To all, it appeared as if I grew up in a normal home: a house on a Moshav, with sprinklers watering the yard. My Mother was a kindergarten teacher, and my Father was a farmer. In the nineties, my parents decided to give up their orchards. Instead, they opened a business selling gasoline to other farmers. The business grew, but it was poorly run from our home between the baskets of laundry, piles of cash being counted next to pots of couscous. Everything smelled of gasoline. My Mother pleaded with my Father to sell the business, but he ignored her. Not long afterward, she became ill, and the business collapsed. Our family fell apart. What caused the destruction of my charismatic family that everyone always thought was so perfect?
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