Hannah and Go’el Raphael

We immigrated from Iran in 1951, we got married there. We were in immigrant camps for two years and then we immigrated. We were eventually taken out by force at the huts of Kiryat Shmona, without windows. My late wife, Hanna, daughter of Rachel, was in the eighth month of her pregnancy. We arrived and after a while my wife began feeling unwell. We were taken to the Scottish hospital in Tiberias. My wife gave birth and had a daughter. They took my wife elsewhere. I would go visit the girl and each time they would show her to me behind a window, they did not let me hold her. She had long hair. A beautiful girl that I long to be with, our first. My wife was also hospitalized at the time, but elsewhere.

My wife was released and we came to take the girl, but they began to stutter. We had been in Israel for only a month or two and my Hebrew was not good. They signalled with their hands “go away”, and I did not understand what they wanted. There was no one to translate. They did not show me the girl. I saw her before and everything was fine. No death certificate or anything. They should have shown a corpse at least.

To this day, when I travel to Tiberias my throat feels as if someone is strangling me. I felt that she was not dead, but was kidnapped. After that, my son, with my wife's pregnancy, I was afraid to take him to the hospital. My mother and another older woman, I let them deliver it. I was afraid of the hospital. It hurts me to this day and I wish I could see her.

My wife was sad. She cried all day, "I want to see the child before the end of my life"

Go’el Rafael

Menashe, the elder brother:

Father visited the hospital and saw the girl several times. My parents always talked about it. My mother gave birth to me in a tent, a breech birth which lasted about 6-7 hours. My mother was on the verge of death. She gave birth to me in a tent because of the fear that they would take me too. If the “adoptive” parents will tell the girl that she is in fact adopted, then maybe we will find her.

I would go visit my daughter and each time they would show her to me through a window, they did not let me hold her. She had long hair. A beautiful girl that I longed to be with—our firstborn.

My brother Aharon was born in a challenging breech birth, his mother at risk of death—and still, she insisted to give birth in the tent as she was afraid Aharon would also be taken.