My name is Hamama, in Hebrew Yona, my late husband was Saliman (Shlomo). Our family name is Moussah, occasionally in Israel they change it to the Hebrew version, Moshe. We immigrated to Israel from Yemen in 1949, and we arrived at the Ein Shemer transit camp. I was nine or ten. I remember a story there that they tried to kidnap my brother who was in the Nursery. Then we moved to Moshav Tnuvot, near Pardesiyah. I married early at the age of 16 and at the age of 17 I already gave birth to my first daughter Avigail. In 1958, I gave birth to my second child Yael. I gave birth at home, the delivery went fine but there was a binding procedure to take the baby for a check-up or to register in a hospital, even if they were born at home. so I went to the hospital in Hadera, where they took the child, and then, after three days, they told me she had died. We were naive and very young, we believed what we were told, even though we have not seen documents, we asked to see her body but they shouted at us that if we don’t go away they will call police. My husband's father yelled at him for not bringing her body because we must bury her. But what could we do? They told us they will call the police...
I do not know what happened to her, maybe she has a good life, perhaps a difficult life, I just want to see her. I feel she is alive.
Hamama Moussah – Yona Moshe
Further down the footage, Herzl Moshe the son, tell that his mother cooks an extra portion every Friday, for the small chance that maybe she will reappear.
I do not know what happened to her, maybe she has a good life, perhaps a difficult life, I just want to see her
Herzl Moshe the son, tell that his mother cooks an extra portion every Friday, for the small chance that maybe she will reappear