonlight, making it glow silver. Recovering from a tussle with my father I stood at the bow and looked into the sky, welcoming the biting winds with open arms. I glanced down at my chest which bore a small, gold pendant of the country I love. It was then that I felt my first spark of fear when thinking about the reality of joining the Israeli army. I shoved it far from me, pushing it down, down, drowning it from my thoughts. Surely something as petty as fear cannot stand in my way, I thought. Looking back at the moon I silently wondered what the soldiers fear most. Did they fear the inevitable duty assigned to them? I knew the answer. No, they did not. Did any dare shy away from their duty in cowardice? Yes, and I would not add to the list. The boat tipped up and down, as a seesaw does at the playground. I looked to my father who was deep in conversation then forced my gaze back to the moon, resembling the pearl that rested against my chest. My thoughts stayed on the Israeli soldiers, both the fallen and impending ones; then strayed to the violence I knew people in Israel were subjected to. The violence my people were subjected to. No, I decided, No I would not add to that list. I grasped my pendant of Israel that lay against my chest and faced the biting winds once more.