Tuvia Shlomo born 1958, in Rehovot, Israel

My father and mother were both deaf and mute. I don’t start with this statement in hopes of accumulating pity. I begin with this because the foundation of my life was built on this fact. Growing up, I didn’t understand my parent’s disabilities. I envied all the other kids who could simply sit and talk with their dad and mom. Why can’t I? Why is my life different?

My parents were Holocaust survivors. They emigrated from Romania to Israel. My mother worked as a cleaning lady. My father worked in construction. They didn’t make much money.

was born in Jaffa, a city by the ocean. We were the only European family living in an extremely poor, North African neighborhood. There was not a bed to sleep on. My younger brother and I slept on a pull-out couch. My mother slept on the sofa and my father on the balcony. The streets weren’t paved. There was only dirt and sand. Donkeys roamed around outside. No one ever wore shoes. I grew up in the streets.

I knew my family was poor at age six when the black-and-white television was invented. Less than a handful of families in our neighborhood could purchase one. I saw a television in an old lady’s apartment that lived across from my building on the second floor. I sprinted outside and climbed the cypress tree that put me level with the old lady’s window to watch the TV inside. I was mesmerized. I went home that night sad. All I could think about was how much I wanted a television of my own.