While waiting in line to board the plane at Vulknov airport, I heard “Amannnn, cok yavas yaaaaa” and knew I was headed to familiar territory.
I arrive in Istanbul on Turkish Airlines flight 414 from Moscow.
When I land at Ataturk airport, I immediately turn on my phone. Having an AT&T Passport Plan has been useful. It’s like I’m in the US. The downside is that I’ve been more attached to my phone than not lately. Again. It’s like I’m in the US.
The moment I toggle Airplane mode off, I get a text from Papa Turkey. It says Engin will be there honey. Engin is my dad’s business partner’s driver. This is weird.
I find Engin. He greets me with a warm merhaba, and we’re off into Istanbul traffic. He calls my dad. Merhaba Moshe bey. Cok traffique var… They have a quick back and forth, and then Engin hangs up.
Hearing Engin call my dad Moshe bey, aka Sir Moshe, deepens my curiosity about the new life my dad lives in a city he called home over 20 years ago. We get off the highway, and Engin turns down winding streets that overlook the Bosphorus. I recognize everything. Simit Sarayi. Boğaziçi University. We’re in Bebek.
I think of my mom, who grew up in this neighborhood. What Westport, Connecticut is to me, these foreign yet familiar cobblestone streets are to my parents. I wish I could go back in time and have a look into their lives as teenagers here. The emotion is overwhelming.
Finally, Engin pulls up in front of Ceremony, the floral and event company my dad works for. His office is in the heart of Bebek, near the hip cafe, Lucca, and across the street from Bebek Kahvesi. I’ve eaten at both places with Turkish friends from college. Everything is connected.
I step into the flower shop wearing my travel clothes. Not as chic as most women in Bebek. I see my dad and his face lights up. It’s so good to see him. It’s crazy how he blends in. His business partner, Irem, gets up and gives me a big hug. Everyone in the shop remarks at how much I resemble Moshe.
I sit next to my dad at a long table as he finishes up a few to-dos with Irem and one of their event architects. He’s dominant as usual, but in a calm way. It seems like his coworkers harbor a lot of the anxiety he used to carry with him. I wonder if he’s actually doing alright. A part of me worried that moving to Istanbul would undo a lot of the mental, emotional, spiritual work he’s done over the years. He seems peaceful. I hope it’s real.
Irem sees my dad put his hand on my leg and says Git, kizin burda! She looks stressed, but it’s a genuine and thoughtful gesture towards the important Turkish value of family over all else. My dad organizes a few papers and we get my luggage from Engin, who calls us a taxi.
We’re a few blocks from Ceremony when my dad says he’ll invite Grandma Koko, his mom, for dinner. He reaches for his phone from his stylish leather backpack but can’t find it. The Moshe scramble. I call his phone and Irem picks up. Telefon burda! He asks the taxi if he can turn around. The driver has no problem with it, and tells my father to stop apologizing.
We pick up the phone and we’re back on our way from Bebek to Pera, where my dad lives now. The older I get, the more I appreciate this city. It’s narrow streets and hills. It’s views of the Bosphorus. It’s bakals and men sitting on the street playing backgammon. Women in headdresses and women wearing mini skirts. The poetic language. The affection. The no rules. I’m constantly overcome with a feeling of belonging. A nostalgia for a place I never lived in.
My dad’s new apartment is incredible and completely him. It’s small, but has everything he would need, removed from the expectations of Bebek or other parts of Istanbul. I feel like I’m in Europe. His street could be in Paris. The charm is contagious.
I won’t say much more for now, but Grandma Koko came for dinner and cried in my arms when I met her at the bottom of the staircase. I probably speak to her 1-2 times a year, which is a strange thing for someone who cares so much about family. I know how important my immediate family is to me, but how about extended family? How can I let this woman and others know that no matter how complicated or difficult, I’m beyond grateful to be born into this cast of Turkish Jewish characters.
I’m beyond grateful to be here.