Sarah’s mother came in the early 1930’s illegally from Iran on the back of a donkey. She remembers her childhood years in Jerusalem Bukharian Quarter vividly. We were very poor, we lived with 30 families in one building, each family had a room and a kitchen, but we were very happy. When the war started, my mother took me and my 2 little sisters and fled, Arabs were shooting on everything that moved. We found shelter for a couple of weeks in an entrepot. My little 2 year old sister got sick, during a ceasefire we brought her to the hospital, 30 minutes away. We had to leave her there. During the next ceasefire mother was able to go back. It was impossible to venture outside otherwise. She looked and looked for her. They told my mother she died. But nobody knew where her body was for burial. What could she do? It was a war. She had to hurry back to our shelter before the end of the ceasefire. My mother came back much later. The shooting had started again. We were small and very worried. Once she was back. She started sitting Shiva.